Joy Marie Clarkson's Blog

All Saints' Day

Angel from a gravestone in the eastern cemetery of the St Andrews Cathedral.

It was All Saints’ day, and not at all the time for new seeds to grow in the garden. 

The rain dropped gently on the ruins, running down the old cathedral wall, soaking the many coloured branches and aiding their journey from crisp, crackly autumn leaves to the soggy brown mulch that would help the grass spring green again next year. This is how it is in the world: things grow, they bloom, and they die, and in their dying, they help a new thing grow. It is a beautiful thing, the growing and blooming, the life-giving death. But death is woven into the whole fabric, inextricable, a permanent and unwelcome guest. 

Trees were not the only thing planted there. 

People were planted there too.

Once upon a time, this was one of the greatest cathedrals in Europe. But bickering bishops and impatient reformers conspired to smash its windows, and then, undecided in their fervour, left it to decay with the passing years. Eventually, the town started to use the cathedral stones to build cottages. Just like the trees shed their leaves to fertilise the ground where new life will grow, the cathedral shed its stones so that fishermen and bakers and scholars could be warm in the winter. And then, when the cathedral had shed nearly all its stones, it became a graveyard. Where worshippers used to walk and worship, they were now buried. The gravestones have always reminded me of the little tabs in a spring garden that say things like “carrots” or “lettuce,” proclaiming, rather remarkably, that from the ash black soil, tender life will soon shoot up. It is remarkable, really. Every year, come Eastertide, from seeds locked in their little death chambers, deep in the cold dark ground, green shoots peek out of the earth, tender and small, and very, very alive.

But these markers are not for carrots, they are for people.

Hamish. Elspeth. Alasdair. And a thousand other names… a garden variety! Some of the names had begun to fade, washed away by a thousand autumn rains. Some, recently carved, are clearly legible and unforgiving. It’s odd, really. Usually, when things in nature die, they feed the earth and new life springs up in its stead. It’s this way with the autumn leaves and spring seeds. Even the great stone cathedral gave new life with its dying. But humans keep dying, being planted in the earth, and staying there. The world is full of graveyards full of people. Every year, I’d watched the rector plant new people in the cathedral, mark their graves (like carrot seeds) in hopes that next year they might emerge. But each year, they stayed stubbornly planted. Stubbornly dead. Unwilling to yield new life from their own death. And so, it seemed, it would be for ten thousand more. 

But in the blink of an eye, it all changed.

It was All Saints’ Day. I walked into the side gate of the ruins, near the back. A dense haar hung over the town that morning, but all at once, a burst of warm, fragrant air breathed over cathedral grounds, dispersing the gloomy cloak of fog. The grass quivered under its touch, and as it quivered, the whole earth began to rattle. The grass was green, but from some unknown core, a greater vividness began to spread over the earthen carpet. The green took on a deeper more pungent hue, as though it had actually been grey all along. For a moment, I had forgotten to breathe, but as the earth began to shake more violently, I couldn’t help but gasp in fear. Golden light streamed from the cracks in the cathedral wall. The unsettled earth had torn the green grass, and the rich brown earth lay in clumps around the graves.

Then, the most frightening thing of all began to happen. From the unsettled earth, bright white bones began to emerge. Hands, legs, skulls, spines began to assemble themselves and stand, clumps of earth falling through the empty frames of the skeletons as they stretched to their full height. There were tall skeletons, short skeletons, sturdy ones and frail, adults and children. I stood, terrified, could they see me? Should I run? Again, a warm breath, cast itself over the ruins, tossing my hair into my eyes. When I cleared it away, what I saw caught the scream in my throat, paralysed as I was with terror and wonder. 

Where skeletons once stood, I began to see human bodies. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a terrible light. There, a skeleton stood, almost patiently, as ribbons of light twirled around it, carefully spinning layers of sinew and skin back onto its barren frame. In the course of a few moments, the skeleton became a body, a discernible human figure: a stout young man with dark curly hair, and a long noble nose. Was he naked or clothed? I could not tell. He gazed down at his hands, turning them back and forth from their palms. As he did so, a great delight spread across his face. A long weariness suddenly gone. He began to shout with joy.

