Piranesi | Susanna Clarke

“Perhaps even people you like and admire immensely can make you see the World in ways you would rather not.”

    Piranesi, who narrates this story through his journal entries, is the sole living inhabitant of a labyrinthine, half-ruined building he calls the House. He also calls it the World, which in a sense it is to him: he has no memory of living anywhere except in the House. It is an endless procession of half-drowned, interconnected Halls and Vestibules, with no entrances or exits, where ocean is trapped and floods beset the lower levels but also provide him with life-preserving food, tools and fuel; the top layers of the House are the dominion of Clouds and the whole structure is regularly covered by clashing Tides that Piranesi keeps a track of in order to survive their wrath.

    Piranesi has found 13 human skeletons in the House, which he religiously cares for, but the only other living person he has seen there is the man he calls the Other, with whom he has bi-weekly meetings and who irritably quizzes him on his explorations of the House. The Other is a smart man, dressed impeccably, this is contrasted with Piranesi own very shabby appearance, and is in search of the Great Knowledge, a quest in which Piranesi assists with his explorations. He is also the one who calls the narrator Piranesi, though he is quite certain that is not his actual name – but he cannot recall what that name might be, anyway.

    And despite Piranesi’s contentment with his lot, you as a reader are aware of a pervasive sense of wrongness. Over time you realize that there is more than the House, that there’s a whole world out there that this man in unaware of – and yet you cannot warn him. His innocence becomes slightly unsettling, his obliviousness frustrating, his kindness disquieting… It is disturbing how much wonder he finds in exploring the House but feels no curiosity about anything else, does not question anything he is told by the Other. There’s a hope that he loses some of his innocence before it is too late.

    The whole book is a riddle: what is it about? Who is Piranesi, the character? Where is he? Why is he there? Why is he alone? Who or what is the Other? There are clues everywhere, not least in the quotes at the beginning of the book, that the reader slowly picks up on and can further explore if the fancy strikes. It’s a story of solitude and loneliness, of isolation and cope with it. It tackles survival, innocence and evil, reverence and contemplation. It floats between being seductive and devastating, it lulls you with a sense of calm and yet there is an unsettling feeling creeping down your back the whole time.

    But there is a delight in simply inhabiting the House with Piranesi, letting him take you by the hand and show you the ins and outs of the labyrinth, teach you what to do to survive. It’s a beautifully described world, an enthralling escape with a good-natured, quite naïve guide who lives in harmony with his environment. His joy and wonder and infectious and pull you to read more of his exploits. Piranesi calls himself the Beloved Child of the House and he worships its beauty and kindness, lives in communion with it, full of gratitude for all it provides him with. The novel is like a dream, slow, strange and intensely atmospheric, unbelievably immersive and hypnotic.

    As things are slowly brought into the light with outside influence and the timely reveal of Piranesi earlier journal entries, the magical and mystical loses hold on the story and the real world creeps in. The explanations of who the main character is and how he ended up where he is are satisfactory, yet more mundane than what preceded them. Yet the book remains a twisty and surreal ride that unfolds slowly and keeps you asking for more by teasing the reader with mysteries and hints of reveals.