65 books like The Zoologist's Guide to the Galaxy

Here’s another great resource for the armchair novelist.

This military handbook has all the information a character might need to survive in many different terrains. From shelter to food, wound dressing to vehicle maintenance, it covers a vast array of subjects and even has sections on urban survival and terrorism added to the later editions.

It’s a great reference for designing characters who understand the challenges of survival, as well as ignorant ones who don’t have a clue, and is full of wonderful setting details and story ideas to inspire a writer. 

How do you write violent scenes in a compelling way when you have no personal experience in that arena?   

Drawing on a lifetime of experience with violent individuals and institutions, Miller explores the concept of how violence works: not only the act itself but how human beings respond to it. The text covers many different weapons and situations, all with an eye toward providing the kind of information that will help make a writer’s violent scenes ring true.

It’s a dark read, to be sure, but a fascinating one, and its value can’t be overstated, especially to those of us whose most physically stressful experience is struggling to get the lid off a can of coffee creamer.

Poisoning is a complicated business. Your character needs to know what poisons are available, along with their toxicity, method of administration, reaction time, symptoms, and treatment.

This book offers all that information and more in language that you don’t need a chemistry degree to understand. From classic poisons to common household substances, natural venoms to street drugs, and pesticides to medical compounds, this book offers detailed information on all facets of the art of chemical assassination.   

Need some monsters to inspire you? A bizarre creature from primitive folklore, perhaps, or a quirky gatekeeper from the 13th level of hell?

Though the market abounds with books on the subject, this is my favorite. Bane presents nearly 3,000 descriptions of supernatural creatures from the “real world” (no gaming monsters), drawn from a stunningly diverse array of time periods and cultures as well as biblical tradition. Each entry details the name, appearance, powers, and proclivities of a given entity, as well as instructions for how to deal with it. Source material is noted so you can follow up on your own,  and an index and bibliography are provided.

While there are many books on the market that feature lists of monsters, this is a serious research book with a wealth of well-organized inspiration for writers of fantasy, horror, and supernatural fiction.

Honestly, I couldn’t put this book down. I read Rogue Elements during a summer vacation on a lovely North Sea island and I had to force myself to have a break and go out for some bicycling and beach fun.

John Jackson Miller just had me hooked with his tale of dashing (but also sad and often drunken) ex-Starfleet officer Cristóbal Rios – introduced in Star Trek: Picard – living through a hilarious adventure while at the same time trying to find a new purpose in life after being cashiered out of his career because of some fishy diplomatic affair.

Grumpy gangsters, a dangerous woman, strange new crew members, and the hunt for a secret treasure keep Rios on the run throughout the whole novel. 

The first known object from interstellar space, ʻOumuamua, plunged through the solar system and headed out again in 2017. It was seen by telescopes for just 17 days, enough to tell that it wasn’t as the saying goes, a bird, a plane, or Superman. Perhaps it was a space vehicle or other artifact from distant aliens, an older and superior civilization than ours. At least that’s what the brilliant Harvard astrophysicist Avi Loeb suggests. I think his theory is soundly based on the limited observational data, but that doesn’t make it true, and other astronomers won’t touch aliens with a ten-foot telescope. They offer alternative explanations none of which clearly fit the data but that smack less of science fiction. Inquiring minds should read the book and decide for themselves.

This book is the best and most accessible touchstone for Lovecraft’s particular brand of cosmic horror and, certainly, the sheer madness he exposes us to by the end of the book is something to behold.

But where it really shines is in the opening chapters, where it at first seems like this is to be a simple Arctic expedition. The isolation and bleakness of the setting combine perfectly with the unknown to make some of the most ambitious ideas in all horror become fiercely believable and all the more terrifying for it. 

This nonfiction book takes a hard look at humanity’s various attempts to craft a universal language that might, just might, let us one day communicate with extraterrestrials.

What symbols could we use? What encoding? How would we start, and once we’ve started, what would we talk about?

These aren’t easy questions, and we probably still don’t have all the right answers, but I loved the way Oberhaus walked us through the work that has already been done and the directions that future work might take.

So you want to find aliens. But where to begin? Digging up microbial neighbors on Mars? Encountering big-brained, tentacled beings in flying saucers? Searching for far-flung habitable exoplanets?

This compilation of essays from astrobiologists, AI experts, psychologists, planetary geologists, and NASA scientists (plus more!) gives the alien-hunter a well-rounded, thoughtful start for their search.

Some of the essays will leave you laughing out loud; others will remind you how much we still have to learn about the universe. I came away feeling both smarter and smaller, and I enjoyed every minute of it. 

For a novel on the list, I have only read once, and a long time ago, I still keep thinking about this. It asks: Can we learn about the universe without first learning about ourselves?

It also goes into the limits of science. There are simply things science cannot tell us. The planet’s colloid sea is nonlinear, the math unsolvable, and the alien is potentially hostile. I choose to believe the planet is attempting to heal some deep-forgotten hurt of the narrator. What is the purpose of bringing up a disastrous relationship? To heal or learn? Or perhaps the alien is simply toying with them?

I read it soon after changing my life's trajectory and attempting to be more peaceful, creative, contemplative, and less frantic or consumptive. I need to read this again.