If you loved how Ghostwritten keeps handing the mic to a new voice—Quasar’s cult-fueled flight, Neal Brose’s Hong Kong reckonings, the London grifter’s chaos, and that confessional radio hour—Egan’s novel delivers that same electric rotation. You’ll move through Sasha’s kleptomania, Bennie Salazar’s music-industry rise and fall, and even an oral-history chapter, all echoing across time like Mitchell’s linked riffs.

Like the way a jazz record in Okinawa or a phone call to the Night Train DJ reverberates through Ghostwritten, Brockmeier’s novel passes a small diary from person to person as a global phenomenon makes human pain literally glow. Each chapter stands alone yet deepens the whole, creating that same "separate rooms in one house" feeling Mitchell conjures.

If the hints of a bodiless mind phoning the DJ and Mo Muntervary’s fugitive tech left you buzzing, Speak will hit the same frequency. It braids voices across centuries—a chatbot, a disgraced AI pioneer, a Puritan diarist—to probe memory, language, and the cost of creating minds, echoing Mitchell’s speculative whisper without hard tech overwhelm.

The way Ghostwritten flows from Tokyo to Mongolia to London to New York, letting chance meetings and stray decisions reverberate, finds an epic mirror here. Robinson follows a set of souls reincarnating through an alternate history, so a choice in one life reshapes the next—much like how Quasar’s aftermath or Neal Brose’s secrets echo beyond their chapters.

If Mongolia’s transmigrating spirit and the London drifter’s compromises drew you to Ghostwritten’s big questions—what binds a self, what we owe each other—Ishiguro’s novel offers a piercing, intimate lens. Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy’s memories unfold with the same subdued dread and tenderness, building to an emotional reckoning that lingers like Mitchell’s final notes.