I looked about me. Nearly all the skeletons had been reclothed in skin, and waves of pleasure seemed to sweep over the graveyard, as the skeletons realised they were no longer skeletons. They greeted each other with laughter and embraces. Amongst all this hilarity, I saw a tall, lean woman with cascades of curly red hair awaken and look calmly about her, a furrow on her brow. She looked down and her eyes widened. Beside her a small skeleton was being wrapped about with the golden light. Out of the blinding glow, a child, with wild red curls like her own emerged. He looked at her and laughed, reaching out his arms to her with familiar trust. Relief from a long spent grief spread across her face as she scooped him into her arms and held him tightly. In their embrace, they seemed to both grow and shrink, until, when they regarded one another again, they were the same size. She had grown somewhat younger and he somewhat older. They looked to one another, joined hands and set out, it seemed, to find someone else. 

Behind me, I heard a loud metallic crack; the main gate had snapped in two, and lay lopsided on the path to the ruins. A crowd of the luminous bodies poured down South street, I presumed from some other burial ground. Amidst their company, I saw someone I almost recognised. A man with white wavy hair and pale blue eyes. He engaged his fellow traveler in conversation, his whole countenance bent in attention. There was something ponderous in his expression, a brewing objection which quickly dissipated into mirth as a smile stretched wide and straight across his face at the sight of all he witnessed. It was a smile which seemed to say “Look, friend! It is what we have talked about all these years.” In a moment of joyous recognition, the whole crowd of travellers cheered and began to climb in waves over the broken gates of the graveyard.

All around me I saw such scenes of reunion and transformation. Sisters and brothers, husbands and wives, a whole family with the same chestnut wavy hair. They all came to life, embraced, and laughed. They all seemed to be the same age. They were neither young nor old, but they were certainly not middle aged. They seemed to be the age toward which youth strives, and which old age only remembers as if it was a dream. And when they greeted each other, they began to sing as if it was the most natural thing to do. A cacophony of melodies echoed through the graveyard, but somehow they were all in tune. They bounced off the walls of the cathedral, and as my eyes followed the sound, I realised that I had nearly missed another miracle: the resurrection of the cathedral. 

In their midst, and yet towering over them, there was a woman made of stones, the same dark grey as the old ruins. She was sleepy, and the strands of her hair, made of moss and grass and tree branches hung down past her waist. As she lifted her hands to rub her sleepy eyes, pigeons flew in every direction, off to tell the good news: the Cathedral is finally awake! Her eyes glistened a transparent blue, and as she surveyed the merry surroundings, she began to laugh. Her whole stoney body shook with delight, pebbles and stones came tumbling off her fortified figure, but posed no danger to anyone. Her throaty joy echoed through the town, a glorious crescendo to the already magnificent chorus of voices. She laughed until she cried, and her tears, turning to diamonds and sapphires and rubies as they streamed down her face, fell unceremoniously on the ground around her. She shook her mighty head. Strand by strand, the grass fell from her hair, revealing streams of radiant light that floated in the air as though she were suspended in water. 

And then Cathedral spoke:

“All my friends are awake! You known, you unknown saints!”

Her voice washed over the cathedral grounds like a powerful  wave. All the souls turned toward her and cheered. 

“Let us go to see the King! For it is my wedding day.”

She turned away from them, toward the sea and the east. As she did, her gown of light, laced with beams of radiant colours spread over the graveyard. Without instruction, the Saints climbed upon her train, helping each other and singing as they did. The Cathedral raised her arms to greet the morning, as the sun crested the sea’s horizon and glistened through what would have been the altar window. Had it been night all along?

With her Saints in tow, the cathedral began to walk. Over the cliff, onto the beach, and finally onto the waves of the old North Sea. She glided on the waves toward the sun, walking on the water as lightly as a feather. The Saints, still riding on her train, were bent on their knees staring into the waves with amazement and delight. They began to reach their arms into the lapping water, wet up to their shoulders. All at once, men emerged from the waves, and some women too, sailors and seafarers who had drowned. The were pulled up on the cathedral’s trail, embraced, and met with laughter and song. Some ran to find their loved ones, some simply took in the glory of all the saints and the cathedral, and knelt to pray with thanksgiving.

They began to pass out of my sight, and into the sun. 

I longed to be with them! Had they gone where I could not go? I fell to my knees, my face to the ground, and prayed, “Oh, Lord! I want to join their company! To worship you forever!”

When I raised my eyes, all was as it had been. 

