If what hooked you in The Chosen and the Beautiful was the sensuous, champagne-fizz language that made Jordan’s papier-mâché magic and Gatsby’s parties feel fever-dream real, you’ll love how Gods of Jade and Shadow drenches 1920s Mexico in shimmering, myth-soaked imagery. As Casiopea tumbles into a pact with a death god and crosses a country of jazz halls and desert nights, the prose swirls with the same luxe, intoxicating atmosphere that made Jordan’s demon-touched cocktails and late-night drives so irresistible.

Loved how Jordan’s world ran on bargains and glamour—demon deals over prohibition cocktails, paper-cutting that moves like a whispered wish, and rules that feel more social than arcane? The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue centers a single, haunting pact with a dark god and lets its magic bend to longing and loophole. Like Jordan slipping between speakeasies and shadowed salons, Addie maneuvers through centuries of consequences—right down to the kind of dangerous, intimate negotiations that Gatsby’s green light could never fix.

If you relished the 1920s setting in The Chosen and the Beautiful—glittering parties where magic slicks the edges of every smile and something predatory lurks behind the music—The Diviners turns up the volume. In roaring New York, Evie O’Neill falls in with mediums, showmen, and killers as seances and speakeasies collide. The vibe echoes Jordan’s world: the thrill of night drives, illicit spirits (and spirits), and the sense that every whispered secret could wake something old and dangerous.

Jordan’s navigation of identity—queer, Vietnamese, and remade by secrets—gives The Chosen and the Beautiful its ache. The Golem and the Jinni mirrors that quest: Chava and Ahmad, nonhuman immigrants in 1899 Manhattan, stitch together a self between cultures, faiths, and desires. If Jordan’s paper-cutting felt like crafting a self in a country that would deny her, Chava’s careful restraint and Ahmad’s reckless wanderings will echo that tension, with midnight walks through Little Syria and the Lower East Side standing in for West Egg’s glittering edge.

If Jordan’s perspective—queer, Vietnamese, always negotiating doors that swing shut—was the heart of The Chosen and the Beautiful, Babel offers that same clear-eyed gaze at power and belonging. Robin Swift climbs Oxford’s translation tower where silver-worked magic fuels empire; the thrill of entry curdles into the cost of complicity. It’s the same bittersweet taste as Jordan’s invitations to Gatsby’s parties: access without safety, enchantment with a bill attached, and the dawning realization that the rules were never written for you.