A Few Thoughts On: Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

I adored Susanna Clarke’s debut novel Jonathan Strange and Mister Norrell when I read it back in…I don’t know, 2004 or 2005, and I had been hearing great things about her second novel, Piranesi, since it was announced in 2020. It took me some time to get round to reading it, but I eventually settled on the audiobook edition, narrated by the wonderful Chiwetel Ejiofor, and listened to it over the space of a week’s worth of walks around Southeast London, at first pleasantly puzzled and then gradually, increasingly beguiled by its quiet, dreamlike depths. I had no intention of reviewing Piranesi, so I made no notes or took down any quotations, but after finishing it and spending some time mulling it over, I can’t help but want to talk about it. I’m not going to try and talk objectively like I would usually, because this is a book I loved so much I just want to sing its praises!

I wasn’t sure what to expect, when I started listening – I don’t think anyone knew what to expect, after such a long gap between books. As it turns out, Piranesi is beautifully written but unconventional and difficult to describe, the sort of book that plunges you straight into the deep end of a fully-formed world with its own unique rules, systems, style and terminology, which only reveals its secrets slowly and carefully as you dig beneath the surface. Essentially it’s the story of a man who resides in what he calls the House, a vast labyrinth of halls, passageways, vestibules and staircases populated by thousands upon thousands of statues, with its own strange climate and ecosystem – clouds gather in the upper halls, tides surge up from the depths, birds make their nests on statues and fish teem in the waters. He thinks of himself as ‘the Beloved Child of the House’, though the only living person he shares his halls with – who he calls ‘the Other’ – refers to him as Piranesi.

To Piranesi, the House is the world – outside its seemingly infinite halls are only the sun, moon and stars, and for all its strangeness it provides virtually everything he needs…and anything else, the Other supplies. Piranesi lives a quiet, diligent life, and the story is told by way of his meticulous journals, written in an endearing voice that’s equal parts naive and childlike, and carefully scientific, each entry dated using his idiosyncratic calendar (which uses contextual references like “the Year I discovered the Coral Halls” or “the Year I named the Constellations”). Across these entries he details the wonders of the House, the nature of his life therein, and the scientific work he undertakes alongside the Other, and much of the story is taken up with his gentle musings on life, and whether the total population of the world might possibly exceed the 15 people he knows to have lived.

For all Piranesi’s comfort and contentment with his life in the House, there’s a strong sense of sadness and loneliness throughout his story. He looks forward to his twice-weekly meetings with the Other, who he considers a great friend, listens to the messages provided by the birds, and takes good care of the bones of the dead – the remaining 13 people he knows definitely lived in the House at some point – but he is, essentially, alone in the House. His journals are addressed to a hypothesised 16th person, but it’s not until he finds evidence that this person – this 16 – exists that he starts to really grasp how much he desires contact with another living being. The tension that this introduces, alongside question marks over Piranesi’s memory of his time within the House, provides the momentum for the story, gradually unravelling the mystery of who Piranesi is, what the House really is and what he’s doing there.

Pacy and action-packed it most certainly is not, in fact it’s often slow and meandering in the way that a person’s journals are likely to be, full of meticulous descriptions and casual observations, sometimes focusing on the here and now and other times dipping back into his recollections of the past. In a sense, too, it’s almost predictable in how its plot plays out – but comfortably so, following a logical progression while still maintaining its mystery and holding back a few surprises. Almost every step of the way though, it’s surreal and intriguing and tantalisingly beautiful, and in the case of the audiobook Piranesi’s voice is brought to warm, comfortable life by the timbre and talents of Chiwetel Ejiofor. Casting a world class actor to narrate a book with so few characters might seem strange, but he imbues Piranesi with such a rich feeling of life and enthusiasm that I felt as though I was truly getting to know him. This is a book of gentle, subtle magic and I can’t think of a better narrator for it than Ejifor.

There can be a heavy weight of expectation on books like this, coming so long after such a hugely successful debut, but it reads as though Clarke paid no attention whatsoever to the pressure and simply wrote the story she wanted to write. Fortunately, while I imagine it won’t be for everyone, it’s simply perfect for what I really love to read, so much so that it’s like this was written just for me. I love a book with a rich, vivid, magical world that isn’t crammed down your throat but rather allowed to grow on you in subtle increments, and that’s exactly what Piranesi offers. It’s the sort of book I want to savour, to read slowly and carefully rather than racing through like I usually do, so for me it really suited the audiobook format – I stretched its 7 hour running time over a whole week, which I would never have managed if I had read the printed version!

I can say with certainty that I’m going to enjoy revisiting this, probably in both written and audio formats – I loved it so much that ever since finishing the audiobook I’ve been eyeing my Kindle edition of it and seriously considering bumping it up my TBR list. This is a book with layers that reward both careful reading and multiple visits, from historical and literary references to the careful world building and the dynamic between Piranesi and the Other, and I know I’ll pick up on more the second time through. More than that though, I just really want to spend more time with Piranesi exploring his halls and revelling in both the magic of the setting that Clarke has created and the wonderful imagination required to do so. I don’t know where this story came from, or why there was such a long gap between Jonathan Strange… and Piranesi, but I’m just grateful to have read something that’s so perfectly suited to what I love!

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