It’s the perfect cliché: every so often, a book will be chosen for book club, I’ll read the first page and immediately think, “Nope. This isn’t for me.” I’ll trudge through the first chapter, unconvinced… and then, somehow, it all clicks and I end up loving it.
That’s exactly what happened with Piranesi.
The opening was a real struggle for me. Talk of endless Halls and labyrinthine Vestibules tangled my brain so much that I was scribbling notes just to keep track of what was going on. But then came the second part, and suddenly it was like reading a completely different book. Not because Clarke had shifted gears, but because I finally had. The world made sense, the pieces fit, and I was hooked.
What struck me most as I went on was how quietly beautiful it became. Piranesi himself is such a tender narrator. His voice is gentle, curious, and deeply respectful of the world around him. He notices small details with reverence: statues, tides, birds, light. And because he sees beauty everywhere, the reader starts to as well. It’s a reminder of how perspective can completely alter our experience.
The story itself is slippery. At first it reads like fantasy, then mystery, then psychological thriller, before circling back to something far more human. Clarke doesn’t hand you answers; instead she nudges you into piecing them together. By the time I understood what was really happening, I realised the book wasn’t only about solving the puzzle of the House (which I admit to becoming a little obsessed with solving), but about what happens to us when memory, trust, and belonging are pulled apart.
What makes Piranesi such a fascinating book club pick is exactly that: the way it resists being one thing. For some, the first part will be frustrating, for others hypnotic. For me, it was confusing at first, but by the end I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It lingered with me in the way only the best books do – leaving me slightly haunted, slightly changed, and eager to discuss it with anyone else who’s wandered its echoing Halls.
The ending wasn’t quite what I had hoped for, from the book, however, it felt perfect.
So here’s my question for you: when you read it, did you fall for the beauty of the House, or did you feel trapped inside it? And perhaps the bigger question: who is really the prisoner here — Piranesi, or us?