PIRANESI is melancholic and contemplative, a meditation on an existence which is as familiar to the narrator as it will likely be bewildering to the reader. 

The prose is immersive in both style and content, gradually explaining what’s literally happening even as the narrator often misses the significance of what he’s relaying, or places a different importance on it. The setting is known to the narrator, his sense of the world is that he knows his place within it and the shape of its peculiarities, though there’s always more to explore. Since the reader necessarily is outside of that understanding at first, it provides for slow revelations and discoveries as the contents of his explanations begin to, gradually, make sense. Towards the midpoint it becomes that I could guess at things he didn’t yet understand, providing some of the great feeling of guessing the solution to a mystery early. The ending, however, plays out in a way I didn’t predict but which feels suitable.

I feel so peaceful, after reading it. There’s a kind of happiness from listening to someone talk at length about a thing they love, and Piranesi loves The House. It’s not all great for him, especially when plot things ensue, but vast stretches of the book are filled with the love and care of someone who pays intimate attention to something which fascinates them.