DO NOT READ THIS REVIEW!

I’m serious. If you haven’t read Piranesi and are even the slightest bit interested in doing so, click away from this page. Don’t look at whatever pictures bikerbuddy has added to the sidebar on the right (are we really doing this? - bikerbuddy). Don’t read anything anywhere about this book. Don’t even read the blurb on the back of the book that’s supposed to sell you on it.

I tell you this because I am in the unenviable position of having to write about a book that is, in essence, entirely indescribable. This isn’t to say that the book is dense and impenetrable; far from it, actually. Nor am I claiming that the plot is nonsensical or hard to follow; I feel that it’s refreshingly straightforward, even a little predictable at times. No, my issue here is that I don’t believe anybody can say anything about this book that can properly prepare you for what Susanne Clarke delivers.

Perhaps this is due to the surreal world that Clarke presents through the journal entries of the protagonist within it. That is all I can bring myself to say. A unique setting, and a main character with an outlook uniquely shaped by it. Anything else I could possibly add would give you the wrong impression, which I feel would lead to a less satisfactory experience. So go in as a blank slate.

Seriously though, last chance to get out of here before I actually start talking about things.

Right, so I’m still going to keep things vague going forward because I know some dummy out there doesn’t know how to listen to reason.

There is a tendency in modern media, I think, to prioritize an “efficient” story. You’ve likely heard of Chekhov’s Gun, a trope which posits that an element introduced in the narrative, if not immediately relevant, must become so at a later time. Many climactic showdowns these days are resolved by the reappearance of a minor detail⁠⁠⁠⁠ or off-the-cuff remark – oftentimes a gag!⁠⁠⁠⁠ – that turns out to be far more crucial than anybody could have suspected at the time (and is far more subtle than a firearm). I won’t claim that Piranesi eschews this entirely, but it does delight in introducing concepts that, plot-wise, don’t amount to anything.

You could argue that these elements (such as the appearance of the albatross and the detailed descriptions of many of the House’s statues) instead serve simply to define and explore the protagonist’s relationship to the world he inhabits. And I would agree with that. But I think many modern stories would, endeavouring to tie everything up in a neat little package, feel the need to repurpose these concepts at key moments (the albatross saves the day! The statues reveal the House’s secrets!). Piranesi wisely chooses not to do this, and allows the story to be what it is.

Of course, I didn’t know this would be the case going in; and as I read through the middle sections of the book, my general opinion towards it was kind of in two places at once. Now, I never at any point felt like I had to drag my feet to continue reading; in actuality, I devoured this one in a very short amount of time. However, we learn early on (and suspect even sooner) that the world inhabited by the protagonist is somehow distinct from what we consider the “real world”. My concern here⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ – especially as we are fed information about the people and events that relate to the “House”, as it’s referred to – was that we would be given too much detail. That every little happening would be explained and accounted for, and, in so doing, strip this place of its magic.

As you may suspect by now, my fears proved unfounded. Clarke is careful to toe the line here, giving us just enough to playfully hint at answers, but not enough to burden us with understanding. I would agree that there are many mysteries which are most satisfying when every element is accounted for. However, this is not one of them.

So I think what we are ultimately given is a work that was carefully crafted to appear as though it hasn’t been carefully crafted. Character motivations are not fully explored; the secrets of the House are not fully revealed; closure is not fully given. This may not seem satisfying, but in a way, it is. Piranesi is set in a realm that borders on fantastical; and yet it thrives on the human and the mundane in a way that results in a somehow whimsical, yet incredibly delightful read.

If you haven’t read it yet, my advice (although if you didn’t listen to my advice a few paragraphs ago, I don’t know why you would now) is don’t overthink it, and just enjoy where it takes you.