Piranesi

[asakiyume]

I adored the time I spent in the presence of the narrator of Susanna Clarke's Piranesi, a man who communes with the infinite House that is his world, who takes care of so many things: recording the tides (because the House encompasses an ocean), cataloguing the statues (the House is full of statues), leaving offerings for the bones of the dead, and paying attention to the birds who share the House with him.

I knew from the beginning that we would have to learn the truth about the narrator, who reveals from the first pages that there's more to him than he himself realizes. And it's easy to see that his partner-leader in scientific endeavors, the Other, is not worthy of the high esteem the narrator holds him in.

I knew the mystery would unfold, and it did, in a satisfying fashion, but what was most important to me was how the heart and outlook of the narrator would survive that unfolding. The man who wonders this:

Is it disrespectful to the House to love some Statures more than others? I sometimes ask Myself this question. It is my belief that the House itself loves and blesses equally everything that it has created. Should I try to do the same? Yet, at the same time, I can see that it is in the nature of men to prefer one thing to another, to find one thing more meaningful than another.

The man who gathers bedding for an albatross nest, who moves the bones of the dead out of the way of flood tides, who laughs when rooks nibble at his ear to see if it's edible. The man who realizes

that the search for the Knowledge has encouraged us to think of the House as if it were a sort of riddle to be unravelled, a text to be interpreted, and that if ever we discover the Knowledge, then it will be as if the Value has been wrested from the House and all that remains will be mere scenery.

The sight of the One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall in the Moonlight made me see how ridiculous that is. The House is valuable because it is the House. It is enough in and of Itself. It is not a means to an end.

I didn't worry, though--I think the narrator's calm faith kept me calm. There's a tenderness pervading Piranesi that was utterly lacking in JS&MN. How did Susanna Clarke discover it? I don't know, but I'm deeply glad she did. And I say that as someone who loved JS&MN--they're just very different stories, and that's all right: the House has many Halls, enough to amply accommodate many kinds of stories. As our narrator would--and does--observe, "The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite."

PS: Between JS&MN and this, things that I perceive Susanna Clarke loves:

rain
mist
doors
thresholds
portals
puddles
reflections
scintillations
antiquities
ruins
inundations
vastness
trees that pierce
black feathers
birds
whirlwinds
rituals

Comments

[littlerhymes]

I loved the Narrator! Tenderness is such a good way to describe that quality in this story.

[asakiyume]

Just wonderful. A real pleasure to spend time with.

[rachelmanija]

I knew you would appreciate this.

I love almost everything on your list of things that you perceive Susanna Clarke loves. That may explain a lot.

[asakiyume]

same same same!

I loved those things in JS&MN, but that novel was very chill. This one is chilly too--the ocean! The mists! But the care the narrator shows to everything--even the corpse of a certain antagonist--shows a tenderness that equals warmth, and that warmth is everything. And I loved the ending. I loved both the continued accessibility of the house--but also the narrator's ability to bring that same tenderness into our world.

[rachelmanija]

Yes, it's very tender and kind. And even when the narrator loses his naivete, he doesn't lose his kindness.

[asakiyume]

Yeah--I really *love* that.

[threemeninaboat]

I loved it too.

[asakiyume]

Makes me so happy to know there are so many others who feel the same way!

[sara]

It is a really lovely book and I'm glad I bought it in hardcover.

[asakiyume]

In general I actually prefer paperback, which is why this reader-reaction comes as late as it does: I waited for the paperback. But I totally understand preferring hardbacks for truly precious books, and I can definitely understand this story falling into that category.

[osprey_archer]

It's such a good book! And so unlike anything else I've ever read: I think that quality of tenderness that you mention is actually quite unusual in a novel.

[asakiyume]

Yeah: I think it's hard to make compelling--I think on its own it's easy to be either sentimental or cliche or just not-noticeable/possibly boring. But here it was none of those things.

I think the strangeness of the narrator's environment, and his supreme sense of ease and at-homeness there, when it was clear that it was actually both dangerous and austere, made his tender care of things compelling. Really Susanna Clark's a genius for how she established all that in a matter of a few paragraphs. I guess part of it was his unselfconscious voice and unrestrained affection.

[shewhomust]

You make me want to read this book, which I admit I have been nervous about ...

[asakiyume]

I'd love to hear about your nervousness--I can empathize just in principle, but I'm curious what the particulars are in this case.

