I figured out I was asexual in the early 2000s, back when the official definition in the dictionary related to the biological reproduction of plants and spores. This wasn’t the easiest time to be ace. There were no ace characters on TV (unless you count “Sebastian the Asexual Icon” on The Late Late Show, which was meant to be ridiculous), no ace characters in movies or in books that I could find, no ace Meetup groups or book clubs or Discord channels. Low sexual desire was pathologized as a disorder by the DSM, and I had to attend couples counseling with an asexuality info sheet in my hands. (Even then a therapist accused me of making up the orientation.) The few people I shared my identity with had no idea what I was talking about, and I learned pretty quickly that it was easier to not bring it up. What there was: the Asexual Visibility and Education Network (AVEN), an online community founded in 2001 by David Jay that let people like me know that nothing was wrong with us, despite all the messages we kept receiving from the world.

Fast forward to now. There have been many positive developments in asexual and also aromantic awareness. The DSM-5 has officially recognized asexuality to be an orientation rather than something that needs to be treated. The A (for asexuality, aromanticism, and agender) was, in theory, added to the LGBT alphabet—though often the A is still left off or reduced to a plus sign in a move that can feel like erasure.

Merriam-Webster updated its definition of “asexual” to include “not experiencing sexual desire or attraction” and “aromantic” was added in 2019. Currently on Meetup.com, there are 35 aspec groups—representing the spectrum of aromantic and asexual identities—with 21,251 members across the world. And in January 2023, a beautiful and serious Lithuanian film about an ace-allosexual relationship called “Slow” won the Best Directing Award in the World Cinema Dramatic category at Sundance. But in literature, especially in the type of fiction that tends to be well-publicized (like literary fiction from Big 5 publishers), I’m still waiting for writers to explore themes that decenter the role of sex in our stories while expanding our notions of what love looks like.                 

My collection of stories, Portalmania, places asexuality at the center of most stories and in the shadows of all of them. It’s a different version of asexuality than the one I see most often on social media and in other public spaces, where being ace can look like a younger person focused on queer joy and ace pride. In Portalmania, asexuality is inhabited by middle-aged women in mixed-orientation marriages who are in direct collision with the standard narratives of compulsory sexuality and heteronormativity. My portrayals of love, committed relationships, and sex are difficult and messy and can be intentionally upsetting to read because I want to show how traditional narratives and traditional scripts and traditional definitions of love are confining, not only to asexuals, but to everyone. 

This reading list contains several of my recommendations, but simply and sadly, I wasn’t familiar with enough ace books to fill a list on my own. I asked a few authors and thinkers involved with the ace community for some of their recommendations to include as well.

Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex by Angela Chen 

Written with both ace and non-ace readers in mind, Chen’s Ace is essential reading. Part personal exploration, part reporting, part social commentary, this book proves, hands down, that the ideas at the center of asexuality should be of interest to all of us. Ace encourages us to recognize what constraints exist around our current ideas of intimacy and relationships and then to imagine what could happen if we let those constraints go. I know the world would be a better place if everyone read this book.  

Beautyland by Marie-Helene Bertino

This novel follows Adina Giorno, who may or may not be an alien, as she struggles to understand humanity while reporting back her observations to a mysterious presence on the other side of a fax machine. Adina never calls herself asexual—rather one of her friends labels her that way—so at first I was hesitant to include the book in this list. But putting labels aside, Beautyland is certainly the story of someone who experiences relationships, sex, and love differently, and Bertino captures in compassionate detail the confusion of trying, in current society, to date and be in a relationship and experience some kind of intimacy if you’re not interested in sex. I particularly appreciate the portrayal of a mixed-orientation relationship between Adina and another man, as well as the ample room that’s given to exploring Adina’s deep rich friendships. 

Every Heart a Doorway by Seanan McGuire 

For portal fans like me, this novella (the first in a series) has such a fabulous premise: Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children is a boarding school for young people, mostly girls, who have unhappily come back from portal worlds. They’ve been sent to the school by their frustrated parents who won’t accept how their children have changed. Part of the delight of Every Heart A Doorway is hearing about all the different worlds the students have lived in and loved. But this book is also an important one in terms of asexual representation. Published in 2016, McGuire’s book has been called “one of the first mainstream books to explicitly use the term “asexual” for one of its characters and has been one of the most prominent books with asexual representation in SFF since its release” (Lynn E. O’Connacht, Book Smugglers). It’s certainly the first book where I met a character who was aware she was asexual. I think McGuire does a fabulous job portraying her diverse cast of characters with humor, interest, and complexity.