The Cathedral was still there, it’s stones grey and wet with rain. The sun was setting. The graves were untouched, patient, un-sprouted. My heart was seized by a great sadness. Was I left behind? Was it still to come? Did I, too, need to be planted before I could rise? Seemingly in answer to my heart’s aching question, the bells of All Saints street tolled, and I took myself to church. As I hurried down  north Castle Street, the voice of the cathedral rang in my ears: “I look forward to the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.” And my heart returned: I do look forward to it, and may my soul be ready.

O ALMIGHTY God, who hast knit together thine elect in one communion and fellowship, in the mystical body of thy Son Christ our Lord: Grant us grace so to follow thy blessed Saints in all virtuous and godly living, that we may come to those unspeakable joys, which thou hast prepared for them that unfeignedly love thee; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

(this is a piece of creative fiction that I wrote several years ago in honour of All Saints’ Day)

Part Seven: Matthew Rose Sorensen

“The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite.”

— Susanna Clarke

Dear Friends,

We have reached the end of our book club. On the episode attached above, I pull some of the thematic strings we have been following together, and attempt to describe why this book was so important to me. Below are some of those thoughts in writing, some borrowed from a review I wrote of Piranesi for Plough.

Throughout this book, we as readers have been haunted by a tension: we love the way Piranesi sees the world, and yet we are concerned for him. We think he does not have the full picture, we think he might be in danger. And now, as we draw to a close we see that he was. As we grieve Piranesi’s loss of innocence, we grieve our own. We wish we could live in a world where we didn’t know about evil, where meaning came naturally an intuitively to us. In this final revelation, we wonder: will the man called Piranesi be okay?

Throughout the podcast, we observes some of the philosophical underpinnings of the book, namely Barfield’s idea that premodern man had a more meaningful relationship with nature, which he called original participation. In his influential essay “The Rediscovery of Meaning,” Owen Barfield tries to account for the “pure cussedness” of the fact that “the more able man becomes to manipulate the world to his advantage, the less he can perceive any meaning in it.” Piranesi seems to embody original participation where the Other represents the modern alienation from nature and meaning.

In this chapter, Piranesi describes the Other’s alienation imaged by one of the statues:

“It is a statue of a man kneeling on his plinth: a sword lies at his side, its blade broken in five pieces. Roundabout lie other broken pieces, the remains of a sphere. The man has used his sword to shatter the sphere because he wanted to understand it, but now he finds that he has destroyed both sphere and sword. This puzzles him, but at the same time part of him refuses to accept that the sphere is broken and worthless. He has picked up some of the fragments and stares at them intently in the hope that they will eventually bring him new knowledge.”

In this tragicomic portrait, Clarke vividly illustrates Barfield’s concerns about the destruction of meaning in the modern world. And in the shattered sword and globe we see also a reflection of our present crisis of environmental ruin, which, ironically has coincided with the ascendance of purely “scientific” and mechanical accounts of nature.Through Piranesi’s eyes, we have inhabited a beautiful world where we are able to set aside the sword and the globe we’ve been so vigorously pounding, and experience a place charged with beauty and meaning and mystery. But even as we cherish the world through Piranesi’s eyes, we feel keenly his ache of isolation, and the terrible bravery it will take for him to come out of the life he has known into the warmth of human friendship. We want to see through Piranesi’s eyes, but we also want what is best for him. Though emerging from his innocence seems inevitable and necessary, we wonder wistfully if it will mean the end of his beautiful relationship to his surroundings.

In this final chapter, Piranesi emerges, exiled from the house, or perhaps graduated from it, into the much desired but complicated world of Manchester, police stations, and credit cards. In this new world he struggles to understand who he is. Matthew Rose Sorensen has “fallen asleep” inside of him, and it is Piranesi who most frequently objects to the modern world in which he finds himself. But the man called Piranesi is now no longer either Piranesi or Matthew Rose Sorensen. Inside of him is both innocence and lost innocence. He cannot unsee the wickedness and sadness of the World, or the House. How can he reconcile or integrate these realities? Who will he be now that both of these realities live within him?

It was the final chapter that really secured this book as significant in my psyche. Prior to this chapter, I was intrigued, compelled, horrified, but after this chapter I was moved, perhaps even changed. I think it is because I feel that Piranesi and Matthew Rose Sorensen live in me. In Piranesi I experience some whiff of lost innocence that once defined me. Some natural trust, joy, and spirituality. I grieve for Piranesi’s loss of innocence because I grieve for my own, for all of us. I wonder if he will be able to find beauty and goodness when all the secrets are told. And in this final chapter, we get a whiff of hope that maybe he can.

