The Bartimaeus Trilogy, Book One: Amulet of Samarkand

by Diana Wynne Jones

Jones shares Stroud's gift for witty banter between mismatched characters forced into partnership—here, a young woman and a vain wizard create the same kind of sparring dynamic you loved between Nathaniel and Bartimaeus. The magic system feels lived-in and practical rather than mystical, and the humor comes from character voice and situational absurdity rather than winking at the reader.

by George MacDonald

This one might surprise you—it's quieter and more introspective than Amulet of Samarkand, but it shares that same intricate magic-system worldbuilding and the pleasure of watching a young protagonist navigate a complex political hierarchy where knowledge is power. Instead of summoning demons, your protagonist must navigate court intrigue, but the satisfaction comes from the same place: watching someone outthink their opposition through cleverness rather than raw magical force.

by Neil Gaiman

Gaiman writes adventure fantasy with the same tonal control Stroud uses—mixing genuine stakes with moments of absurd humor, and populating his world with morally complicated characters who are far more interesting than simple villains. The prose has that same conversational quality, and like Bartimaeus's footnotes, Gaiman trusts readers to enjoy being in on the joke without everything being spelled out.

by Robin McKinley

Published in 1982, this is your bridge to a different era of fantasy—McKinley builds her magic system through cultural immersion rather than academic study, but like Nathaniel, her protagonist must rapidly master magical knowledge while caught between two worlds. The prose is richer and more lyrical than Stroud's, but the core satisfaction is identical: watching someone discover they're capable of far more than they believed.

by Giambattista Piranesi

This is the wildcard—it's literary fantasy rather than adventure fantasy, and it's genuinely strange in ways that might feel uncomfortable at first. But Clarke does something Stroud also does brilliantly: she withholds information about how her magical world actually works, forcing readers to piece together reality alongside the protagonist. The unreliable narrator and the slow revelation of truth will scratch a completely different itch than Bartimaeus's footnotes, but it's the same fundamental pleasure of being cleverly deceived.