Thirteen of them are dead, their bones attended to by Piranesi like holy relics. Lewis.) To the best of his knowledge, only fifteen people have ever occupied his world. (Early on, he notes his particular fondness for an upright faun, a sentiment sure to be shared by fans of C. The novel reads as Piranesi’s journal, chronicling his travels, calculating the tides, and musing about his favorite statues. As he sees it, his purpose is simple: “I have a duty to bear witness to the Splendours of the World.” And bear witness, he does. Piranesi makes his home between the two, surviving on a diet of fish and dried seaweed while weaving shells into his hair and exploring new halls every chance he gets. The topmost levels of the House fill with rain-swollen clouds that storm in regular intervals, while the lower chambers flood with the ever-changing tides of the sea. Named after the title, Piranesi dwells in what he refers to as simply “the House,” a labyrinthine mansion filled with an infinite number of halls connected by staircases and vestibules, all of which are plentifully decorated by statues. Pandemic life draws a number of parallels with that of the narrator in Susanna Clarke’s latest novel, Piranesi. What does joy look like in such circumstances? Where can it be found? Where does one look for joy in modern culture? For the last year, this question has felt especially intimate as people around the world have been forced to upend their routines, socially isolate, and confine themselves within their homes to avoid an invisible enemy lurking outside their walls.
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