Fans have eagerly waited 16 years for Clarke’s follow-up. How do we do the same? How do we bear the pain of our limits, and what must we give up to survive? Read Full Review > However ill-gotten, Piranesi has achieved an equilibrium, a delicate peace with the contradictions of pain and love. Humans seek connection and knowledge - but how do we define those quests? How do we approach those paths? Both worlds in this enthralling, transcendent novel come with magic and reason, beauty and warmth, danger and destruction.

The mystery of Piranesi unwinds at a tantalizing yet lightening-like pace - it's hard not to rush ahead, even when each sentence, each revelation makes you want to linger. As if Marie Curie meets Cleopatra on Mary Anning's beach.

This crossing of realms - the magical and scientific the mystical and profane - in both Jonathan Strange and Piranesi is an alluring combination. The concept is gone from his mind of what he longs for the most. In these brief but gut-wrenchingly tender interactions we are felled by the loneliness Piranesi can't fully grasp. Clarke's writing is clear, sharp - she can cleave your heart in a few short words. the sweetness, the innocence of Piranesi's love for this world is devastating to read. To abide in these pages is to find oneself happily detained in awe. Clarke conceived of this story long before the coronavirus pandemic, but tragedy has made Piranesi resonate with a planet in quarantine.

This is the abiding magic of Clarke’s novel: We’re as likely to pity Piranesi for his cheerful acceptance of imprisonment as we are to envy him for his ready appreciation of the world as he finds it. Perhaps Clarke’s cleverest move in this infinitely clever novel is the way she critiques our obliterating efforts to extract deeper meaning and greater value from everything in our world. Until you read the book yourself, keep your wand drawn to ward off the summaries of enthusiastic fans and clumsy reviewers. Clarke’s power certainly extends beyond mere suspense, but her story relies on the steady accretion of apprehension that finally gives way to a base-shifting revelation. an unusually fragile mystery-as delicate as the slender fingers and wispy petals on the marble statues that fill the House. The hypnotic quality of Piranesi stems largely from how majestically Clarke conjures up this surreal House. Reading her lithe new book, Piranesi, feels like finding a copy of Steven Millhauser’s Martin Dressler in the back of C.S.

We believers have waited a long time for a second novel from Clarke, and so it’s especially exciting to see that none of her enchantment has worn off-it’s evolved.

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