In this final chapter, Piranesi passes people in the street and realises that they were represented in the House. He longs to tell them how important, how dignified, how beautiful they truly are. In realising the true identity of these strangers, I think that Piranesi finds his own true identity as a Beloved Child of the House.

For many years, I have prayed Psalm 27: “One thing I have asked of the Lord, this is what I seek, that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life” (Psalm 27:4, Celtic Daily Prayer Book). The irony of this prayer, so often uttered in my own living room or on an airplane, has often struck me; I am not in the House of the Lord. But since reading Piranesi, this passage has taken on a new meaning for me. To Piranesi, his whole world is the House of God, and every coral and shell announces him a “Beloved Child of the House.” I think with a pang of desire how much I long to see the world that way, and how difficult it sometimes is. And yet after reading Piranesi, my eyes have been attuned anew to the possibility that these spiritual realities may not be far away, but seeping through every pang of loveliness in this weary old world. Because, as Piranesi reminds us:

The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite.

Part Six: The Wave (with Leah Libresco Sargeant and Caitrin Keiper)

“Under the Wave off Kanagawa,” Katsushika Hokusai , 1830-1832

“He is dead. My only friend. My only enemy.”

— Susanna Clarke, PiranesiDear Friends,

Shaken to his core by learning the true nature of his situation, the man called Piranesi finds himself full of fury, rage, and a desire for revenge. Piranesi makes up his mind to confront the Other and protect 16 from the flood. Will what follows lead to healing or profound disillusionment?

I discussed Part Six with two of my co-conspirators from Plough: Leah Libresco Sargeant and Caitrin Keiper. We explored the parallels between Piranesi and Miranda from the Tempest, the innate pull toward friendship and community, the bittersweet resolution of Piranesi’s fraught relationship with the other, and whether it is possible to find peace in the complications of forgiveness. Caitrin was the editor of the review I wrote on Piranesi last November, which, in a way was where this whole book club began. Full circle!

If you haven’t already, you should subscribe to Plough .

Plough is an international magazine of faith, culture, and society that publishes most weekdays online and appears quarterly in print. The Plough features original stories, ideas, and culture to inspire everyday faith and action. Starting from the conviction that the teachings and example of Jesus can transform and renew our world, we aim to apply them to all aspects of life, seeking common ground with all people of goodwill regardless of creed. Our most recent issue explored the theme of “Creatures.” You can read my review of Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro here.

And now, some thoughts and themes to explore in this week’s chapter…

Anger makes me resourceful…

In this section we see something in Piranesi that we have never seen before, something that breaks our hearts to see: a desire for revenge. “Anger makes me resourceful” he says as he describes all the many ways in which he intends to kill the Other. In one sense, there is a justice in this response. We have been concerned for Piranesi so long. He has been vulnerable, and anger has arisen to protect him. Anger can be scary but it plays an important role. It jolts us into action. It breaks out of its cage to protect us from fear, injustice, sadness, helplessness.

And yet, unchecked anger will destroy a soul.

Seeming to echo Jesus’s words in the gospels that, “anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart,” Piranesi feels as exhausted as if he has, in fact, murdered the other. It leaves him spent and confused. He is so pure hearted that he cannot sustain it very long. The remarkable thing about Piranesi is that he does not remain in a place of anger. Anger is the aberration, the interruption of what is more fundamental: love. 

“O brave new world, that has such people in it!”

William Shakespeare, The Tempest

The man called Piranesi’s journey is one from alienation to communion. Like many of our attempts at closeness, it is full of peril and hesitancy, and yet in this chapter we see Piranesi moving toward real friendship and companionship, something we as readers have found ourselves hoping for him. Caitrin illuminated this theme beautifully by observing the similarities between The Tempest and Piranesi. After being raised on a lonely Island all her life, when Miranda first sees other people she exclaims with delight “oh brave new world that has such people in it!” Of course, in Miranda’s case, we know that the people she is about to meet are the scum of the earth. But her earnest joy at connection shows how profoundly she longs for connection. Piranesi, too, is being drawn into the joy of closeness and community. 

