Stretching into a vast and seemingly endless expanse of winding corridors, hallways and staircases decorated with majestic marble statues. He lives in a place only known as the House, but it’s unlike any dwelling before or after it. The story opens with a fairly slow rhythm, introducing us to our narrator, a young man who calls himself Piranesi, though it definitely isn’t his real name. This, in my opinion, is rather counterproductive in regards to the purpose of the genre: to give authors a platform to venture where none others have before, just as Susanna Clarke did with Piranesi. The fantasy genre has, over the last few decades, seen the establishment of numerous conventions and cliches, to the point where many works by different authors can easily blend in with each other. Susanna Clarke Raises the Impossible World
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