“The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite.” | Piranesi Review

The beauty of the House is immeasurable; its kindness infinite." 

- Piranesi, Susanna Clarke

My beautiful copy of Piranesi was undoubtedly an impulse purchase, but after hearing only enticing things about the book from the author in a New Yorker interview and after hearing several of my friends rave about it, I just caved in. The fact that Susanna Clarke resorted to J.R.R. Tolkien, Owen Barfield, and C.S. Lewis during times of the author's illness made me want to read her even more! In her interview, Clarke writes about her book: "This would be more about the fact that, at the centre of things, there's a secret or mystery, and it is joyful." And I loved this.

This novel is haunting, whimsical, and philosophical, but in the least pretentious of ways. In some ways, it is a rich parable, a maze or puzzle of images vividly brought to life through this mysterious idea of the House. Clarke writes exquisitely, beautifully, achingly, and simply.

“In my mind are all the tides, their seasons, their ebbs and their flows. In my mind are all the halls, the endless procession of them, the intricate pathways. When this world becomes too much for me, when I grow tired of the noise and the dirt and the people, I close my eyes and I name a particular vestibule to myself; then I name a hall.”

Her writing soothed me and filled me with wonder and hope in the fading days of that fateful, grim year of twenty-twenty. I had begun the novel leisurely in the spring as I was finishing off my uni degree, and as Christmas drew on I madly read it all up in one gulp!

Susanna Clarke’s latest book is so hard to describe effectively because it is unique and its evocative images are so different from most (or in my mind, any) modern novels you’d pick up. The narrative is told through the journals of a man living in a labyrinthine house with many statues and where tides wash in and out—statues of a fawn or satyre playing the flute, and a fox teaching two squirrels. All very Narnia-esque! The character, Piranesi (not his real name, but given that title by the Other) is such a dear heart, I just wanted to give him a big hug. I love how trusting he is, how faithful and dedicated he is to his work, his devotion to the House, and his equal curiosity and wonder for people with that contentedness in his solitary life, taking care of the statues, fishing, watching the tides, assisting the Other in his work, keeping records of his journals.

Piranesi is one (like many of us over the past years) who is deprived of company but dwells in contended solitude mingled with a sort of “exiled” loneliness, anger, frustration and pain. What I loved about Piranesi was his trust in the beauty and mercy of the House, even when he doubted his sanity, his very Self, and who he really was. He calls himself a "Beloved Child of the House" and I thought that just wonderful. 

“It does not matter that you do not understand the reason. You are the Beloved Child of the House. Be comforted.
And I am comforted.”

This book exists in a liminal space that echoes, questions, and considers the ideas of the Inklings, the Enlightenment and Reformation, and ancient philosophy in a beautiful, classical and mysterious-- at times even unsettling way. I still have a lot of thoughts I'm pondering over! There are lots of C.S. Lewis and Owen Barfield literary influences which were a joy to uncover and which I know I will delight in even more with a re-read. The novel is a “critique of progress”, but also a consideration of spiritual reality, and the supernatural breaking in and pervading the “real world” in a beautiful and oh, so glorious way...

It was my second favourite read of 2020, after Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov (another review for another day).

P.S. minor warning for some swearing, particularly by one character. It is not overwhelming, however.

For deeper reflections, I recommend you check Dr Joy Clarkson’s review on Plough. Overall, a beautiful, haunting read. I’m so glad I picked it up. Best of all, it has lingered on in my imagination, by which I know what a good read this was! 

And so, on this day, I wish you the same blessing as Susanna Clarke’s narrator: “may your Paths be safe, your Floors unbroken and may the House fill your eyes with Beauty.”