[shewhomust]

Reviews made the book sound very abstract, I think - in another comment you use the word 'metaphysical', so maybe it's that I find daunting.

I enjoyed JS&MN very much, so I'm afraid I won't enjoy this as much; but ultomately I found something cool, something withheld about JS&MN, and I'm afraid I will feel that here.

But it is possible to overthink these things. I should probably just stop making excuses and read the book!

[asakiyume]

This is absolutely warmer--in my experience--than JS&MN. This character actually likes and cares about things and people, whereas I had a hard time believing that anyone did in JS&MN (again, I liked it! But it was definitely cool and withheld--this is much less so).

This also has a much more quickly-moving-along plot, which makes the parts that are abstract-ish grounded in something very actual. ... Also I think I didn't really mean metaphysics (I think I should have reviewed that word's meaning before using it). More, I just meant a kind of spiritual aspect.

[amaebi]

I didn't like JS&MN, ultimately, but it sounds as if I will like this a lot.

[asakiyume]

I think you likely will. It has a strong metaphysical aspect. It veers away from full commitment to that, but it's definitely there--it's something I really loved about the book.

[amaebi]

Huh.

You associate me with metaphysicality? Metaphysicalness?

[asakiyume]

Maybe that's not the right word. Probably not the right word at all.

What I'm meaning is a relationship with something immanent, divine.

[asakiyume]

(and even my clarification may be an incorrect association! apologies if so!)

[amaebi]

Oh, thanks for explaining what you had in mind! :D I don't know whether the association is right or not, but it's interesting to hear.

[troisoiseaux]

I definitely want to re-read this book, but so many people have commented on the similarities to The Magician's Nephew that I want to read that first.

[asakiyume]

The Magician's Nephew is an AMAZING story on so many levels. There are so many imaginative, thought-provoking, funny, true moments in it. Really some great details about human character in it. And the Wood Between the Worlds! I know you're not a huge Narnia fan, whereas I *am* one, so you can take my enthusiasm with the appropriate grains of salt, but really, I think it's a very likeable story.

[marycatelli]

It's amazing

[asakiyume]

It really is.

[genarti]

Yes! I loved that tenderness and kindness so much -- the way the Child of the House starts out naive, and gradually ceases to be, but stays someone who is both reflexively and deliberately kind. (And I love your list of things Susanna Clarke loves; I love many of them, too.)

[asakiyume]

The last page and a half of PIRANESI were such a blessing. The Child of the House now slots in there with Ashitaka from Princess Mononoke and Nausicaa from Nausicaa as a role model.

[skygiants]

I liked it very very much, but it's interesting to me to see people call it warm because to me it felt both tender and cold -- a set of descriptors that don't often go together, but the sense of isolation that pervaded the book is difficult for me to separate from a visceral feeling of chill.

[asakiyume]

I think I saw you mention that in your entry on it, and I know what you mean: it's definitely not warm in the sense of coziness. His situation in the house definitely seems chilly.

But I think I didn't find the sense of isolation as lonely as you did, which is maybe why I was able to read more warmth (in the sense of emotional warmth, not physical warmth) into it. I read him as being very caught up in his daily life--encountering the albatross, visiting the dead, noticing a leaf--and so I didn't experience vicarious loneliness. ... I think maybe Susanna Clarke intended a reading closer to what you experienced: I think maybe she wanted readers to see/understand that the narrator was in a lonely, desolate situation even if he himself didn't consciously perceive it as such. But it takes thinking about it for me to arrive at that.

[pjthompson]

I have already gushed in your follow up post. After finishing Piranesi I thought I really should give JS&MN and I got about halfway through it. I was enjoying it immensely, but I just needed a break. It's still sitting on my To Be Read table waiting for me, but I'll probably reread Piranesi first.

[asakiyume]

Yeah, they're very different stories! I really like her storytelling; she's got a lot in her. I instinctively like her way better as a person, though, after reading Piranesi. This morning I read some interviews with her, and in one (in the New Yorker), she described her current work in progress and said, "this would be more about the fact that, at the center of things, there’s a secret or mystery, and it is joyful"--and I just feel so happy for her, you know? That's a beautiful place to be.

[pjthompson]

It is a beautiful place to be. When you discover the mystery is joyful--or can be--it's a good place.