I love these books!

I had so much fun reading The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty. It is squarely in the fantasy genre. Not SciFi like you’re asking for. But I can’t recommend it enough.

Amina is a very rare character: she is simultaneously an older woman, a single mom, a pirate, a lover, and a legendary hero. Chakraborty does an admirable job of balancing all these different aspects of her main character’s personality. The story is bombastic and fun, the supporting characters are charming, the setting is historical and fantastic all at once. This book is incredible, I could not put it down.

I have heard good things about the audio book. I read it in text form though, so I can’t confirm that myself.

Okay. A couple of others now that I’m thinking about them.

From The Past is Red by Catherynne M. Valente, a book about an Earth swallowed by rising seas:

MY NAME IS Tetley Abednego and I am the most hated girl in Garbagetown. I am nineteen years old. I live alone in Candle Hole, where I was born, and have no friends except for a deformed gannet bird I’ve named Grape Crush and a motherless elephant seal cub I’ve named Big Bargains, and also the hibiscus flower that has recently decided to grow out of my roof, but I haven’t named it anything yet. I love encyclopedias, a cassette I found when I was eight that says Madeline Brix’s Superboss Mixtape ’97 on it in very nice handwriting, plays by Mr. Shakespeare or Mr. Webster or Mr. Beckett, lipstick, Garbagetown, and my twin brother, Maruchan. Maruchan is the only thing that loves me back, but he’s my twin, so it doesn’t really count. We couldn’t stop loving each other any more than the sea could stop being so greedy and give us back China or drive time radio or polar bears. But he doesn’t visit anymore.

Also by Valente, the opening for Osmo Unknown and the Penny Woods

Once upon a time, in the beginning of the world, a certain peculiar Forest fell in love with a deep, craggy Valley. The Forest was very dashing. For a forest. Full of tall, thick trees and soft meadows and thorny brambles and a number of clever, bushy animals. The Valley was quite the catch as well, full of great big blue stones and clover and fat black hens and orange flowers. The whole wide earth agreed it was a very good match. And so the Forest and the Valley decided to do as folk have always done and settle down together to see what they might make between the two of them. They put their heads together and tinkered with the stones and the sky and the moon and the autumn and the spring. They pottered about with mushy dirt and rainstorms and exciting new sorts of pumpkins. They went abso- lutely bonkers over mushrooms. They experimented rashly with a year boasting four hundred and seventy-eight days, rather than the usual three hundred and sixty-five. They dabbled in badgers; hedgehogs; raccoons; bears both giant and pygmy; red-, green-, and blue-tailed deer; jackdaws; owls; parrots; cassowaries; flamingos; coots; herons; and pangolins. Most of these weren’t meant to live anywhere near the Forest or the Valley, but they were young and rebellious then and cared nothing for anyone else’s rules.

I remember the book Feed by Mira Grant having an opening scene that 100% full throttle right away. I looked it up just now. It’s not quite how I remember it, but it’s good and it was a great book, so I’m commenting with the quote here.

It’s amazing what you can use for a ramp, given the right motivation. Someone’s collapsed fence was blocking half the road, jutting up at an angle, and I hit it at about fifty miles an hour. The handlebars shuddered in my hands like the horns of a mechanical bull, and the shocks weren’t doing much better. I didn’t even have to check the road in front of us because the moaning started as soon as we came into view. They’d blocked our exit fairly well while Shaun played with his little friend, and mindless plague carriers or not, they had a better grasp of the local geography than we did. We still had one advantage: Zombies aren’t good at predicting suicide charges. And if there’s a better term for driving up the side of a hill at fifty miles an hour with the goal of actually achieving flight when you run out of “up,” I don’t think I want to hear it.