He explores the interiors of this pile, aimlessly and without any determination to arrive anywhere. Piranesi does not know who built the House or how he himself came to be there or what he will do amongst its halls forevermore. Your defining characteristic becomes a terrifying absence of curiosity. You accept every absurdity that you experience without any sense of scandal occurring to you. Rather, it is more that you are stripped of your normal personality whilst you are walking in a dream and transformed into an alien version of yourself. Nonetheless, the most frightening thing about any dream is never actually its contents. There is seemingly no door to the outside world. The halls of the House proliferate inexhaustibly, like the never-ending interiors within a dream, and the face of the House only ever looks in upon these interiors. These walls “are lined with marble Statues, hundreds upon hundreds of them, Tier upon Tier, rising into the distant heights.” “Tides” wash through the House, battering the statues, and sometimes the air will be jumpy with the tumbling of seagulls or crows. The House in Susanna Clarke’s second novel Piranesi is a dream palace and dream logic is the only law that has any standing within its walls. Any dream is a sequence of baffling and disquieting events, with all of them colluding in the silent conspiracy of dream logic.
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