You’ve put down your book. Maybe it was a fantastic read that’s staying with you. Maybe it was terrible. Maybe it was just alright. But you need something new to read. And if you’re in the mood for science fiction, here are 20 of my personal recommendations.
And if you’re in the mood for fantasy instead, I’ve got a list for you too.
On the cover of pretty much ever book in the Expanse series in this quote from io9.com: “As close as you’ll get to a Hollywood blockbuster in book form.”
Well, they’re not wrong.
This is absolutely a blockbuster in book form, plot heavy and with lots of action. The characters are relatively straightforward, flawed enough to be interesting but not enough to distract. The world-building is solid but, again, not designed to catch your eye; keep your eye on the action, solider.
And this is by no means a criticism: Leviathan Wakes is a well-written, entertaining book. I thorougly enjoyed it, and snapped up the second as soon as I’d finished.
My biggest problem with Leviathan Wakes and the books that come after is the hard SF vibe seems at odds with the alien virus. It felt like I was reading one kind of novel and then it tipped over into another. It’s not a feeling I lost even as I made my way through the series.
This is, however, a mild complaint. If you’re looking for solid storytelling, you can’t go far wrong with Leviathan Wakes.
The problem faced by so many works of art that spark a whole new subgenre is they’re like the first child: all the mistakes get made there, and those that come after naturally do it better. Which means the books proclaimed as influential, seminal, the birth of something new, are often a disappointment.
Neuromancer isn’t like that.
Neuromancer is, essentially, a heist in a virtual-reality-Internet. It follows the story of Case, a hacker who has been cut off from accessing cyberspace. This makes life a little difficult, so his hands feel a little tied when he’s offered a job with the promise of reconnection. Even if that job is a little less than legal.
Considering Neuromancer was Gibson’s debut novel, it’s astounding how imaginative and accomplished it is. Often, reading older SF can feel like uncovering a relic from another time, like 70s SF that predicts we’ll live on the Moon by 1999. Neuromancer doesn’t feel like that at all. The sheer power of Gibson’s imagination manages to make it feel fresh and exciting decades later.
Granted, it’s a little distracting to come across terms that have become part of our daily lexicon. It’s strange to see terms like ‘matrix’ and ‘cyberspace’ used in different contexts than we use today. Unfortunately, this can pull you out of the story to begin with. You’ll just have to push through that. Because it’s worth it.
I was sold on Ann Leckie’s novel as soon as I read the sentence, “The protagonist is a person who’s also a ship.”
Everything that came after was just more cherries on that fascinating cake.
The ship in question is the Justice of Toren, which could place its AI into human-like bodies to act as agents in the real world. But the Lord of the Radch, Anaander Mianaai, ordered the Justice of Toren be destroyed. Now only one agent remains: One Esk Nineteen, or Breq.
Breq is on a journey to ask Mianaai why she ordered the Justice of Toren destroyed. And then kill her.
One particular strength, I felt, were the twists, turns, diversions and flashbacks. I find a lot of stories fumble these. Either there are narrative episodes (such as flashbacks) that are less interesting than the main action, or the main quest is interrupted one too many times. And I’m left skipping through these sections, like a Kate episode in Lost, trying to make sure I don’t miss something important hidden amongst something I just don’t care about.
Ancillary Justice (and the sequels) have quite a few of these diversions, and yet I was never bored. Everything was interesting, engaging, compelling. I devoured it all. And the two books that follow. I just couldn’t put them down.
Which is why I recommend you pick it up.
A book so influential it’s become something of a shorthand, Flowers for Algernon is a fascinating, heartbreaking, moving exploration of the human mind.
The book tells the story of Charlie Gordon, a janitor who is selected for an experiment to improve his IQ. Charlie’s IQ triples as a result. Unfortunately, this leads him to unpleasant, even painful understanding of his existence (such as realising his “friends” were actually making fun of him all along, for example). It also seems there are some problems with the science that improved Charlie’s intelligence, and it’s not clear if those problems can be solved before it’s too late.
Keyes charts Charlie’s intellectual rise and fall with such brutal, honest sympathy that your heart breaks on more than one occasion. In the hands of a lesser writer, changing Charlie’s writing skills could have ruined the novel. It could have been confusing, obtuse, hackneyed. But Keyes transitions from one to the other so smoothly you don’t see the joins at all.
Short, powerful and inspirational. I honestly believe that everyone should read this book.
It’s safe to say that Dune has had a powerful influence on my life (after all, I wrote a book about it!) and I’ve reread it many times.
One of the things I love most is the layered storytelling. When I read it as a boy, Dune was an adventure with a bold hero and dastardly villains. But there’s complexity in the depths, and Herbert subtly invites you to question this narrative, drawing attention to the use and misuse of people, beliefs, and power.
