The most recommended books on non-binary gender

I love gore and emotional resonance, and this book delivers both by the bucketful. It’s well known as one of the gnarliest horror novels in recent memory, but what sometimes gets lost in the conversation is that it’s also one of the most poignant.

I can never resist a story whose central queer relationship is a friendship instead of a romance, and Beth and Fran’s friendship is deliciously fraught with desire, resentment, and the need to trust each other in order to survive in a post-apocalyptic hellscape. It’s not an entirely healthy friendship, but that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.

What can I say about this book? It’s raw, brutal in places, tender in others, brimming with imagination and invention, and ultimately unforgettable. For myself, as a Western reader, it challenged my ideas of gender, identity, and personhood in its depiction of its central character, Ada, as an ogbanje, an Igbo spirit that is born into a human body as a kind of malevolent trickster. But Ada is an ogbanje who survives (something that rarely occurs), coming through traumatic experiences to forge a new identity that embraces plurality. 

If you want to plunge into a tumultuous mind that spins through grief and tragedy, life and death, hope and rebirth, you should read this book. You should read this book if you want to step into the shoes of someone who may be quite unlike yourself or someone more like you than you might think. You should read this book if… show more.

Jacob Tobia’s genderqueer coming-out story is the first real genderqueer memoir to be published and carried by a mainstream press.

He’s passionately serious about it but also entertaining and funny, and he makes the concept ‘genderqueer’ easy to understand. He’s a good teacher. And by having already previously come out as gay, he underlines the distinction between sexual orientation and gender identity. 

As a fellow genderqueer/non-binary Asian writer, I’m happy to champion the first in Neon Yang’s Tensorate series. A YA novella set in a non-Western fantasy landscape, this book tackles issues of gender identity and choice head-on, introducing us to a society where children are referred to individually using they/them pronouns, and can select one of the binary genders when they come of age or chose to remain non-binary. We see the world through the eyes of twins Mokoya and Akeha as they come into their gender expressions and their powers in a feudal, monastic society largely reminiscent of those found in Asian history.

It’s always great to get a reminder to be true to yourself when you don’t fit in easily.

This dystopian YA novel has good worldbuilding and a rich lexicon of new words that gives it that idiosyncratic futuristic feeling. The protagonist is a barely fifteen-year-old girl “bender”—someone who doesn’t feel comfortable in their assigned gender and doesn’t hide that. She has been sent to a camp that will determine her future, making sure she doesn’t end up in the “Blight”, a huge concentration camp for society’s undesirables.

But for a good outcome, she must conform, and her fellow campers and new experiences make that confusing and difficult. The ending is fairly open, but she has clearly learned to be true to herself and reject arbitrarily assigned labels.

Professor Paglia’s books are a tad academic for most people’s taste, but I find it important to feature her here. In this book, she stirs up important questions around gender and sex. It seems that we are steadily moving towards a growing acceptance of diversity to the point in which androgyny is even becoming a desirable trait. Being genderfluid myself, I’ve sometimes asked myself these questions daily. In order to have more spiritual sex, it’s important that we accept and acknowledge our desires, and I’m all for supporting the full expression of feminine and masculine in both women and men. On top of this, Paglia is a real provocateur, which I like and can relate to. Truly one of the bright minds of our time.

Among the more insidious and tragic consequences of colonialism and its assimilationist policies is the eradication of indigenous conventions around gender and sexuality. In many indigenous communities, gender and sexuality do not operate in as binary as a fashion as they do in European societies.

Highlighting these historical and contemporary possibilities for what we might call queer identities (or “two-spirit” in some communities), is Joshua Whithead’s breathtaking “Indigiqueer” anthology, Love After the End. Contributors amend the provocation, the future is indigenous, to consider how the future is also queer or indigiqueer. 

Weaving between the traditional and the contemporary, the past and the future, the ancestral and the posthuman, these tales of queer joy, love, and thriving remind us of what was lost and what is still possible as we strive toward mass decolonization.

This was the first published book I read with a nonbinary main character. That alone makes it one of the most personally important books I have ever read. The fact that I encountered it just after writing my own novel about a nonbinary figure skater made this beautiful book hit even harder.

It showed me that even though two books may have the same hook and some of the same basic ingredients, the execution can be diverse and take those ingredients in directions you never expected. It sparkles, both in its descriptions of figure skating and in its nuanced and honest exploration of identity. It also makes for an excellent read-aloud book.

I love this stupid, sexy mess of a book.

Oh, you think you know what the Canterbury Tales is about? No. You don’t. It’s about shagging in pear trees while your blind husband sits below you. It’s about weird non-binary people that your travelling companions don’t know what to make of. It’s about love and death and meaning and fart jokes. The Canterbury Tales is a brilliantly alive, deliciously bawdy, surprisingly disarming work that will help you understand what regular people in the Middle Ages wanted to read about.

For bonus points, get a hold of the Riverside Chaucer translation because medieval historians like to be thingy about that. I’ll take any version as long as you read it, though. 

This graphic novel fits into one of my favorite categories, hopeful science fiction. It’s got fantastic world-building, gorgeous art, and very interesting things to say about power dynamics and perpetuating harmful cycles. It also has complex and interesting young trans characters as the two leads.

My favorite thing about it is how it defies the reader's expectations for a love story, and instead features two characters blossoming and growing through their friendship.