If you were drawn to how Mei nurses her fallen-asleep roommate Kara as Santa Lora seals itself off, you’ll love how Severance follows Candace through an equally uncanny outbreak—Shen Fever—where routines become talismans and survival has as much to do with memory and identity as medicine. Like the dream-sickness’ hush, Ma’s plague blurs work, habit, and grief, turning an emptied New York into a mirror of who we are when the world slows to a whisper.

If you loved how the story moved between Mei, sisters Sara and Libby, and new parents Ben and Annie—each offering a different lens on Santa Lora’s sleep—Station Eleven gives you a similarly shimmering mosaic. You’ll move among Kirsten on the road with the Traveling Symphony, Jeevan at the moment the pandemic hits, and Clark in an airport community, all threaded together by art, memory, and chance encounters, much like those glancing connections across the quarantined town.

If the tightening net around Santa Lora—parents whispering, schools shuttering, rumors swirling—hooked you, The Fever will, too. When girls at a high school are struck by mysterious seizures, friendships fracture and families panic, echoing the way Sara and Libby’s father spirals under pressure. Abbott captures that same intimate dread: bedrooms, hallways, and classrooms turning into pressure cookers where fear is as contagious as any illness.

If the gradual escalation in Santa Lora—first one sleeper, then a dorm, then the town—kept you rapt, The Age of Miracles brings that same patient, luminous build. As the Earth’s rotation slows, Julia watches small shifts (class schedules, friendships, family rituals) become life-altering, much like how Ben and Annie adjust nap by nap to their infant amid the crisis. It’s that exquisite, slow-burn hush where the ordinary becomes profound.

If what stayed with you was less the science behind the sleep than the inner weather of people—Mei’s quiet watchfulness, the sisters’ fraught bond, the tender fear of Ben and Annie—then Never Let Me Go is a perfect fit. Kathy H., Ruth, and Tommy navigate love and betrayal within a chilling design they barely question, delivering the same gentle, devastating intimacy that made the dreamers’ lives feel so hauntingly real.