I loved Clarke's previous books (the monumental Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell , and the much smaller, but equally charming The Ladies of Grace Adieu ), but I read them so long ago that I don't remember them well, so I had no real expectations as I started this long-awaited Piranesi . It wouldn't have mattered anyway, because it would have satisfied them, and then some. It's a little masterpiece of a book, as hard to define as it is unforgettable, part voyage of self-discovery, part mystery; sad and sweet, astonishing and puzzling. The protagonist/narrator is our guide in the wonder that is the House and he's, at least at the beginning, a naive, almost childish guide, and we cannot but share his amazement and his awe as we move among Halls and Vestibules, among Statues and Tides. As the story progresses, he grows, and becomes more cunning, if a little less innocent, but his awe for the House remains unchanged, as remains ours as readers. Becaus...
Everyone is entitled to his own opinion, but not his own facts. (Daniel Patrick Moynihan, 1983)