If the mist over Axl and Beatrice’s Britain—and the dragon Querig’s role in keeping old massacres half-remembered—moved you, you’ll be at home in Lavinia. Le Guin lets the shadow of the Aeneid breathe through Lavinia’s voice as she contemplates a fragile new peace in Latium. Like the Britons and Saxons in The Buried Giant, her people live under stories that soothe and conceal. The book is quiet and luminous, less about battles than about how memory—and the selective forgetting that sustains nations—shapes a life and a land.

If you cherished walking beside Axl and Beatrice—their tender rituals, their doubts before the boatman, their vow to find what they once were—The Snow Child offers a similarly intimate portrait. In 1920s Alaska, Jack and Mabel’s aging marriage is reshaped by a mysterious girl who may have stepped out of a folk tale. The landscapes are hushed, the wonder is slippery like the mist in The Buried Giant, and the heart of it is two people choosing each other again and again as truth and enchantment blur.

If the amnesia shrouding Axl, Beatrice, Sir Gawain, and Wistan—and the revelation of why Britain chose to forget—stuck with you, The Memory Police deepens that unease. On an island where roses, birds, and even professions vanish from memory, an unnamed novelist hides someone who can still remember. As in The Buried Giant, the question isn’t only what was lost, but who benefits from the loss, and what love or art can preserve when forgetting becomes the law.

If you were drawn to how Axl and Beatrice’s past emerges in fragments—the boatman’s test, the monastery’s half-truths—Piranesi offers a similarly gentle enigma. A man lives in a vast House of endless halls and statues, recording tides and rituals in his journals, until clues suggest he once had another life. Like the dragon-breathed forgetfulness in The Buried Giant, the House’s serenity conceals wounds and choices; the revelations arrive softly, with compassion and wonder.

If the hush of hedgerows, barrows, and ogres in The Buried Giant captivated you more than any clash of armies, The Ocean at the End of the Lane offers that same intimate magic. A man returns to a rural lane and remembers the Hempstock women, a pond that might be an ocean, and a child’s brush with a malignant presence. As with Axl and Beatrice’s road, the journey is short in miles but deep in feeling, where kindness, forgetfulness, and old powers entwine.