Dune was written in the 60s and, on top of that, Herbert has a style both distinctive and, at times, dense. This can put off some modern readers, so watch out for that. The beginning can be a bit of a slog for some as well; Herbert drops you right into the story and the new ideas, words, and terms come thick and fast.
But stay with it. There’s a reason Dune is considered by many to be The Lord of the Rings of science fiction: it’s hugely influential and a powerful story. Speaking of the influence of Dune…
Heir to the Empire was (sort of) the first Star Wars novel published and, to my mind, it’s never really been topped.
At the end of The Return of the Jedi, you’d think the war with the Empire had ended and peace settled upon the galaxy in an instant. But five years later, the Rebellion has become The New Republic and there are still a lot of Star Destroyers out there. And into the mix comes author Timothy Zahn’s most infamous creation: Grand Admiral Thrawn.
With all the mythologising and reinventions of Thrawn, you might find him slightly underwhelming in this book. Thrawn has become a bit too beloved, and therefore Lucasfilm has let him morph into a “good bad guy.” This original Thrawn is much more a villain with none of the “secretly a bit of a hero” retcon. I’d argue Thrawn is the purer for it.
Zahn likes spinning out different subplots and bringing them all together for the finale. I enjoy it too. It’s entertaining to watch all the pieces come together and then see Luke, Han, and Leia spot each other out the window. This arch storytelling does get a bit strained at times, and the characters even parrot lines from the films at times.
But if you like Star Wars and you’re looking for a solid adventure, this is the best place to start.
If a list of science fiction books features Orson Scott Card, it invariably recommends Ender’s Game. It is the first book in the series, it’s influential, and it’s well-known (with an iffy movie adaptation boosting its profile.) And don’t get me wrong: Ender’s Game is a great book.
I just think Speaker for the Dead is better.
Set decades after the end of the Ender’s Game, Andrew Wiggin comes to a small colony planet Lusitania. This planet is special: it’s home to the first sentient alien species since the Buggers that almost wiped out humanity. Great strides have been made in understanding these aliens, affectionately called piggies, and some of them have even become friends.
But, one night, the piggies murder the chief xenologist. And they don’t understand why everyone’s upset.
What follows is almost a murder mystery in space. But Speaker for the Dead is also a family drama, and Card’s writing has grown deeper and more resonant to match. Though he is a little given to sermonising at times, it doesn’t get in the way of the twists and turns, few of which I saw coming.
And Card wrote it in such a way that you don’t even need to read Ender’s Game if you don’t want to. Although you should, because it’s great.
If you’re the type of reader that needs their science fiction to have nuts and bolts and hyperspace, this book might not be for you. But it’s about time travel, and that’s science fiction, and so here it be.
Because The Time Traveler’s Wife is bloody superb.
In fact, it’s probably one of my most favouritest books ever.
The story follows Henry and Clare who meet and fall in love in entirely the wrong order. Henry meets Clare while they’re both in their 20s. But Clare first met Henry when she was just 6. That’s because Henry involuntarily jumps through time.
There’s nothing glamorous or adventurous about Henry’s time travel. In fact, because he arrives completely naked, it involves a lot of stress, theft, and panic on his part. And, ultimately, heartache.
Yes, The Time Traveler’s Wife over-eggs the poignancy at times. And there’s some seriously problematic issues around a man who is, in a sense, romancing the child version of the woman he fell in love with. Yes, Clare’s character is terribly passive (although that’s kind of the point, according to the author.)
But I believe Niffenegger walks the tightrope between weird and understandable weirdness. And what’s left is a novel that stays with you after you’ve finished reading it.
When you read a book about a man who creates a monster from parts of dead bodies, you don’t expect to end up rooting for the monster. But Shelley’s portrayal of the monster’s experience and pain is surprising and moving. To say that Frankenstein is the real monster feels almost trite and juvenile in 2025, but only because Frankenstein has had such an influence on culture that the idea has been rehashed a thousand times since.
What’s brilliant about Frankenstein, though, is that reading it doesn’t feel like reading a prototype for all the stories that followed in its footsteps. Instead, it’s like listening to the original word after hearing only echoes. Shelley’s writing, though of its time, is still vital and raw.
I do wish that Shelley had spent a little less time recounting Frankenstein’s life. Yes, we need to understand the origins of the monster. But I feel Shelley missed a trick by recounting (most) of the narrative in a strictly chronological format. It becomes a bit easy to give in to your desire to get to the monster stuff and skip over Frankenstein’s biography when you don’t know why it’s important.
But now I’ve told you it’s important, so you won’t have that problem.
I love this book.
One of the things I love most is it isn’t the story you think it’s going to be. Because Jekyll and Hyde is such an influential story that we all think we know it. In much the way people think Frankenstein is the monster, people often refer to someone as a Jekyll and Hyde like a split personality. Or like Bruce Banner and Hulk, a man with a monster inside that’s trying to get out.
