If what gripped you in Blindness was how the sudden white “seeing” turns the quarantine ward into a mirror for human nature—the hoarded food, the extortion by the armed ward, the Doctor’s wife guiding the group through a ruined city—then Camus’s The Plague will land powerfully. In Oran, Dr. Rieux records how ordinary people respond to a civic nightmare, much as the first blind man, the girl with the dark glasses, and the dog of tears lay bare decency and cruelty under pressure. It’s the same lucid, allegorical lens on suffering and solidarity, without needing to explain the cause to make the meaning bite.

You likely appreciated how Blindness turns a nameless catastrophe into a philosophical inquiry—why sight matters, what morality means when order collapses, why the Doctor’s wife shoulders witness and mercy. Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go probes those same questions with eerie calm: Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy navigate a system that treats them as means, not ends, and the book asks, as Saramago does in the church with the bandaged statues, what dignity survives when society rewrites the rules of humanity.

If the bleakness of the ward’s tyranny, the smell of the latrines, and the ash-coated city where the Doctor’s wife shepherds her little band stuck with you, The Road offers that same uncompromising darkness. A father and son push a cart through a burned world, scavenging like the blind survivors in the supermarket, meeting marauders who echo the gun-wielding men of the asylum. Yet, as with the tenderness between the girl with the dark glasses and the boy, a fragile moral fire persists.

If you were drawn to the way Blindness builds a fraught community—the Doctor, his wife, the old man with the black eye patch, the car thief—who must negotiate food, rules, and violence inside the ward, Golding’s Lord of the Flies is a razor-edged companion. A stranded group invents order, then watches it curdle into domination and fear, echoing the blind internees’ slide from improvised cooperation to abuse when one clique seizes the only gun.

If the survival mechanics of Blindness—rationing food, venturing out for water, moving as a chain through a hostile city—kept you turning pages, The Dog Stars narrows that urgency to one man, his dog, and a cranky pilot friend guarding an airfield after a flu pandemic. Like the Doctor’s wife leading her group to a looted supermarket and a defiled church, Hig scavenges, weighs risk against compassion, and discovers that staying human is as hard as staying alive.