7 Books That Will Haunt You Like The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

What if Addie’s endless, wandering existence had a little more structure—and by structure, I mean it was set in a whimsical, black-and-white magical, traveling circus that only appears at night, defies the laws of physics, and serves as a battleground for two dueling magicians? That’s The Night Circus in a nutshell.

Like Addie, Marco and Celia have no say in their fate. These two illusionists are bound to a magical contest orchestrated by their enigmatic (and morally dubious) mentors. They don’t know the rules. They don’t even really know how to win. They just know that they’re trapped in something far bigger than themselves. Also, like Addie, they turn their imprisonment into something beautiful.

The prose is lush, the atmosphere is intoxicating, and you’ll want to run away and join the circus immediately . This is just one of those books that leaves you feeling like you’ve woken up from a dream you desperately want to return to.

If Addie LaRue had been born into Greek mythology instead of 18th-century France, she might have been Circe —a woman cursed by forces beyond her control, exiled to a lonely existence, and forced to carve out her own power in a world that refuses to make space for her.

In Circe, Madeline Miller reimagines the infamous witch from The Odyssey, giving her a voice, a purpose, and an unapologetic refusal to be anyone’s pawn. Cast out to an isolated island after daring to challenge the gods (as one does), Circe is left to fend for herself, where she basically says, “Okay, but I’m going to become a powerful witch and occasionally turn terrible men into pigs.”

Both books give us fierce, lonely women who aren’t about to let a little thing like cosmic punishment keep them down. Like Addie, Circe struggles with her own invisibility—not in the literal, forgotten-by-everyone sense, but in the way that women are often overlooked, erased, or reduced to footnotes in the stories of powerful men. She refuses to let that happen. Instead, she builds her own legacy, claiming her own space in the world—not by asking for permission, but by taking it.

This book is a love letter to the women who refuse to be small, the ones who have been cast aside but still find a way to endure, seeking to carve identities beyond the shadows of gods and fate. If Addie’s story speaks to the quiet strength of living on your own terms, then Circe will feel like a battle cry—one that echoes across the ages.

If you loved the idea of Addie’s deal but wished she had a little more leverage, meet Miryem, the daughter of a struggling moneylender who gets so fed up with her father’s inability to collect debts that she decides to do it herself. She’s actually good at it—so good that she boasts she can turn silver into gold. Bad move, because this attracts the attention of the Staryk king, an icy, otherworldly ruler who takes things a little too literallyand demands she prove it.

Like Addie, Miryem is thrown into a bargain with an otherworldly figure who does not have her best interests at heart. But unlike Addie, who has to find clever ways to leave her mark despite the curse, Miryem read the fine print, negotiated better terms, and refused to be outmaneuvered by magical men in dark cloaks.

Novik’s novel takes classic fairy-tale themes—bargains with inhuman creatures, impossible tasks, cold-hearted kings—and twists them into something fresh, feminist, and ferociously satisfying. It has the same immersive, wintery atmosphere that makes you want to read it by candlelight, the same tension between human resilience and supernatural forces, and the same message that sometimes, the only way to win the game is to rewrite the rules entirely.

If you wanted Addie to have more control over her fate and take no nonsense from anyone, Spinning Silver is the perfect next read. Just don’t be surprised if it leaves you feeling a little more powerful than before.

You know that feeling when you wish magic were real, but then you remember that if it were, rich old men would probably hoard it like they do tax loopholes? That’s basically the premise of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. If The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue made you fall in love with the idea of magic lurking in the shadows of history, then Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell is here to transport you even deeper.

Set in an alternate 19th-century England, this novel imagines a world where magic—once powerful and revered—has dwindled into little more than academic theory. That is, until two very different magicians emerge: Mr. Norrell, a socially awkward scholar determined to control and systematize magic to make it respectable, and Jonathan Strange, a charismatic prodigy with a reckless hunger for the unknown who thinks magic should be fun and maybe just a little bit chaotic.

