The past few years, “cozy” has been a trend within speculative fiction. Readers are tired and stressed and just want to have a nice time. Some of them have been burned out on grimdark stuff like Game of Thrones and are ready to read a book where nobody dies and nothing genuinely terrible ever happens.

But it’s a slippery little fish, the word cozy. Try to write a normal adventure story, and people call it cozy (derogatory) because no main characters die. Try to write a cozy story, and people say it isn’t cozy enough because angsty backstories got briefly mentioned. And there’s a certain amount of politics behind the discussion: some people think cozy is irresponsible escapism, that people shouldn’t hide from the tough issues. Others think that writing dark, messed-up fiction is proof that you’re messed up yourself.

Personally my own feelings are mixed. I like books that are low-stakes and heartwarming, but at the same time, I’m easily bored if there’s not enough plot. So the word “cozy” is neither a turnoff nor a draw for me. I need to know more about the book first.

The minimum standard

If we were to make a minimalist definition of cozy fiction, I would say that it has to be about smaller problems. No dark lords taking over the universe; the stakes here should be personal, like a relationship plotline or a character accomplishing a dream. The general vibe should be positive, with no torture, gore, assault, or significant physical peril. And there must be a happy ending.

Basically, a lot of what you do to make a traditional SFF book work, you avoid here. I have been told many times that the stakes have to be bigger. My own character’s life isn’t enough. We need to put large numbers of people at stake, maybe the whole universe. There has to be action in every chapter. People should die, just to show the reader it’s a real danger. But in cozy fiction, you break these rules on purpose. You don’t want to make the reader that stressed this time! You want to reassure them that this is the kind of book that won’t kill off their heroes or take them any dark places.

Cozy is usually slice of life: you take some normal people in a normal (for your universe) situation, and you work through their problems.

A stricter definition

I find, though, that readers don’t find the above quite covers it. The trouble is that this trend began with Legends and Lattes, so a lot of writers are asking themselves, “Well, what is it that people liked about Legends and Lattes? Let’s do that.” While readers review things with “I thought it was going to be like Legends and Lattes, which it was/wasn’t because…”

This is probably where we get the trend of restaurant plotlines. Some unlikely friends start a restaurant, building community within the area, overcoming obstacles, and creating a found family.

There are also a few other expectations. While many romances fit everything I’ve said in my minimal definition, cozy usually doesn’t center romance. It might be there, but it’s not the point. There’s never smut. I’ve found that, when there is a romantic relationship, it’s either completely free of suspense and drama, or it’s well-established and without problems. Apparently, many cozy readers find relationship conflict is too stressful for the genre.

Some cozy stories are about healing trauma. Yet even that receives some criticism. Is it really cozy if we have characters angsting about something that happened in the past? If there are mentions of past violence, does it ruin the vibes?

But I’m not endorsing this tighter definition of cozy. Some readers certainly seem attached to it, but it just seems too narrow for me.

Broadly cozy

The cozy books I have loved most have had a certain amount of contrast. Think of the difference between a cozy night by a fire, and coming in out of the rain to that same setting. I like to know the bad old world is out there, and that we’re safe from it. That I might quarrel with a loved one, and it’ll be okay.

Becky Chambers writes some of my favorite cozy books ever. There’s plenty of bad stuff lurking in the corners of the book, or in people’s backstories. The point is that they’re going to be okay now. The characters are going to be their best selves and show up for each other and make everything all right. That’s the point, to me.

I like romance in cozy books, and I wouldn’t mind smut either, if it suits the vibes. I need some amount of tension, just enough to keep me turning pages: interpersonal conflict, worries about how we’ll handle some external situation, emotional healing. Just no genuinely evil villains, and no problems that have to be solved with violence. We could have a book about dealing with a natural disaster or a just-off-page apocalypse.

I don’t actually think starting a restaurant is quite enough plot for a novel. Once it’s gotten off the ground a bit and people are enjoying it, where is there for the plot to go after that? But I could imagine stakes that made a restaurant enough of a plot: say, if the neighborhood is facing hunger or some other problem that can be solved with a restaurant. Or maybe the restaurant is a cover for money laundering, but oh no, it’s accidentally successful, now what?

In food, there’s a difference between sweet and cloying. Often that difference is a little zip of lemon or salt. In the same way, I don’t think authors should be afraid of setting off their cozy vibes with some romantic yearning, an argument with a friend, or an outside threat to the heroes’ dreams.

Cozy vs. hopepunk

A lot of what gets defined after the fact as “cozy” is actually more hopepunk. Hopepunk isn’t expected to be slice-of-life. Instead, these are adventure stories which tend to be more hopeful, where problems are solved with people being brave and kind. They have optimistic vibes, even while grim things are happening.

Murderbot sometimes gets called “cozy,” but readers who come expecting a coffeeshop story would be disappointed. There is peril, a lot of it. There’s gore. Periodically Murderbot tosses out awful tidbits from its traumatic backstory. But many of us still find it comforting, because all the main characters are good people being kind to each other, solving their problems with virtue instead of cynical calculation.

Unfortunately, I don’t find this term is as well-known as cozy, with the result that people looking for it keep finding coffeeshop stories, and people looking for coffeeshop stories sometimes get directed to Murderbot.

