Piranesi | Susanna Clarke | Book review | Winner of the Women's Prize for Fiction 2021

 

A period of time spent at home means I have made a return to fiction. My true love will always be non-fiction books, but these last weeks I've been in desperate need of escapism and distraction. Enter Susanna Clarke with Piranesi.

Piranesi is one of those books that I've seen from the corner of my eye for a few years now, knowing nothing more than the fact the title sounded intriguing. Then I saw a TikTok (yes, I know, but see above re - desperate need for escapism) listing it as the one book the creator wishes he could read again for the first time. And so, with little else to do, I looked into it. 

The first thing that captured me in Piranesi was the beauty of its setting. This strange tale is set in a world made up of gothic halls filled with statues, glimpses of the sky dappling the marble floor, and the sea booming and swishing audibly at all times. A labyrinth, as it is eventually named. The imagery is strong, and although the first chapters of the book really take the time with world-building, I felt I would have happily read an entire book simply filled with these descriptions. Who needs a plot?

But there is one, subtly creeping into the world that Piranesi, our narrator, had carefully established for us: more surprising and intriguing than I could have guessed. Combine a potentially unreliable narrator with an unreliable side cast; occultism, magic, tides, the sea, and somewhat menacing, uncertain undertones for a perfect pace that builds throughout the book to a conclusion that is dramatic but not overly in any way - and an ending that doesn't undo everything the author took such care with.

Piranesi is one of those books that make you forget you're reading. The craft is incredible. Written in a first-person voice that a reader enjoys, but knows not to necessarily trust (somehow always making one feel just a little uncomfortable), we see things from this lonely narrator's point of view and with his understanding: a 'shining device', never clarified but presumed; or the 'thing like a slice of a larger cylinder cut down at an angle, with a yellow hose coming out of it'. We meet strange statues, from the woman carrying a beehive to the gardener or the minotaurs in the First Vestibule, and never know if we are to consider them as cast, or set. Clarke keeps us constantly questioning.

I couldn't resist the strange draw of the book. But so strange is it, in fact, that although I read it in just a few sittings, each sitting required a little bit of stepping back from my actual day, putting aside what I know, and clearing some headspace. Going 'back in' felt, each time, like sinking under the surface. It is a wonderful feeling, and reflective of the strength of the author's vision.

It is hard to write about Piranesi without giving too much away. I don't know that I've read anything that comes even remotely close to its strangeness, beauty or atmosphere. I craved more the minute I finished reading this book, reluctant - like Piranesi himself - to differentiate between worlds. A book that is the perfect mixture of an indescribable nature with a magic that extends way beyond its covers.

A different set of gods

I am one of those rare birds who have not yet read the big works of Neil Gaiman that made him such a big deal in the public sphere - American Gods or The Sandman graphic novels, for example - although I have read The Ocean at the End of the Lake, and I did love that book, very very much indeed. I am also currently listening to the audiobook of Good Omens, co-written by Gaiman and Terry Pratchett and which is absolutely and indisputably the most hilarious book I've ever read (listened to), so thanks to the Penguin Podcast for the recommendation.

I've had my eyes on Norse Mythology for some time and, although I knew it would be good, I didn't expect to open it at 9am on a sunny Saturday and to finish it by 2pm, only getting up for tea and occasional toilet breaks.

Much like Stephen Fry's Mythos, Neil sets out to retell the stories of the gods - except the gods of a slightly different world. These are the stories of Thor, Odin, Loki and the likes from Asgard, Yggdrasil (the world tree), the stories of frost giants and plotting dwarves, and of course, Ragnarok - the end of days and a new beginning.

What did I like about it?

Seeing as I enjoyed reading the Greek myths so much as retold by Stephen Fry, I can't help but compare Norse Mythology to Mythos. This was a hugely enjoyable retelling of stories from Nordic mythology, and while Stephen Fry takes a somewhat cheeky, tongue-in-cheek approach, often even picking sides, Neil writes his stories with a degree of seriousness, as if we're really gathered around a fire on a frosty winter's night, retelling tales of the old. "Nothing there is that does not love the sun," he writes. "Now I shall tell you of the days to come," he says as he guides us into the story of Ragnarok.

Nordic mythology is incredibly different from the Greek world. Nordic gods seem less capricious, less interested in unnecessary drama; they don't seem to regard humans as their plaything, a species to be meddled with for their own entertainment. In fact, they hardly come into contact with the human race at all. They'd rather keep to themselves and their realms: the land of the dwarves, the light elves, the frost giants or the land of the dead - ruled by the most terrifying character of all: Loki's daughter, Hel, with half a healthy, beautiful face and half a face of a corpse, long dead. There is much less coitus than in the Greek tales; Nordic gods are more interested in adventuring, slaying beasts, wrestling giants, outsmarting each other and dealing out horrible punishments.

It has to be said, though, that Nordic gods aren't the brightest, either; even though Odin gave an eye for wisdom and hung himself from a branch of Yggdrasil in exchange for powers, they still seem quite gullible and can easily make the same mistakes over and over. Thor himself isn't the brains of the operation - as often reflected in the Marvel films too - although he is certainly the strongest. But the characters are complex, curious, proud and incredibly competitive, providing endless joy for readers of these stories.

What was I not massively fond of?

Annoyingly, much like my last review of a Neil Gaiman book, I've not much to add here. It's not Neil's fault that, as he points out in the introduction, stories of the female gods have not been as well preserved as those of the men - perhaps it's out turn to make some of these up.

