I t’s deeply satisfying to discover and recognize a literary reference buried inside another book. Louisa May Alcott was a master at weaving these into her works, and though many of them are allusions to Greek and Roman myths, which, reading her books as a child, I generally knew, there were plenty I had to go look up. It’s not just classical tales that get referenced by well-regarded authors — sometimes it’s the work of their contemporaries, often it’s a biblical story, and occasionally you’ll see a fairy tale mentioned. Allusions are meant to strengthen our understanding of a moment in the story, whether it’s a way to reinforce a character’s vice or virtue, emphasize their looks, or tease out the motivation of their actions. They also serve as a way to stitch mankind together, weaving our common experience in and out of the stories we read, write, and share with one another.

Oftentimes these days, it’s difficult to make these references — even biblical ones — and count on being understood. We’ve forgotten many of the literary touchstones that everyone once knew and have to resort to pop-culture ones. All is not lost, however, and you never know how you might start repairing this knowledge gap.

I have a terrible habit of reading multiple books simultaneously, switching between them as the spirit moves me. I just finished listening to The Archer’s Cup (part of S. D. Smith’s Green Ember series), am reading He Leadeth Me, by Father Walter Ciszek, am dabbling in Alexandra Stoddard’s Living a Beautiful Life, am dipping my toe into Little Dorrit, and am entranced by Arabian Nights, selected and edited by Andrew Lang. A slightly ridiculous range, I know, but hear me out.

Arabian Nights is a classic, and many people, even if they haven’t read the full set of tales, know one or two stories from it (Aladdin and Sinbad the Sailor). I’ve read various versions of the tales over the years, and it’s made me partial to Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s stunning orchestral work Scheherazade. The namesake of this piece is the brave, clever woman at the center of Arabian Nights, and it’s through her ingenuity that evil deeds are brought to a halt in her homeland.

I had made it about a third of the way through the book when I picked up Little Dorrit, a Dickens classic that I’d started many years ago but never finished. Fewer than 50 pages in, I stumbled right into an allusion that, if I’d not also been reading Arabian Nights, would’ve made no sense to me. Who on earth are Calenders? And what story did the third one tell about ten weeping men? Thanks to my odd reading habits, I could enjoy the scene (hopefully) as Dickens had intended it.

To know the Calenders, you first need to meet Scheherazade. She is the daughter of a grand vizier who is the chief adviser to a powerful — and rather overdramatic — sultan. This sultan adores his current wife, but through a twist of fate discovers that she cares not for him. So what does he do? He has her killed and then orders the vizier to bring him a new wife. The sultan marries the new wife, strangles her the next morning, and makes the vizier bring him a new one. This cycle of terror threatens to repeat endlessly, until Scheherazade asks her father to marry her to the sultan. After much pleading on her part, the vizier agrees. And thanks to the timeliness of Scheherazade’s sister — who is instructed to stay the night in the apartment of Scheherazade and the sultan, wake her sister one hour before dawn, and beg for a story — the ingenious woman enchants the sultan with a fabulous tale. The catch? She stretches the tale out so it doesn’t finish before dawn. The sultan is so engrossed in the tale that he allows Scheherazade to live another day in order to finish it. But she is too quick for him, weaving another tale into the first one, and he allows her to live yet another day — and on and on for 1,001 nights.

This book, of course, doesn’t contain 1,001 stories, but sometimes individual ones feel endless, sweeping you away to lands full of diamonds, dervishes, and dazzling women. The stories are generally extravagant and unbelievable, but this makes them all the more enjoyable. There are hints of Queen Esther and strains of Odysseus; various Jewish and Christian characters make appearances, and even a princess of China has a role.

While some of these stories would be fine for general audiences, they are often rather violent — in a fairy-tale manner — and contain, shall we say, other material probably not suitable for younger ears. Even this telling of Aladdin has some elements and a whole second part that Disney neglected to include. Regardless, the tales are captivating and worth your time.

And those Calenders? According to the Lang version, they are three storytellers. A tale in Arabian Nights is often a story within a story within a story, mimicking Scheherazade’s efforts to please the sultan and retain her life. Enter and settle in. Let the words of this marvelous storyteller weave their magic, keeping you entranced for one night — or maybe 1,001.