If Thomas Learmonth’s seven years under the Queen of Elfland and his truth-gift spoke to you, you’ll love how Tam Lin threads the same ballad bones through a modern college’s loves and riddles. Janet must face the Queen on All Hallows’ Eve and hold fast through her lover’s terrifying transformations—echoing the perilous choices Thomas faces under the Hill. The way Kushner reworks a song into lived lives—through Gavin and Meg’s grounded voices and Thomas’s perilous glamour—finds a wry, bookish, yet haunting mirror in Dean’s story of plays, poetry, and a rescue from Faerie at the exact midnight moment when it matters most.

You watched Thomas ride away with the Queen of Elfland and return changed, bound by the tongue that cannot lie. In The Perilous Gard, Kate Sutton follows a trail of vanished youths into the Folk’s underground halls, where Christopher is held for a ritual sacrifice much like the tithe Thomas narrowly skirts. The intimate stakes—one life, one bargain, one perilous night—echo the hush of Gavin and Meg’s cottage as they wait for Thomas. It’s that same mix of mortal courage, eerie rites, and the cool, uncanny logic of Faerie that made Thomas’s underworld so irresistible.

If you were drawn to the close, hearthside feel of Gavin and Meg watching Thomas’s fate unfold, The Changeling Sea offers that same intimate hush. Peri curses the ocean in her grief and tangles herself with Prince Kir, a sea-mage, and something ancient beneath the waves—no courts or armies, just a few souls changed by magic’s touch, as Thomas was by a single apple and a single vow. McKillip’s quiet revelations land like Kushner’s: personal, luminous, and deeply human.

If the lyrical cadence of Thomas the Rhymer—from the Queen’s riddling speech to the ballad’s spell—enchanted you, Dunsany’s The King of Elfland’s Daughter will feel like stepping deeper into that same spell. Alveric wins Lirazel from Elfland with a rune-forged sword, and the borders between the fields we know and Faerie blur with sentences that sing. Where Thomas returns with a truth-curse and star-silver memories, Dunsany leaves you with the ache of two realms yearning toward each other in language as shimmering as glamour itself.

Kushner’s tale breathes through shifting voices—Gavin’s plainspokenness, Meg’s keen watchfulness, Thomas’s haunted glamour, even the Queen’s. The Brides of Rollrock Island uses a similar chorus: islanders speak in turn as Misskaella calls selkie wives from the sea, binding men in beauty and sorrow. As Thomas’s gift of truth ripples through his village, the selkie enchantment reshapes Rollrock’s families in intimate, conflicting testimonies. That layered, many-voiced spell will feel wonderfully familiar.