If what charmed you in Lud-in-the-Mist was the mischievous wit aimed at Dorimare’s prim merchants—like Nathaniel Chanticleer’s council wriggling around the truth of fairy fruit—then you’ll relish Lolly Willowes. Warner skewers the same stifling respectability with a dry smile, as Laura “Lolly” coolly opts out of her well-ordered family life and takes up witchcraft. It’s the same subversive chuckle you heard when Endymion Leer tugged at the town’s hypocrisies—only here, the joke blossoms into a liberating spell.

You loved how Dorimare tries to legislate away the Debatable Hills and their fruit, only to find enchantment seeping through smugglers’ sacks and children’s dreams. In The King of Elfland’s Daughter, the village of Erl similarly reaches across its border to wed fairy power to everyday life—and pays for it in wonder and sorrow. If Nathaniel’s struggle to reconcile law with lutes and moonlight spoke to you, Alveric and Lirazel’s tale will feel like the deep, archetypal version of that same bargain.

If the hush of Dorimare—the way fairy business hides behind leases, parlors, and guild minutes—enchanted you, Little, Big offers that same quiet crossing. As the Drinkwaters’ old house unfolds its rooms, generations drift closer to a court of unseen powers, just as Ranulph’s bite of fairy fruit nudged Dorimare’s tidy facades ajar. The magic remains offstage and undeniable, a rumor that becomes destiny, much like the whispers Nathaniel finally learns to hear.

If you were drawn to Nathaniel Chanticleer’s stewardship—the council sessions, legal scruples, and uneasy compromises as Endymion Leer’s schemes unspooled—then Maia’s grace under pressure will captivate you. The Goblin Emperor swaps Dorimare’s merchant chambers for an airship-laced court, but the heart is the same: a decent leader untangling plots, valuing kindness over bluster, and learning which traditions to honor and which to quietly defy for his people’s sake.

If Hope Mirrlees’s sumptuous sentences—those rich, slyly musical descriptions of Dorimare, its statutes, and its orcharded outskirts—were part of the spell, Titus Groan will enrapture you. Peake’s language makes Gormenghast’s rituals and corridors feel as palpable as the bylaws and legends Nathaniel pores over. And like Dorimare, this insular world is warped by a charismatic disruptor—where Endymion Leer needles civic complacency, Steerpike distorts ceremony into menace.