45 books like The Sleeping Dragon

A classic, this book is timeless. Lewis conveys a message of courage, hope, and triumph through a unique perspective. Young Lucy and her three older siblings are refugees staying at the home of a professor during WWII. Lucy discovers a large wardrobe that acts as a portal to a strange land where she discovers many mystical creatures. I felt for Lucy when she wasn't believed by her siblings at first and cheered when they finally discovered the truth.

In the land, the kids participate in a battle between good and evil, symbolic of the Catholic church. This was a fun book to read, as I was on the edge of my seat (the first time) cheering for Lucy, who was my favorite of the bunch.

When I was around ten years old, I read everything I could get my hands on. This book fell into my mental lap and, though it was intended for an older audience, the puns and wit taught me how funny a fantastical world could be. I mean it has everything: a chameleon (who is actually three people), ghosts, zombies, witch battles, and more puns than you can shake a wand at. The protagonist, Bink, is born without an obvious magical talent, which is illegal in Xanth so he is exiled to Mundania where he is captured by an outcast wizard who wants to use him to invade Xanth. Written in the late 1970s, the book is a little dated but still immensely entertaining and the first of many Xanth books. It’s truly a cornucopia of wordplay.

I didn’t realize it until I was nearly an adult, but almost every new book I picked up was about going from one world to another. Usually, from our world to a fantasy world. But this book, the first of the sort I found and read in middle school, reversed that formula. It’s about a boy who comes to our world from a place where people are peaceful. Our world is terrifying, and he wants to get home. This was an awakening for me, thinking that our reality might be the scary place, and we can be the frightening monsters. But I’ve learned, this isn’t far from the truth.

Oh, this series was a struggle for me. Such a wonderful concept, with such an unlikeable main character. But I loved the idea of saving a fantasy world, while dying in this one. I can’t just mention one, but instead mention the first omnibus, (including Lord Foul’s Bane, The Illearth War, and The Power That Preserves). The beginning of the 1980s didn’t allow for tremendously long books, though that did come by the end of the decade, this story was an epic fantasy broken down to three easily (relatively speaking) digestible books. And it showed how something mundane from our world could wield great power in another.

Butler was a captain in the military force sent west by the Canadian government to put down the 1869-70 Red River rebellion by discontented Metis. Afterward, he embarked on a 700-mile journey from the Red River settlement at present-day Winnipeg, Manitoba, to present-day Edmonton, Alberta.

He depicts in poetic prose the desolation caused by the near extermination of the once innumerable herds of bison and the devastating impact on the Indigenous people of the Canadian prairies.   

What I adore about this book—which Carol Shields wrote a few years after winning the Pulitzer Prize for The Stone Diaries—is how it mingles the quotidian and the fanciful and the fantastic.

The quotidian takes the form of the very ordinary details in the life of the titular protagonist’s middle-aged life: The small things that Larry frets about, his ordinary conversations in Winnipeg coffee shops, his very relatable miscommunications, and even his fairly typical penis (there’s an entire chapter called “Larry’s Penis”).

Then there are the fanciful touches—for example, Larry makes garden labyrinths for a living (not a run-of-the-mill profession), and streets that don’t intersect in the real Winnipeg do intersect in the novel.

As for the fantastic, the novel ends with Larry having a vision of how his life might have gone in a happier alternative reality. 

I love books that make me feel like I’m living in another time period—and this book, set in Winnipeg in 1913—does that in spades. In fact, speaking of “spades,” Sam Spade, the protagonist of Dashiell Hammet’s The Maltese Falcon, is surely one of the inspirations for this mystery novel’s protagonist, Sam Klein, a hard-nosed detective.

The novel’s author, Allan Levine, is a historian, and the vivid details he pulls into the plot target all of our senses (including smell—Winnipeg’s streets weren’t paved in 1913, and horses were still more common than cars!). Levine also draws upon the prejudices of the era—Sam Klein isn’t accepted by the city’s elite because he’s Jewish—and he paints a compelling portrait of the city’s gritty neighborhoods and corrupt city politics. 

This is a book of poetry written by one of Winnipeg’s many Indigenous authors.

I love the poems—their economical lines and vivid imagery—but the poems also don’t shy away from some ugly truths about Winnipeg: Namely, the centuries of racism that have devastated the Indigenous people who gathered for thousands of years where the city’s two rivers meet—the Red and the Assiniboine. The same racism that contributed to the death of the poet’s brother and led the police to dismiss his disappearance for months as simply being due to drunkenness.

Vermette’s poems tackle these hard truths and challenge the reader not to look away. This book of poetry helped me see that not everything about Winnipeg is the way we’d like it to be. 

Broken Stone delves into the complicated plight of ethnic Germans who lived in the Soviet Union before WWII and were persecuted by Stalin. This novel, based on the author’s family history, explores what happens when they escaped to Germany just in time for WWII. I love all of Gabriele Goldstone’s books because she delves into a part of WWII history that’s rarely told.

I really love this study because it provides a crystal-clear example of how colonialism and dispossession have worked in Canada from the legal, cultural, political, and social angles. It also delves into the topic of the histories we, as a country, choose to remember and those we choose to forget, as well as the issue of who is forgotten in the process.