April 6, 2025.

[Spoilers Below! Beware.]

Piranesi is, perhaps, my one true love in book form.

I have only read it twice, but both times it has stuck with me, stuck to me in a way which no other book has, and potentially which no other book will. The first time, I forgot the name after a while (which, given the plot, has immense irony), but I always remembered the feeling. I re-discovered it recently, immediately ordered a copy, and spent a wonderful few hours one evening reading it through in one go. It’s not a long book, and as a result I recommend it to anyone and everyone who I think may be interested. Much of the below will not make sense if you have not read it. This is intentional.

Piranesi, the character, is the kindest individual you could imagine. He cares for the House, its inhabitants, the Other, the birds who live in the House, the statues, he cares for everything. Nothing is scorned, nothing is ignored, all is treated as sacred. He meticulously keeps track of things in his journals, which we on the Outside have the privilege of reading. When the Other tells him of “16”, he is so hesitant to categorise them as the Enemy, although he concludes that perhaps this is the only suitable word. Even so, he tries to leave messages for 16 to ensure their safety in the House.

The ending of Piranesi struck me heavily – I cried both times. The author, the wonderful Susanna Clarke, lays the bricks down early in the book, with little clues throughout making you wonder what could really be going on. Reading through the older journals, you start quickly wondering which character has become Piranesi, and how it happened. The discovery that Piranesi was in fact Matthew, the Other is Ketterley, and that Matthew (although he does not feel like that is in fact his name) can potentially leave the House is ultimately expected, and yet manages to still hit hard. It feels like poetic justice that after Matthew learns who he is and what has been done to him, the House still saves him but decides to kill Ketterley. The epilogue shows he somewhat regularly visits the House, and shows his conclusion that he is no longer Matthew, but he is no longer Piranesi either. I like this, and I think it’s a fitting way to end such a wonderful experience.

What sticks with me the most is how innocent Piranesi is. It is so interesting to consider that, as his memories of the real world are stripped away from him, he becomes kind and pure and caring in a way that we can infer he wasn’t entirely before. The Prophet, who turns out to be Arne-Sayles, even remarks that he likes Piranesi, and states he likely would not have liked him Before. Piranesi is an example of pure good, and I like that when he leaves the House, this does not necessarily change.

Clarke herself has only written two full-length novels; Piranesi is the most recent, and I absolutely intend to read her earlier work when I finally can find the time. She suffers from chronic fatigue syndrome, and in some ways, it feels like this book was a metaphor for someone coming to terms with that. Learning how to live with chronic pain, learning to take it as it is, to accept it instead of trying to fight back or change things. Her writing style has undoubtedly impacted my own to quite a degree – the random capitalisation of words is something I often use in casual text, and I have done for years now. Her focus on the mundane, the little details, in such an expansive and sometimes deeply emotional universe, is something that has also inspired me; I find a lot of my poetry since first reading it has used similar themes, although often with wildly different subject matters. Perhaps I ought to write a Piranesi poem.

I do not think Piranesi should be analysed deeply – we can find metaphors and analogies in anything if we look hard enough, and I have clearly found my own meaning in it. However, I believe Piranesi was and is intended to be an experience; Clarke’s real strength comes from her descriptions of the world and its’ inhabitants, and Piranesi’s thoughts. It is charming to a degree that I rarely find in a novel of this kind, it is weird and wonderful, it is simultaneously linear and non-linear in narrative, and I find myself endlessly endeared whenever I think of it (which is often). I have dreamed of the House before, and I expect I shall again before my time on this earth is over.