All Systems Red by Martha Wells

The narrator of All Systems Red (who calls itself Murderbot) is a wry, socially awkward, agendered, self-hacked security cyborg who enjoys watching soap operas (though it fast-forwards through the sex scenes due to boredom). Murderbot’s current assignment is to watch over a group of researchers on an unnamed planet. Soon some anomalies are noticed on the planetary maps, and Murderbot has to figure out what’s going on while trying to protect the team of scientists it has grown to care for. In less confident hands, the robot-as-asexual trope may have come off as irritating or wrong. But Murderbot is one of my favorite narrators ever. Funny, shy, self-aware, and occasionally snarky, it connects with people only in its own way, forming some moving and unique relationships. All Systems Red leans a little toward “hard” science fiction— think drones, implants, hubs, transports, hatches—but I still believe typical literary readers who don’t often read sci-fi can deeply enjoy this one.  

Gender Queer by Maia Kobabe

This graphic memoir relates Maia’s experience growing up as e (Maia uses e/em/eir pronouns) tries to figure out eir identity: what gender e is, who e’s attracted to, what attraction means to e, how e feels about sex, and what sorts of relationships e wants to have in eir life. One of my favorite passages is when Maia describes the relief of realizing that eir life can reflect who e actually is. “I remember when I first realized I never had to have children. It was like walking out of a narrow alley into a wide open field. ‘I never have to get married.’ ’I never have to date anyone.’ ‘I don’t even have to care about sex.’ These realizations were like gifts that I gave myself.” The book, to me, is often about language—specifically the words we use to describe ourselves—and how language can either constrict or expand the possibilities of identity. Since its publication in 2019, Gender Queer has gone on to become one of the most challenged and most frequently banned books in U.S. public schools. 

Earthlings by Sayaka Murata (English translation by Ginny Tapley Takemori)

“Earthlings is a genre-bending novel that combines a coming-of-age story with a homecoming tale, blending dark humor with a magical realism that becomes indistinguishable from traumatic dissociation. Following a horrific sexual assault by her teacher, young Natsuki goes on a winding—and gruesome—journey into adulthood as she struggles to reclaim her body and find her way home to her alien planet. An asexual marriage becomes her cover as Natsuki refuses to become a cog in the factory of life that demands labor, marriage, and reproduction. The alien motif serves as an allegory for both the dissociative effects of post-traumatic stress and a sense of societal unbelonging, while Natsuki’s relationship to asexuality forces a confrontation with the significance of sexual trauma in the asexual narrative. A sinister critique of capitalism, consumption, and romantic compulsion, this book is sure to make you squirm.” Recommended by KJ Cerankowski, author of Suture: Trauma and Trans Becoming and the forthcoming Nothing Wanting: Asexuality and the Matter of Absence 

Elseship by Tree Abraham

“Elseship should be at the top of the list for anyone interested in ace literature. It’s not ace 101, it’s certainly not an explainer, it rarely even mentions asexuality. And yet, at least to me, aceness and questions of ace experience suffuse this gorgeous, inventive memoir. The skeleton is the unrequited love between the author and her housemate. The meat consists of Tree’s exploration—both erudite and emotional, with diagrams and quotes and reflections—of all types of love, and what happens when feeling bursts forth, unruly and illegible, forcing you into unfamiliar territory.” Recommended by Angela Chen, journalist and author of Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex

Loveless by Alice Oseman

“Loveless is a coming-of-age story that follows Georgia as she begins university. In university, Georgia becomes exposed to aromanticism and asexuality, eventually realizing that she identifies as both. Loveless is one of the first—and still one of the only—works of fiction to explore self-discovery from an asexual and aromantic lens. It’s fun, heartwarming, and offers sharp insights into being asexual and aromantic in a world that assumes those identities are impossible.” Recommended by Canton Winer, Assistant Professor of Sociology and Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies at Northern Illinois University

Refusing Compulsory Sexuality: A Black Asexual Lens on Our Sex-Obsessed Culture by Sharonda Brown

“A historical review of how compulsory sexuality (the idea that everyone should fall in love, get married, and have kids, at the right age, with the right gender, and for the right reasons) has roots in sexism, racism, capitalism, and other systems of oppression. It helped me contextualize political trends I see in the news today. It is not just a brainy look at the world—it connects the dots between my experience and others who share the same struggles. I feel less alone and more hopeful in building solidarity.” Recommended by Luisa Chan, book club organizer for the San Francisco Bay Area Ace Meetup Group