I don’t want to spoil it for you, but that’s not what you’ll find in The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
Something to note is that the story isn’t very long. In fact, it’s often bundled in with other stories because it’s so short. This means it’s a quick read and, to be honest, I feel it’s a little too quick. While it’s nice that Stevenson didn’t overindulge in length, the story gallops along. There’s definitely room for a little deeper exploration.
But if the choice is between a taut story with unexplored potential or an overwrought, overlong, stretched out page padding turgid mess?
Well, it’s an easy choice. Stevenson made the right one.
You might have expected a Michael Crichton book on this list to be Jurassic Park. Maybe even its sequel, Lost World.
But I’m a sucker for time travel stories.
And this is a time travel story that takes us back to medieval Europe. So there’s jousting and sword fights and castles and timey-wimey stuff too.
It’s solid Crichton too, so all the characters are paper thin and go by their surnames. There are plenty of both scientific and historical infodumping. The plot is king. It’s like an action movie that tries to teach you stuff. It’s great.
(And if you’ve seen the movie, please put it out of your mind. It’s nowhere near as good as the book.)
Honestly, I only found Leech because I had an idea for a story and wondered if the title had already been used. It had; Hiron Ennes got their first. But the book sounded interesting and it was on sale, so I bought a copy, put it on my To Be Read (TBR) pile, and promptly forgot about it.
Then one day I could decide what to read next. On a whim, I picked up Leech.
And I couldn’t put it down.
Leech is a horrifying premise of parasites and secrets. And it’s a pleasure to read a book by a writer who doesn’t spoonfeed you. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve missed a few things or two as I frantically turned pages to find out what happens next. This is a book that will reward a reread.
It’s creepy. It’s sad. It’s horrifying. It’s moving. It definitely doesn’t deserve to wait around for you in a to-be-read pile.
I recently read a brutal takedown of I Am Legend that criticised protagonist Robert Neville’s behaviour, beliefs, and belittled the twist ending. And I couldn’t help but feel they had missed the point.
Neville is a survivor of a global pandemic that has decimated humanity with a virus that makes the survivors act like vampires. And we’ve seen vampire stories; the good guys kill the vampires, right? That’s what Neville is doing.
But the entire point of the novel is that Neville isn’t a good guy. He isn’t a hero. He’s a survivor. He has the loneliness and emotional trauma of having survived and the desperation of surviving. That means doing whatever his lonely, trapped mind believes he must. Matheson does an excellent job of painting a picture of that stark, lonely state.
And, unlike the big screen adaptations, he’s not a scientist. He’s a just regular joe. He’s stumbling along, trying to find answers without the training to do so.
If any of I Am Legend is flawed, it’s in its ending. It’s a good ending, but a little unsupported by the rest of the book; Matheson doesn’t really build towards it. And, in 2025, it’s a theme that has been explored a number of times now. But I Am Legend can’t be blamed for inspiring homage and lookalikes, and you certainly shouldn’t skip getting your own copy: it’s a fantastic read.
Children of Time was in my TBR for seven years and I regret not reading sooner.
Tchaikovsky’s got spiders on the brain again, and this time science fiction shenanigans have made the spiders bigger and smarter. Sentient, in fact. Cue the inevitable conflict between humans and giant spiders. Children of Time takes place over centuries, dipping into the biological and social evolution of the spiders. I was intrigued at how Tchaikovsky reused names for the spiders to give you an immediate sense of their character and place in spider society. It felt like it should have been a confusing gimmick, but was instead a clever device that make the novel’s time jumping easier to understand.
Story and ideas are Tchaikovsky’s strengths, and so he doesn’t waste ink describing trees or sunsets. His writing is clear, the most transparent window to the ideas and the story that’s driven by them.
That’s not to say there is nothing evocative about his writing. I found quite haunting the image of Avrana Kern trapped in an orbital satellite for decades, slowly wasting into simply a simulation of her living herself.
My only criticism of Children of Time is that Tchaikovsky telegraphed his ending, which pulled its teeth a little. But otherwise, this novel deserves all the praise it’s been getting and more.
Philip K Dick is a master of the short story.
If you don’t know Dick’s name, you know his work. He’s the mind behind Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep (adapted as Blade Runner), The Man in the High Castle, A Scanner Darkly. And, of course, Total Recall which is based on the short story this collection is named after.
And I truly believe short stories is where Dick’s talent shines.
Philip K Dick is another writer who seems less human, more ideas engine. Each of these short stories is taught, a distillation of yet another of the thought-provoking ideas that seem to incessantly pour from Dick’s mind.
Of course, not every story is perfect. Little Black Box, for example, feels unpolished and unfinished. But it’s an interesting look into the idea that went on to become Do Androids Dream of Electric Sleep. That adds value to what might otherwise be a frustrating experience.
