Piranesi by Susanna Clarke — Identity, Power, and Beauty

When I first picked up Piranesi by Susanna Clarke, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. What I found was a deeply moving exploration of identity, power, and our perceptions of the world. It’s a book that felt like it was written to be felt as much as it was to be read.

The Two Kinds of People

One of the most striking themes in Piranesi is the contrast between two kinds of people. There are those who are content with what they have, open to new experiences, and able to find joy in life’s small gifts. Then there are those endlessly chasing power and control, never satisfied, always wanting more.

Piranesi embodies the former: resourceful, grateful, and kind. His acceptance of the House and his life within it is deeply tied to his trauma and isolation, yet he doesn’t succumb to bitterness. Instead, he thrives in his own way, finding beauty and meaning in his existence.

The Other, by contrast, epitomizes the latter. Despite having access to so much — luxuries and knowledge — the Other is unsatisfied, always taking and giving nothing in return. I couldn’t help but envy the Other for the things he had, even as I shared Piranesi’s growing realization that something wasn’t right.

The Cruelty of Betrayal

One of the most gut-wrenching parts of the book is the betrayal that Piranesi experiences at the hands of the Other. To discover that someone you trusted has not only lied to you but also used you as a pawn for their own selfish ends is devastating.

What makes this betrayal even crueler is the bitter irony of the name “Piranesi.” The name comes from Giovanni Battista Piranesi, an artist known for his surreal depictions of endless, prison-like spaces. By calling him this, the Other reduces Matthew’s existence to a mockery, trapping him in a world of his own ignorance and pain.

This revelation dug deep. The overwhelming scenarios of revenge and retribution that flood Piranesi’s mind — followed by his breaking down and falling asleep — perfectly capture the weight of this betrayal. And yet, even in his pain, Piranesi finds the strength to reconcile with himself and extend forgiveness, making him an extraordinary character.

Unreliable Narrators Done Right

At first, I was frustrated by some inconsistencies in Piranesi’s knowledge. How could someone who seemed native to the House know about chess, minotaurs, and other worldly concepts? It felt like sloppy world-building at first.

But then, the journal entries switched from using standard months and years to made-up dates. That was my first clue that something had changed — that something much deeper was at play. Suddenly, those inconsistencies became breadcrumbs leading me toward the truth.

I’m often skeptical of unreliable narrators; they can feel like a lazy way to add twists. But Clarke does it so beautifully here. Every revelation felt earned, and I found myself equally excited and nervous as I pieced things together alongside Piranesi. The Other’s role in the story — friend? foe? something in between? — was handled with such nuance that by the end, I felt like I truly knew him, even though I didn’t trust him.

Echoes of Narnia

The novel’s references to C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia were a delightful surprise. When Piranesi mentions dreaming of “a faun standing in a snowy forest and speaking to a female child,” it’s almost certainly a nod to Lucy Pevensie’s meeting with Mr. Tumnus in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. This subtle allusion adds another layer to the book’s themes of alternate worlds, liminal spaces, and the tension between wonder and danger. Much like Narnia, Piranesi’s world is both enchanting and treacherous, inviting readers to lose themselves while urging caution.

A Cast That Feels Real

Despite being a relatively short book, Piranesi features characters who feel startlingly real. Even the “villains” like Ketterley are written in a way that makes them deeply human — evil in a familiar, unsettling way. It’s a testament to Clarke’s skill that she can create such vivid, believable characters with only snippets of backstory.

Raphael, in particular, stood out for her gentleness and contrast to Ketterley. Her courage and grace in dealing with Piranesi and the House were beautiful to witness. The way she approached Piranesi — with patience and respect — was a much-needed balm after the cruelty of the Other.

Identity and Reconciliation

One of the most powerful aspects of the book is its exploration of identity. As Piranesi learns more about his past, the lines between who he was (Matthew) and who he is (Piranesi) blur. By the end, he reconciles these identities to become someone new — a blend of the two, but also entirely himself.

This theme is reinforced in small but poignant ways, like Piranesi’s continued kindness toward Ritter, despite everything. His ability to forgive, to show compassion even in the face of betrayal, is a testament to his character and the journey he’s undergone.

Perspective Shifts

Some moments in the book hit hard — like the revelation about the bones. At first, Piranesi sees them as friends, residents of the House. But when Raphael reveals the truth, they become something entirely different: victims, murdered by Ketterley. This shift in perspective is gut-wrenching, not just for Piranesi but for the reader as well.

Another poignant moment comes when Piranesi realizes the House needed someone to appreciate its beauty. It’s a subtle but profound realization, one that mirrors the way this book itself feels like it needs to be appreciated by multiple perspectives. Like the House, Piranesi is richer when shared and discussed.

Freedom vs. Captivity

One of the book’s recurring questions is whether we’re trapped or free. For Piranesi, the House is both a prison and a sanctuary. The idea that freedom is a matter of perception is explored so delicately, leaving the reader to ponder: How much of our own sense of freedom is shaped by our mindset?

Emotionally Resonant Prose

More than anything, this book made me feel. I felt Piranesi’s sorrow, shame, joy, and pain as if they were my own. The writing is evocative and poetic, feeling almost like a classic novel, yet it carries a modern sensibility that makes it accessible.

Moments like Piranesi breaking down after realizing the Other’s betrayal, or crying on Raphael’s shoulder, were so raw and human that I couldn’t help but ache for him. The book’s ability to connect on such a deep emotional level is its greatest strength.

Final Thoughts

Piranesi is a masterpiece. It combines the wonder of magic, the intrigue of cults and charismatic leaders, and the quiet beauty of liminal spaces into a deeply philosophical exploration of identity and freedom.

Few books have left me feeling as connected to a character as this one. It’s not just a book; it’s an experience — one that deserves to be shared, discussed, and cherished.

If you haven’t read it yet, I can’t recommend it enough.