If you grinned at how The Color of Magic skewers barbarian heroes, dragon‑riders, and even the literal edge of the world, you’ll love how The Princess Bride cheerfully punctures grand quests and storybook destinies. The way Rincewind stumbles from the Wyrmberg to Krull echoes Westley’s hop from swordfight to cliffside duel to Fire Swamp—each set piece twisting a familiar trope for laughs. And like Twoflower’s cheerful tourism through danger, Goldman’s narrator winks at you the whole way, turning swashbuckling peril into a running joke without losing the fun of a daring rescue.

Did the dry asides and cheeky footnotes in The Color of Magic—from the perils of insurance in Ankh‑Morpork to the Luggage’s man‑eating loyalty—make you cackle? The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy runs on that same manic, witty fuel. Arthur Dent is swept from catastrophe to catastrophe much like Rincewind fleeing the Temple of Bel‑Shamharoth, while the Guide’s entries riff on the universe the way Pratchett riffs on magic and guilds. It’s that perfect blend of chaos, cosmic scale, and the kind of throwaway joke that sticks with you.

If you enjoyed Rincewind and Twoflower pinballing through loosely linked escapades—from the burning of Ankh‑Morpork to dangling off the Disc’s rim—Leiber’s Swords and Deviltry delivers that same episodic thrill. Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser tumble from one caper to the next in Lankhmar’s alleys and sorcerers’ lairs, balancing danger with sardonic banter. Think of the Luggage showing up at the worst possible moment; Leiber’s stories have that same improvisational energy, where wit and nerve matter as much as steel or spells.

If Rincewind’s reluctant, self‑preserving streak—bolting from dragons, bargaining with Krull’s officials, and somehow surviving—was your catnip, meet Johannes Cabal. He’s a sardonic necromancer who cuts deals with the devil and runs a demonic carnival to win back his soul. Like Rincewind, he’s no shining paragon; he’s pragmatic, slippery, and very funny when things go sideways. Where Death pops up for Rincewind with a quip, Cabal spars with devils and bureaucrats with the same deadpan bite.

If Pratchett’s footnotes—on octarine, Unseen University, or the economics of Ankh‑Morpork—were half the fun, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell will delight you with scholarly notes that blossom into stories of vanished roads and capricious faeries. It mirrors the way The Color of Magic lets a footnote about, say, an iconograph become a whole comic riff. Here, the annotations grow the world while keeping a dry, British wink—like Death’s cameos—lacing the grand magic with wry understatement.