Top 5 books that should be modern classics

This book is glamorous, messy, heartbreaking, and layered with questions about identity, ambition, and what we’re willing to sacrifice to survive.

At its core, it’s also a deeply moving queer love story — one that resonates long after the final page.

Why it feels like a classic:
Evelyn Hugo is the kind of character who feels larger than life and completely real at the same time, which is a hallmark of classic literature. She’s complicated, flawed, ambitious, and often unlikeable. But you also understand her, and that understanding stays with you.

Structurally, the novel mirrors classic Hollywood epics while also interrogating them. It pulls apart the idea of fame, image, and identity in a way that reflects the past and the present. There’s a strong sense that this book captures something specific about celebrity culture, queerness, and survival, while still being broadly relatable.

It also has that rereadability factor — once you know the full story, going back and seeing how everything was constructed adds another layer entirely. That depth, paired with emotional impact, is what makes this book a modern classic.

Now, I have to say that I haven’t read this book in full. But this is one of those books where the writing alone earns it a place on this list.

Told as a letter from a son to his mother, it explores identity, trauma, immigration, and queerness with a rawness that feels almost intrusive (in the best way).

It’s not always an easy read, but it’s an important one.

Why it feels like a classic:
This is very much a language-first novel, in the same way many established classics are. The prose is poetic, precise, and deliberate — every sentence feels considered. It’s the kind of book where passages stay with you, not just because of what they say, but how they say it.

Beyond that, it captures a deeply personal experience that also speaks to broader themes of diaspora, generational trauma, identity, and queerness. That ability to move between the intimate and the universal is one of the defining qualities of classic literature.

It also doesn’t shy away from discomfort. It asks the reader to sit with difficult emotions and realities, which is often what gives books their long-term significance. This feels like a novel that will be studied, quoted, and revisited, not just read once and moved on from.

Another that I haven’t read, but have heard so much about. Yellowface feels incredibly timely in a right now sense — but in a way that will age well.

It dives into publishing, authorship, race, and the idea of who gets to tell which stories, all through a deeply unreliable (and honestly kind of awful) narrator.

It’s biting, satirical, and impossible to look away from.

Why it feels like a classic:
What makes this feel like a future classic is how clearly it captures a specific cultural moment while still engaging with larger, enduring questions about identity and power.

The use of an unreliable narrator is especially effective. You’re constantly deciphering what you’re being told versus what’s actually happening, which creates that layered reading experience often associated with literary classics.

It also functions as satire, and satire has historically aged well when it targets systems rather than individuals. This book doesn’t just comment on publishing, it questions who gets visibility, whose stories are valued, and why.

It feels like the kind of book people will return to as a snapshot of this era, and keep finding relevance in.

I had to include at least one fantasy, and this one feels like it’s already cementing its place.

It’s warm, whimsical, and full of heart. But beneath that softness is a story about belonging, found family, and acceptance.

It’s the kind of book that people return to when they need comfort. (And I will be returning to in April.)

Why it feels like a classic:
This leans into something we see in many classics: simplicity paired with emotional resonance. On the surface, it’s a gentle, almost cosy story — but underneath, it’s exploring themes of prejudice, belonging, and what it means to create a home.

It also has that fable-like quality. The structure, the characters, and the tone all feel slightly removed from reality in a way that makes the story feel universal rather than tied to a specific time or place. That fairytale-esque quality that I love.

Importantly, it’s a book that readers return to. Comfort reads often become classics because they remain relevant across different stages of life. You take something new from them each time.