The most recommended sci-fi horror books

In Zone One, the frantic oh-*expletive* bloodbath phase of a zombie apocalypse has clicked over into something like a new normal. In lower Manhattan, our hero “Mark Spitz” mops up straggler zombies seemingly stuck in mindless loops from their past lives and reflects on the transformed yet familiar landscape. Zone One made me realize how specific streets are encoded in my own memories, and made me want to be more present in my own life, to move through the world less like a zombie.

The book that made me like robots. Okay, androids. Okay, Ancient-Egyptian-inspired hyper-advanced noble sapient beings biotransfered into soulless, dysphoric, flesh-phobic metal skeletons. To put it simply.

I loved the aesthetics of the book. Burnished silver, green, and black. Silver metal bodies with glowing emerald cores and burning “eyes”. Actinic green flashes of firing pylons and voidcraft in the night sky. A sacred tomb invaded by orks as scarab constructs and far worse things scuttle and crawl out from the shadows. An obsidian-black desert necropolis thick with obelisks and alight with gauss lamps.

Most of all, I loved how alien the book was, how inhuman – yet gradually “humanised”, with emotional and empathetic touches. Communication in this book felt unique. The “necrons” have no facial expressions or inflections of voice, so instead they found more technological ways to express emotional nuance in their new bodies: through the intensity of their core-fluxes,… show more.

If I had to use one word to describe The Rats it would be brutal.

I say this not simply because of the savage depictions of gore and other intense imagery conjured by Herbert throughout, but also the blunt and grim depictions of working-class 1970s London.

This book is so much more than a tale of man-eating monsters. I found it to be a scathing critique of social decay and the prerequisite neglect that gives rise to such conditions. To be honest, I didn’t know what I was walking into and that is why it has stayed with me. Consider yourself warned. I wish I had been.

Jack London is by far my favorite writer of youth-accessible literature, and White Fang is one of his best. My senses came alive as I read about a wolf’s struggle to survive and adapt to changes in its environment. Reading his description of a world through the experience of an animal was transformative. The Klondike became a real and deadly place, vibrant and alive.

In this novel, human beings have been nearly wiped out and scattered throughout the galaxy when a drug derived from our unusual binary brains becomes the most sought-after recreational narcotic in the universe. 

One human woman and her ragtag crew might be able to save the human race—so long as she can keep straight which reality is real: the one where she plays the hero, or the one where she’s the victim.

A wild, neo-pulp ride through a world like Star Wars crossed with the underground ZAP! Comix, the ending will punch you in the gut and remind you why we flee to fictional worlds.

Wells is one of the great early masters of science fiction, creator of The Time Machine and The War of the Worlds, but with Moreau he was also one of the masters of what David Cronenberg fans know as body horror—the gross, startling, and menacing intermingling of the human body with exterior elements.

In this case, pumas, pigs, you name it. With characters like Ape-Man and Sloth-Man, there is a definitely campiness here, but never enough to distract from the fact that it’s deeply, resonantly disturbing.  

Caitlín R. Kiernan is one of the most prolific, versatile, inventive dark fantasy and horror writers living. Her unique transgressive perspective has won her multiple awards, and her repertoire of styles is as vast as her prose is dazzling. From cosmic horror thrillers to twisted romance, she deepens and enriches every genre she engages with. This collection is an excellent sample across her wide range—and a lure to hook you and draw you deeper into her work.

I have been a fan of Gothic and melodrama since I first watched the 1931 film Frankenstein with Boris Karloff–and I was delighted to discover that the book is even better and so much more than what we’ve ever seen on screen.

Frankenstein’s monster is articulate and soulful in Mary Shelley’s atmospheric, dread-filled original novel, and his plight is all the more moving because of it. She wrote it when she was just 18 years old, still grieving over the death of her first child two years earlier. I feel her aching sorrow on every page. 

I love it when I discover a new series that captures my imagination, as the original zombie apocalypse novel Autumn did back in 2001. I also love it when a beloved series comes to a satisfying conclusion, which Autumn did with the fifth novel in the series. 

So why do I love Autumn Exodus, then? Simple. David Moody was able to revisit the Autmn universe and breathe new life into it (yeah, I know, taxi!) with his London trilogy, of which Exodus is the thrilling and equally satisfying climax.

Whereas the original series developed on a book-by-book basis, Exodus is the finale of a tightly plotted three-book journey packed with believable characters being put through hell, and I closed it after its final unexpected sucker punch with a grin on my face. 

There are certainly many different types of lists on which this book belongs. I always tell people Ghost Story is the scariest thing I’ve ever read. I was fortunate enough to relay that to the late great Peter Straub at a horror writers’ conference many years ago. Though I’m sure he would have liked praise for a more contemporary work, there’s a timelessness in the terror he evokes in this book. But that’s not the reason I include it here. It’s because I think ghosts are a form of Fate. Violence, injustice, visceral reactions—these are the things we associate with ghosts, and these are the elements that are central to the story of the punishing hand of Fate in this novel.