If the what‑if of Lindbergh’s victory, the “Just Folks” program, and Rabbi Bengelsdorf’s collaboration made Roth’s Newark feel chillingly plausible, you’ll love how The Yiddish Policemen’s Union imagines a temporary Jewish homeland in Alaska. Detective Meyer Landsman’s murder case spirals into messianic plots and U.S. power games—echoing the way The Plot Against America braids a family’s safety with backroom deals and public propaganda, from Walter Winchell’s challenge to the administration to the violent unrest creeping onto your block.

If you were riveted by how Lindbergh’s backroom alliances, media manipulation, and patronage (pulling in figures like Bengelsdorf) muzzle dissenters like Walter Winchell and fracture Roth’s neighborhood, It Can’t Happen Here gives you a front‑row seat to Senator Buzz Windrip’s authoritarian takeover. Small‑town editor Doremus Jessup navigates loyalty tests, informants, and the regime’s “Minute Men,” mirroring the incremental normalization that turns policy—like Homestead 42—into intimate menace for ordinary families.

If young Philip’s first‑person voice—absorbing adult whispers about Lindbergh, watching neighbors shipped off under Homestead 42, and feeling the street‑level danger of riots—pulled you in, Scout Finch’s narration in To Kill a Mockingbird offers a similarly intimate lens. Through her eyes, the trial of Tom Robinson, the mob at the jail, and Atticus’s moral stance turn town gossip into a moral crucible, much like the dinner‑table debates that shake Roth’s family.

If Philip’s coming‑of‑age is forged by national persecution—Alvin’s maiming after joining up in Canada, Aunt Evelyn’s entanglement with Bengelsdorf, and the way government programs rewire a child’s world—The Book of Daniel traces a similarly searing youth. Daniel, the son of executed spies, sifts through trial transcripts and personal histories, confronting informers and protests, the way Philip grapples with how adults rationalize collaboration and how the state reaches straight into a child’s home.

If you appreciated how Roth keeps the lens tight—staying in the Levin/Roth apartment while edicts like “Just Folks” and Homestead 42 upend their daily life—Home Fire delivers that same intimate compression. The Pasha siblings’ private choices collide with the Home Secretary’s public posture; as Parvaiz is drawn abroad and Aneeka pleads for clemency, policy becomes personal, just as Newark’s politics spill into family rifts and street‑level danger.