So if you’re looking for a book that will make you feel understood in your bones—one that treats fandom with respect but also asks hard questions about identity—pick up Eliza and Her Monsters .
In an age where our online selves are often just as real—if not more so—than our offline ones, Francesca Zappia’s Eliza and Her Monsters hits like a gentle gut punch. On the surface, it’s a YA novel about fandom, webcomics, and internet fame. But underneath its beautiful, panel-drawn pages lies a raw, aching exploration of anxiety, creativity, and the terrifying vulnerability of being truly seen.
If you’ve ever been a quiet kid with a rich inner world, Eliza’s duality will feel like looking into a mirror. The book asks a question we’re all secretly asking in 2026: Which version of me is the real one? eliza and her monsters book
But here is the book’s central tragedy: when you build a world to escape into, you might forget how to live in the real one.
The Girl Who Created a World: On “Eliza and Her Monsters” and the Weight of Being Known So if you’re looking for a book that
Enter Wallace Warland. He’s the new kid, a transfer student and the author of the most popular Monstrous Sea fanfiction. He is also, crucially, a fan.
What makes Eliza and Her Monsters so profound isn’t just the anxiety rep—though that is painfully accurate. It’s the way Zappia writes about the act of creating. But underneath its beautiful, panel-drawn pages lies a
Just be prepared to see yourself in every single panel. ★★★★★ Trigger Warnings: Anxiety, panic attacks, public shaming, online harassment, depression. Best for: Fans of Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell, Turtles All the Way Down by John Green, and anyone who has ever felt more at home in a fictional world than the real one.
The most beautiful section of the novel comes in its third act, after the fallout. Eliza loses her fandom. She loses her anonymity. She has to sit in a therapist’s office and learn that she is not her webcomic. She is not her follower count. She is not her anxiety.
Eliza doesn’t draw Monstrous Sea because it’s fun. She draws it because she has to. The story lives inside her, a pressure in her chest that only releases when she puts pen to tablet. Her monsters aren’t just characters; they are her emotional landscape. The dark forests, the lonely towers, the sea that whispers—they are metaphors for her depression, her isolation, her desperate need to connect without actually having to speak .