The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite.
To make oneself vulnerable, to open the doors of your heart and soul and allow whatever is offered to pour in takes courage. Readers do this on the regular although many will tell you that it’s not a problem. How I envy those who can read books, close the covers and shrug off the sands that settle on their hunched shoulders, their fingers, nimble in page turning in a race to The End.
I’m an emotional reader. My heart sits prominently on my sleeve at the best of times. Anything that requires even an inkling of consideration has an equal opportunity to either set me off with firecracker joy or drown me in an undulating tide of sorrow upon sorrow.
There’s no other way to explain it, really. I’m so severely affected by what I read and watch that I have to be very, very careful about both. Hence why, in answer to the ubiquitous, “Have you seen/read/heard…?” the answer is usually, “No.”
This highly selective-ness has lead me to some absolutely wonderful reads. A “New York Times Bestseller” tag or “Some-Celebrity-Has-Endorsed-This-One” announcement won’t sway me in any book’s favor. I’m a blurb reader, cover judge-er and over-all ‘does it pique my rather bizarre curiosity meter’ consider-er.
Some years ago, that meter was piqued when I ran across an enormous tome with jet black cover with a tantalizing raven emblazoned on it. “Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell” I mused. It weighted roughly the same as a cinder block and was littered with - wait for it - footnotes. Glorious paragraphs of footnotes that didn’t just embellish the story but told an entirely OTHER story that turned out to be the backstory of the elusive character the titular characters are seeking.
To say I was an instant fan of Susanna Clarke is a bit obvious. Her short story collection, “The Ladies of Grace Adieu” is based in the same world as Misters Strange and Norrell and was an absolute delight. And that was all. I was unbothered. Such genius takes time to foster new myths. I waited and I confess, I forgot.
Until “Piranesi” came out in 2020. Unfortunately that was a year of less that ideal circumstances for dreaming and the release slipped by me. When I came across it again, I hesitated. “What if it’s not as good as JS&MN?”, I feared. So I left it behind.
It haunted me. I’d see it’s alluring cover : a faun playing the pipes, standing upon a Corinthian column amidst a sea of clouds and stars. “No.” I’d wander away. “I’ll only be disappointed.”
Fast forward to 2024 and a random podcast recommendation thanks to a Spotify search on The Inklings. One of the episodes was centered around two books I’ve always been drawn to but have refused - for one reason or another - to read for myself : Umberto Echo’s “The Name of the Rose” and Clarke’s “Piranesi”.
I listened. I blocked out as many plot details as I could. To the hosts’ credit, they neither gave too much away or took too much from either story. And after their ingenious compare/contrast episode guess what I did? I went out and bought both books.
“The Name of the Rose” is an older work and, from what I’ve heard, far more involved. So I followed the podcast hosts’ recommendation and read “Piranesi” first. And oh, my friends, it broke me.
Apparently I have a knack for choosing books of a heavy, emotional quality in January. Last year, I read “The Secret History” by Donna Tartt at the start of 2024. This year, I chose “Piranesi”. Now, where TSH breaks you in ways that cannot and will not be mended, “Piranesi” does a breaking that is gentle, poetic and marvelous. TSH leaves you feeling raw and shattered (but, dare I say, in a good way? In a, “Ah, now I GET IT!” kind of way? Still, proceed with caution…nevermind, read it with wild abandon and come back and we’ll pick up the pieces together). “Piranesi” however breaks you open and leaves you raw, vulnerable, and remembering.
Like laying on the sand and letting the soft tide overtake me, I remembered what it was like to trust implicitly. I recalled what it was like to love a place irrevocably and how to wander with eyes unclouded. “Piranesi” showed me the power of gentleness and the destructive power of the Truth. It also filled my heart with so much aching, melancholy that upon finishing it, I clutched the book to my heart and sobbed.
Ask my husband. He patted my back while I cried. He’s a good man.
“Piranesi” is a mystery that builds with each and every entry. It’s odd and wonderful. It plunks you in the middle of the action with no explanation and you must wander the Halls of the House in order to piece together that which was lost and broken. And as the answers begin to dawn, you will read faster, faster, knowing what has to happen and yet not wanting it to. Not really. And then, when it does, you realize that not only did Clarke guide you gently into another adventure, she also allowed you a way back into the first.
That is mastery. That is what most fantasy novels miss. That is the major bone I have to pick with CS Lewis when one day we meet in Heaven and I get to yell at him for not allowing people to visit Narnia when they get “too old”.
But I digress… (and to be fair, that’s not the only problem I have with Narnia but…again…digress…)
You will fall in love with Piranesi. He’s beautiful in a way that a child completely consumed with a Most Important Task is beautiful. He’s the embodiment of singular passion for knowledge and truth coupled with an equal recognition of beauty and kindness. He’s gentle, innocent, open, vulnerable and the exquisite sadness you feel when you finally put the pieces together culminates in a bittersweet resignation of both melancholy and Joy.
And Piranesi will remind you to Take Notice. “Pay Attention”, he whispered to me long after I closed the book. “Really look at what’s around you and Pay Attention.” There’s wonder and beauty and kindness to be found if you’re willing to put your faith in something larger than yourself. There’s peace in both not knowing and seeking. There’s nothing to be lost from being kind and gentle and yet showing incredible strength and courage when the need arises.
“Piranesi” is one of those rare books that will never leave you. It will sit, contentedly, quietly, on your shoulder. Most people will never see it but you’ll know it’s there. You’ll be aware of the secrets Piranesi’s house bestowed upon you. They’re secrets you didn’t know you were missing but once you discover them, you remember what it is that you’ve forgotten.
Do yourself a favor : give “Piranesi” by Susanna Clarke a day or two of your attention. Go into it with blissful innocence and come out on the other side changed and yet more of who you were to begin with. I realize this makes no sense. Hopefully, in time, it will.
I know the year is brand new but have you read anything good yet? Have you ever read a book that blew you wide open and left you thirsty for more? A story that haunts you still (in a good way) and makes you long to return, only you’re afraid it can’t ever be the same? Have you read “Piranesi”? Did you like it? Hate it? Not get it? Fall in too far and now waver between worlds?
As always, there’s no right or wrong answers here. Just curiosity for the sake of discussion. Have a wonderful week and thank you for reading!