Making an effort to post a review every Friday!

I’ve referenced Susanna Clark’s Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell in the last two reviews I wrote and upon realizing that I thought maybe I should say something about this book I’ve unwittingly referenced back to multiple times. I had pegged Piranesi earlier this year as a contender for my favorite book of the year (since I’ve read it recently, of course; I certainly don’t do anything chronologically). Susanna Clark writes like a historian. Anyone who has read the introduction at the beginning of The Ladies of Grace Adieu, the collection of stories, could tell you that the references and style in her short story work is reminiscent of a researcher who has happened upon these stories and is sharing them with you purely from the perspective of historical interest. You clearly already know this history, having lived it yourself, but here is a scholarly assessment to embellish upon your public school education.

It is educational without being pretentious and it never breaks character. You are always within her world once you have consented to read it. Piranesi, I felt, accomplished this in a much shorter format—which I would argue is more difficult.

I read an absolutely dogshit review of Piranesi where the reviewer complained that Susanna Clark had phoned it in after producing the masterpiece that is Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, that the story became too character and too plot driven, and that there wasn’t nearly the same psychotic attention to minuscule detail that didn’t advance anything—you can see where I’ve put things into my own words. I cannot understand a criticism less than one that is upset that book has a tightly knit plot. That’s what we all want, for a plot to fold in on itself like a musical score; criticizing Piranesi for doing what Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell does in less words is…you don’t understand fiction. You’re welcome not to like a book, but by god, what a reason.

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell is, of course, a difficult act to follow. Nearly a thousand pages, it stands around 782 depending on the print, and it is a complete history written in the sensibility of its characters—academic and practical scholars of English magic during the Napoleonic wars. I would argue that it is meant to be written in a way that not even Mr. Norrell could criticize it. It is a thoroughly and joyously British Book. It celebrates English character, ideals, and it’s nearly like reading Edith Hamilton’s Mythology in its textual reverence for its own story.

It is a very good feeling to read something and to feel that it couldn’t have been done any other way. That what the author intended—which as a reader you’re only guessing at—feels accomplished. The show’s effectively over. I read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell as though it was truly a historical text, I paused to look up references, I enjoyed the archaic spellings of words that are period-accurate woven throughout; I really studied this book in several ways and it feels complete to me. I didn’t read it, rushing through, with the speed or mentality of a memoir or fantasy book as I usually would; instead I treated it like an academic study and I just—I have no notes. There’s nothing I could argue could be done differently or would have had a different character or appeal if done differently. The book is what it is and it is whole. Changing any aspect would both cheapen it and make it a completely different book.

That comment I made before on wanting a plot to fold in on itself like a musical score; it’s okay if you read a book and you can see the trajectory of the plot and where it is headed. I read another dogshit review recently of a different novel complaining that the reviewer skipped ahead a few chapters and figure out the ending. Well, of course you did. You read ahead of yourself. Books should have refrains and reprisals. The whole spine of a novel should be its effective foreshadowing without being terribly obvious—but yes, you’re supposed to be guessing at the ending. It’s called being engaged.

I think there is this bizarre push these days, and I’m going to blame things like cheap fx popcorn sellers, to have a twist ending. You want to be surprised by a book. But a lot of the joy, especially in a story that involves prophecy, is that you as the audience know what is happening and are watching it unfold. It is not an author’s job to psych you out. It is an author’s job to raise you to their level, it’s a communication not a deception—and what a more elbow nudging way to do that than to pretend that your fantasy is a reality that has already taken place and that everyone surely knows the punchline to.

The book is too short.