I once got a review for Bisection which annoyed me some, because they called the book cozy, even though there are two murders, a kidnapping, a little light torture, and the threat of nuclear war. They pointed out that everything turns out pretty okay for the heroes, that everyone’s pretty nice to each other. But then there was also a sex scene, and that threw them, because they didn’t expect that in a cozy book.

(Another day I will rant about why stabbing a sensitive girl with a pair of scissors wasn’t enough to break the cozy vibes, but a tender, rather vague intimate scene was. But not today.)

I think this problem could be solved by instead categorizing it as hopepunk. It very much is about most people being genuinely decent, about problems that are solved by the main characters fixing things and having conversations rather than hurting anybody, about a better future. But that’s markedly different from it having only low stakes and a slice-of-life plot. Given that genre labels exist to direct readers toward the kinds of books they will enjoy, and to set their expectations for the book once they start, the cozy label just doesn’t work here.

Books I liked, cozy and otherwise

Here’s a few books I liked that have been on the lighter side. Some I’d categorize as cozy, some not.

Paladin’s Grace: I described this once as “the coziest romance you’ll ever read with severed heads in it.” T. Kingfisher just has a knack for writing about horrifying things in a way that makes them not so scary. Technically I believe all the Saint of Steel books are romantasy. But they’re about mature adults solving real problems alongside being horny for each other, which makes them more my speed than A Court of Thorns and Roses or whatever.

A Closed and Common Orbit: Some of Becky Chambers’ books are almost too cozy for me, in that they don’t seem to have very much plot. This one hit just right for me. In the flashbacks, a child is in real and upsetting peril—we just know she’s okay because we see her as an adult as well. In the main timeline, an android is struggling to pass as human in a world where her existence is illegal—but her struggles are more “trying to be normal at a party,” rather than there being anyone actually after her.

The Galaxy and the Ground Within: Another Wayfarers book. In this one, the main conflict is simply some delayed flights out of a spacesport. But that makes a great opportunity for characters to deal with their problems: rejection by their people back home, or prejudice against one another. I read it on an airplane and was overwhelmed by the thought of the general trustworthiness of strangers, the way people can band together, the way we can choose to be our best selves in a difficult moment.

Into the Riverlands: This goes to show an important point about cozy books, which is that if you subtract plot tension, you’ve got to make up for it with something else. That can be humor, philosophy, beautiful descriptions, but it’s got to be something. In this one, I liked the prose and the vibes so much that I didn’t mind that much of the book was just wandering around. There was definitely a bit of plot though, I just didn’t see it coming till near the end when everything started getting tied together.

A Psalm for the Wild-Built: Chambers again, but this one is in a different series. It’s the coziest of them all: it takes place in a solarpunk utopia, and the main character’s issue is…wanting to hear a cricket. That’s it, that’s the adventure. And yet it’s pretty good! It has reflections about community, the meaning of life, and so on.

Light from Uncommon Stars: This takes place in the real world, but there’s both a supernatural demon and some aliens. There are genuine big problems in the story, but they’re solved with music, kindness, and a donut shop.

Of Monsters and Mainframes: Another book I wouldn’t define as cozy. Hundreds of people die over the course of the book, bloodily, and children are in emotionally-vivid peril. But it still feels so cozy at times, I think because of the kindness and care the main characters show each other. The main character is just an autopilot, with no real capacity to interpret pictures or sounds, and somehow she’s got to save her crew from horrible monsters. And in the process, she develops friendships and the capacity to love. I really, really enjoyed this book. But I’d call it hopepunk.

Quarter Share: This series was cozy long before cozy was a thing. The main characters travel on a trading ship, make coffee, find products to trade on the side. It’s just warm and pleasant.

Other cozy books

These books I haven’t finished. Unfortunately, cozy books don’t grab me the way action books do, so even when I’m enjoying them, it’s hard to scrape together the oomph to finish. A few others, I haven’t even started, but they sound really good. I’m listing them so cozy fans can see a few more genuinely cozy things to try out.

Legends and Lattes: This got such acclaim that I had to try it. And the idea was definitely sound. However, by the halfway point, I lost momentum. Nothing was happening. Yet I know other people love this book, and therefore I’d still recommend it—for people who like it very cozy and low-stakes.

Can’t Spell Treason Without Tea: I didn’t get very far into this one before I realized it was exactly like Legends and Lattes. It’s just starting a restaurant. That’s it. I am just straight-up not that interested in restaurants. I have worked at a restaurant for exactly one shift and ended up spilling red wine all over a lady’s white pants and driving home in tears. So it’s just not a cozy setting for me! It would be a very stressful job in real life!

Automatic Noodle: When will I learn to stop picking up books about starting restaurants? I also felt very annoyed by the take on robots in this book. It turns out I only like robots when they’re autistic-coded. But if you want to read about robots making noodles in near-future San Francisco, that’s what this book is about.

A Slice of Mars: Surely I will like a book about a restaurant if it’s a pizza place on Mars, right? So far, promising, but I’m only a little way in so it’s too soon to say.

Glunda the Veg Witch: This one was recommended on BlueSky. The excerpt reminds me of Granny Weatherwax of the Discworld books, which is an advertisement for sure!