If the way Casaubon, Belbo, and Diotallevi spin "The Plan" from Templar scraps and printer’s ephemera hooked you, you’ll love how Lucas Corso chases a satanic grimoire across Europe, piecing together clues from marginalia, watermarks, and shady collectors. Where Belbo feeds Abulafia to connect dots, Corso uses his wits (and a few dangerous acquaintances) to test whether a 17th-century text can literally summon the Devil. It’s that same intoxicating blend of archival sleuthing, occult rumor, and the realization that the story you construct might be shaping the world around you.

Did you savor how Foucault’s Pendulum turns editing, footnotes, and cross-references into an adventure—from Garamond Press’s slush pile to Belbo’s files on Abulafia? Calvino makes you the reader-detective, dropping you into ten irresistible first chapters that you must stitch together, much as Casaubon and Belbo assemble their grand narrative from scraps. The same sly wit and metafictional wink—that sense that the act of reading and arranging texts is itself the real plot—powers every page.

If the nested inventions of "The Plan" and the way Agliè nudges the trio deeper into self-made myth delighted you, Potocki’s labyrinth of linked tales will feel like coming home. An officer stumbles into dueling cabals, cabalistic puzzles, and seductive specters, each tale birthing another until the whole becomes a grand hidden design—much like how Belbo’s files weave Templars, Rosicrucians, and Jesuits into a single net. It’s the same vertigo of recursion and the thrill of discovering patterns—or inventing them.

If Belbo’s intellectual seductions and the pendulum’s final existential chill gripped you, The Magus offers a similarly heady ordeal. Nicholas Urfe is drawn into psychological theater by the enigmatic Conchis, whose staged "truths" mirror the way Eco’s trio blur play and reality. As in the Templar riddle, every answer births another mask, pushing you to question authorship, responsibility, and the ethics of making meaning—themes that haunt Belbo’s tapes and Casaubon’s complicity.

If you were enthralled by how Foucault’s Pendulum hides story inside files, commentaries, and cross-references—from Belbo’s recordings to Casaubon’s reconstructions—Nabokov’s poem-with-commentary will mesmerize you. Charles Kinbote’s notes inflate footnotes into a parallel saga of exiled kings and conspirators, echoing how "The Plan" metastasizes from editorial play into peril. It’s the same multilayered, ouroboric structure where interpretation doesn’t just explain the text—it hijacks it.