Snow Crash is almost ridiculous. It’s about a pizza delivery driver for the mafia who is also a hacker. He’s called Hiro, by the way. Hiro stumbles into a plot for global domination involving viruses, genetic manipulation, and linguistic brain hacking first discovered in ancient Sumeria that ended up being the inspiration for the Tower of Babel myth.
There’s a lot going on there. Snow Crash should, by rights, stumble and fall under the almost arch weight of carrying so many ideas and themes. But, somehow, it doesn’t. Part of that is how aware Stephenson is of what he’s doing: he knows the story is bordering on the absurd and embraces it just the right amount. Like naming his protagonist Hiro.
I personally found Snow Crash a little too dense with ideas. By the time I was two-thirds of the way through I felt there was just a little too much being layered on top of everything else. Like a fifteen-tiered wedding cake, you spend as much time enjoying it as you do wondering if it will ‘crash.’
But, in the end, Stephenson sticks the landing. And Snow Crash has gone on to have a huge influence on the world. It coined the term ‘metaverse’, for example.And while Stephenson didn’t coin the term ‘avatar’, Snow Crash did popularise it.
In that sense, Snow Crash feels like a younger sibling to Neuromancer; working in another’s shadow and perhaps not quite managing the same heights, but still a big influence and a great read today.
The peril of science fiction is it eventually catches up to reality. The story is published, time goes by, and we fail to realise a moon base by 1999 or we don’t have flying cars in 2015.
So you know there’s something special about a science fiction novel when it becomes more relevant as time goes on, rather than less.
The party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears.
Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimetres inside your skull.
The past was erased, the erasure was forgotten, the lie became the truth.
Doublethink means the power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one’s mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them.
Reading 1984 in 2012, it seemed an impossible world. In 2025, the political landscape seems rather different. You get the feeling that, more than ever, a few political figures modelled their playbook on 1984.
And then convinced their followers it’s actually the other side that want a 1984-inspired future.
On second thoughts, maybe 1984 belongs on a list of horror books instead.
I picked this up purely on the strength of Tchaikovsky’s name and, of course, it didn’t disappoint.
Charles is a robot who murders his employer and doesn’t know why. His attempts to understand what happened takes him on a journey through entropy, error, and
Charles’ world is filled with a lot of AI doing pointless stuff. And few people; it’s unclear where they’ve all gone but, given the countless examples of faulty logic on display, you feel pretty certain AI had something to do with it. That makes Service Model something of a horror story.
Service Model has been described as darkly comic. I can certainly see why you might laugh, but I didn’t, probably because I find AI to be a terribly serious subject. Your perspective may differ. What you will find is a well-written, intriguing, thought-provoking novel from the clever clogs that is Adrian Tchaikovsky.
This book is often described as ‘lesbian necromancers in space’. Which, in fairness, is a pretty accurate description. But it was the combination of Moria Quirk’s narration and the following line that convinced me to read (well, listen) to Gideon the Ninth.
Gideon had prepared beforehand a ‘fuck you’ salvo so long and so loud that Harrow would have to be taken away to be killed.
Oh, language warning. This book is full of curse words. And some pretty inventive cursing.
In fact, this book oozes a voice that you just can’t help but enjoy. The story is intriguing and the characters complex, and there’s a nice mystery that you might solve before the end or you might not. But honestly, the reason that you need to read this book is that you might never find a science fiction novel with a voice so distinctive, consistent, and damn enjoyable to read.
(Or listen to. Seriously, Moira Quirk absolutely nails the narration of this book. I seriously recommend it.)
And main character Gideon is particularly well drawn. I found her instantly likeable despite (because) of her deliberately rough edges and her foul mouth. It will put off some readers, but Muir does an excellent job of teasing out Gideon’s vulnerability, her values, and even her heroism. Gideon goes through an excellently crafted journey and it’s a pleasure to join her and watch her change.
The only flaw to this book is, ironically, the voice. It’s too consistent. Too many characters speak with the same edge or the same creative cursing. It can be jarring to hear a character speak with a similar tone to Gideon.
But honestly? It’s hard to care when you’re enjoying it so much.
I read this first collection of Isaac Asimov’s robot stories on a family holiday to Dorset and it blew my mind.
If you’ve seen the Alan-Tudyk-steals-the-show-from-Will-Smith film, you’ll recognise only parts of Asimov’s I, Robot. This is a collection of 9 short stories, each of which explores a facet of Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics. Nearly every story is sorrowful in a way; the laws seem both simple and ironclad enough on the surface:
And yet these stories explore the limitations and loopholes of these stories, with the poor robots stuck, trapped, or otherwise doomed and condemned by their creators’ lack of imagination.
This is thoughtful science fiction at its best.
