If Bellona’s shifting streets, doubled moons, and the Kid’s looping notebook pulled you in, you’ll love how House of Leaves turns a home into a reality-warping labyrinth. Like following the Kid as he drifts from the Scorpions’ hangouts to Lanya’s apartment with time and memory slipping, Danielewski’s nested narratives and footnotes drag you down corridors where chronology buckles and space refuses to stay put.

If the Kid’s amnesia, self-contradictions, and that manuscript that seems to eat its own tail fascinated you, The Affirmation delivers a similarly intoxicating uncertainty. As with the way Bellona makes every story suspect—whether it’s a rooftop party or a gang encounter—Priest layers diaries and testimony until you’re never sure what’s memory, what’s invention, and what the world has quietly rewritten behind your back.

If you dug how Dhalgren folds poems, found pages, and typographic play into the Kid’s Bellona—so the book itself becomes the city—then City of Saints and Madmen will hit the same nerve. Like paging through the Kid’s bracketed verse and circular notes, VanderMeer’s Ambergris reveals itself through reports, histories, and odd ephemera, turning urban exploration into an act of reading the world’s own paperwork.

If Bellona’s broken festivals, smoke-hazed horizons, and strange social rituals (from gang skirmishes to half-remembered salons) hooked you, In Viriconium offers that same feverish city-mood. Harrison’s crumbling Viriconium bends logic the way Bellona does when the Kid wanders from Lanya to Denny and back again, making every street feel like a dream you can’t quite wake from.

If the Kid’s search for self—his namelessness, bisexual relationships with Lanya and Denny, and the way Bellona forces reinvention—spoke to you, The Left Hand of Darkness channels that same intensity. Genly Ai’s bond with Estraven across Gethen’s ice mirrors the way identity and connection in Bellona are forged under pressure, asking who we are when culture, body, and memory refuse to stay fixed.