I would have liked to see a graph of the gods to be able to place every one of them, although this family is much smaller and easier to trace than that of the Greeks. There is a helpful glossary at the end though, as to be expected.

Overall...

"The Norse myths are the myths of a chilly place, with long, long winter nights and endless summer days, myths of a people who did not entirely trust or even like their gods, although they respected and feared them." How different, then, to think of the god-fearing Greeks who were expected to make sacrifices before and after any journey, for any feast, for any event really.

I find there is something so compelling, so magically binding and attractive about the Norse world - the cold, the Northern lights, Valhalla in a plain field under misty skies, gifts of gold from highly skilled dwarves, ships that fold into handkerchiefs and a giant, monstrous wolf that will one day swallow the moon and the sun... No wonder I was addicted to playing Skyrim for so long.

There is everything and more to love about this book, and if you're like me, you can easily read it in a few short, delightful hours. If you can, aim to have an open fire nearby.

9/10

Could we be Heroes?

Thus continues my deep dive into Greek mythology - as expected. From Circe by Madeline Miller and Mythos by Stephen Fry, my journey took me on a quest to Troy and back - via The Iliad and The Odyssey - to now winding up in the world of mortals, with 'a bit' of help from Stephen Fry again.

Heroes is the second volume of Mythos, if you will; while the first book concerned itself with the comings and goings of the Greek gods, in this book Stephen turns his attention to mortal struggles. From Perseus through Bellerophon to Theseus and Heracles, all the big ones make an appearance - even Atalanta, who happens to be a badass princess who hunts and uses a bow and was raised by bears. You can't get much cooler than that.

What did I like about it?

For those that read my review of Mythos, you will know that I spared no enthusiasm in describing Stephen's writing style, and I can't help but continue. His tongue-in-cheek approach to sometimes seriously confusing myths comes across even more in this book - the humans really take a beating sometimes - but this is what helps keep this book entertaining, and make it unique among the (I imagine) countless retellings of Greek mythology.

Despite venturing into the mortal world, there are still countless mythological beasts to be slain, tamed, captured or borrowed (in the case of Heracles and Cerberus, the three-headed guardian of the underworld) - conveniently so for all these young fools determined to become heroes themselves. There is also, unsurprisingly, more treachery, more weird family ties, more labours to be completed. It seems mortal heroes simply cannot extricate themselves from an endless cycle of committing blood crimes and then labouring for decades in order to be cleansed.

Often referencing back to Mythos in footnotes, Stephen does everything in his power to help readers wrap their heads around all the connections, be it between characters, storylines or cause-and-effect connections. So it's not essential to have read Mythos, but I would certainly think Heroes is more enjoyable if you had read it. And enjoyed it.

What was I not massively fond of?

My biggest issue with Heroes was the near-impossibility in remembering who is who. I don't blame Stephen for this - he really does his best to help - but I do think a graphical chart (much like the one on the Olympus generations in Mythos, repeated on the first pages of Heroes) would have been immensely helpful. There are 25 pages describing every mortal character that had appeared in the book; twenty-five! And those are just the mortals! I struggled with distinguishing my Pelius from my Pelias; my Iphitus from my Iphicles. And while in Mythos it felt alright to just swiftly move on when I didn't remember everyone, I think Heroes is better enjoyed when all characters are remembered separately, backstory and all. Mainly because almost everything is connected.

I also took an issue with footnotes that referenced stories we hadn't read yet. I think back-referencing makes perfect sense and is very helpful; but to mention a connection with a story I haven't yet read makes little sense to me.

In terms of writing, I did find that Heroes was often more casual and conversational than Mythos, sometimes perhaps a little too much for me. Reading this conversation, for example, I remember forgetting that I was reading Greek mythology, so everyday and casual did the writing feel:

'You're late, darling.'
'Mum, what's a "Medusa"?'
'Perseus, have you been drinking?'
'Maybe. Just a cup or two.'
'A hiccup or two, by the sound of it.'
'No, but seriously, what's a Medusa?'

See what I mean?

And last, but not least: the format of this book... To be able to read Heroes on the go, I needed the following:

• a backpack large enough to fit the book in
• a seat on the train
• if I couldn't obtain a seat on the train, highly developed and regularly trained thumb muscles
• lots of calcium to avoid hand cramps

In short, this is a giant, heavy, large-sized hardback that is an absolute pain to carry around, and it baffles me that someone thought this was the right format. It feels slightly larger than your normal hardback (in terms of length) which means it doesn't fit in my usual backpack - or if it does it pokes out heavily, causing a literal pain in the back.

Overall...

Although I very much enjoyed reading Heroes, I did find it a bit more over-the-top tongue-in-cheek than Mythos. Perhaps it's the mortals' fault for being so damn ordinarily human; we still got to see Zeus in the form of a golden shower though, and a talking figurehead on the Argo, and of course there's the ever-popular Minotaur, making an appearance as a near-human full of empathy and a death wish for the sake of everyone. Touching.

If you enjoyed Mythos, there is no doubt it's worth continuing on with this second volume. Just be warned that humans haven't changed so much since ancient Greece... See Theseus:

When he [Pirithous] proposed the insane idea of descending into the realm of the dead and snatching Persephone from under the very nose of her husband Hades, Theseus the hero, Theseus the wise, Theseus the clever, Theseus the great king and counsellor nodded his head vigorously.
'Why not? Sounds like fun.'

Serves him right though, because although he gets rescued by Heracles, he leaves with a very flat bum indeed, having most of his behind ripped off by the stone throne he had been bound to with snakes. Dumbass.

7/10