Naturally, this leads to some mild disasters—like meddling with forces beyond human comprehension, possibly inviting eldritch horrors into polite society, and engaging in a magical academic rivalry so intense it makes your worst group project look like a harmonious utopia.

The novel’s use of historical realism infused with eerie, otherworldly magic feels like stepping into a forgotten legend, much like Addie’s existence slipping between the pages of time. Like Addie, both men become entangled with supernatural beings who have way too much power and way too little regard for human free will. Enter the Gentleman with the Thistledown Hair—a fae-like figure who operates under the universal rule of mischievous magical entities: if you didn’t read the fine print, that’s on you. Much like Luc in Addie LaRue, he’s charming, manipulative, and ready to ruin lives in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible.

The novel is a slow burn you need to savor, but that’s because it’s building a world so rich you half expect to find footnotes in your own history books referencing the Raven King. If you like the idea of  Addie LaRue  but wish it had more Victorian snobbery and rival magicians engaging in intellectual battles,  this is the book for you. Just don’t be surprised if you emerge from reading it convinced that English magic was totally real and maybe still is.

Dorian Gray: a beautiful man who wishes to stay young forever while his portrait ages instead. Addie LaRue: a beautiful woman who stays young forever but is forgotten by everyone. Both struck a supernatural bargain, and both descended into existential despair as a result.

The key difference? Dorian goes absolutely feral with his immortality, hoping no one notices—he basically becomes a walking red flag. Addie wanders the world creating art, spending centuries trying to be remembered. But the themes are undeniably similar—eternal youth, the price of desire, and what happens when your soul gets caught in the fine print. Where Addie tries to leave a positive mark on the world through stories and inspiration, Dorian leaves his mark through debauchery, aesthetic indulgence, and ruining people’s lives just for fun.

Thematically, both books explore the consequences of living outside time, the loneliness of an existence where no one really sees you, and the terrifying realization that the things we once desperately wanted… might not have been worth the cost.

If Addie LaRue had a literary soulmate, it might just be The Shadow of the Wind. Why? Because both books whisper the same haunting truth: stories are the only way we live forever.

Set in post-war Barcelona, this novel follows young Daniel Sempere, who stumbles upon a mysterious book by an obscure author, Julián Carax, in a secret library. The problem? Someone is systematically hunting down and burning every copy of Carax’s books. Naturally, Daniel does what any book lover would do—he completely ignores his own safety and dedicates his life to solving the mystery. (I’d pretty much do the same—wouldn’t you?)

Daniel is chasing the ghost of someone who has slipped through history’s fingers, desperate to ensure that a life once lived isn’t entirely erased. There’s something deeply romantic—in the grand, doomed, cinematic way—about the idea of being forgotten and clawing your way back into the world through stories. Much like Schwab’s novel, The Shadow of the Wind is filled with atmosphere,  longing,  and art so powerful it refuses to die. 

So far, this list has been full of books that will wreck you emotionally. But what if, just for once, we let a book gently piece us back together? Enter The House in the Cerulean Sea—the literary equivalent of a cup of tea, a warm blanket, and a group of found-family misfits who will steal your heart and refuse to give it back.

Meet Linus Baker, a bureaucrat with the most “boring” job in the world (monitoring orphanages for magical children) and whose personal aesthetic is “mildly depressed but very well-dressed.”When he’s assigned to investigate a remote orphanage housing potentially world-ending children, he expects paperwork, bureaucracy, and a quick return to his deeply uneventful life. What does he not expect? Think found family, magical misfits, and grumpy men being emotionally softened by tiny chaotic children.

Much like Addie, Linus starts out untethered, but oppositely—he is a man who exists but doesn’t truly live, fading into the background of his own story. Much like The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, this novel is about belonging —the need to be seen, the power of love to reshape a lonely existence, and the quiet, everyday magic of being part of something bigger than yourself. Sure, it doesn’t have Faustian bargains or shadowy immortals whispering deals in the dark, but it does have a six-year-old Antichrist who just wants to be loved.