For me, one of the most striking scenes in the book is when, after the flood is over, Piranesi guides Rafael (16) through the halls and she admires them as she should. He is like Adam with a newly found Eve. After the great tribulation they have endured, they find solace in each other and in the beauty of the House. After this experience together, Rafael invites Piranesi to return to the outside world, where his family and friends have been searching for him. This journey will require great bravery of Piranesi.

But we have faith in him.

Is the House good?

In this chapter, it seems very clear (to me!) that the House is real. But this leads us to the more fundamental question: is the beauty of the house really immeasurable? Its kindness infinite?

You may have noticed that each section of this book is named after a different character. I think the Wave is a manifestation of the House who is a character. It is an image of the sublime: the terrible and the beautiful. It is a manifestation of what Prophet and Other wished to achieve but thought they could control. As I read, I was reminded of the famous image of “The Great Wave” by Katsushika Hokusai. Art critic Edmond de Goncourt described it in the following way:

“The drawing of the wave is a deification of the sea made by a painter who lived with the religious terror of the overwhelming ocean completely surrounding his country; He is impressed by the sudden fury of the ocean’s leap toward the sky, by the deep blue of the inner side of the curve, by the splash of its claw-like crest as it sprays forth droplets.
”

— Edmond de Goncourt

Similarly, the wave gestures to wildness and mystery; just because the House is powerful doesn’t mean it is evil. It can be likened to a visual representation of God’s words to Job:

“Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?

    Tell me, if you understand. 

Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!

    Who stretched a measuring line across it?

On what were its footings set,

    or who laid its cornerstone—

while the morning stars sang together

    and all the angels[ a ] shouted for joy?

“Who shut up the sea behind doors

    when it burst forth from the womb,

when I made the clouds its garment

    and wrapped it in thick darkness,

when I fixed limits for it

    and set its doors and bars in place,

when I said, ‘This far you may come and no farther;

    here is where your proud waves halt’?
(Job 38:4-11)

This passage comes after Job’s anguished petitioning of God, asking how he can allow a good man to suffer. God’s answer to Job is such a puzzling one. He doesn’t justify sorrow, he gestures to a beauty that is grand and terrible, and somehow indisputable. In the jaws of the hippo and the rush of a wave that could swallow us alive, we glimpse a power and a beauty that speaks to us of God. If God is good, it is a goodness we cannot calculate or comprehend. Perhaps the same is true of the House.

And yet, like Job. Piranesi is not destroyed.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS:Is the relationship between Piranesi and the Other a tragedy? Is there redemption in it?Should Piranesi leave the House? Does he need companionship? Why or why not?

Join in on the conversations over on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. I can’t wait to hear all your thoughts!

Peace,
joy

P.S. In case you’ve forgotten, or this is your first week, this is how the book club works: We’ll read one chapter each week. I’ll post a podcast with a friend where we discuss the chapter (this week it’s with my brother Joel!). Then I’ll post discussion questions on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook, where you can chime in with your ideas, opinions, thoughts and questions. That’s it! That’s all it involves! At least online. I always enjoy the discussions that take place in the comments, but I also strongly encourage you to start a real life bookclub! Really, it’s a lot of fun.

Today’s Guests… Caitrin KeiperCaitrin is a New Atlantis senior editor, and an editor-at-large of PloughQuarterly . She was previously editor of Philanthropy and managing editor of The New Atlantis. She tweets at @cnkeiper.

Caitrin was the editor on my review of Piranesi for Plough, so in a way she helped this whole thing get started. Thanks Caitrin! :)

Leah Libresco Sargeant

Leah is a freelance writer, covering religion, statistics, and as much theater as I can get tickets for. Her writing has appeared in First Things, America, The American Conservative, Commonweal, The American Interest, and others. She’s the author of Arriving at Amen: Seven Catholic Prayers that Even I Can Offer.. She’s spoken on CNN, at Theology on Taps in multiple countries, at Chicago Ideas Week.

Part Five: Valentine Ketterley

“‘Why do you think he described the other world—the one he said he went to most often—as a labyrinth?’

Ketterley shrugged. ‘A vision cosmic grandeur, I suppose. A symbol of the mingled glory and horror of existence. No one gets out alive.”

— Susanna Clarke, Piranesi

Dear Friends,

We’re closing in on the last chapters of Piranesi by Susanna Clarke. This week we open a window into Matthew Rose Sorensen's past, and what we see is more horrible than we could have imagined. This week I had the great fun of chatting with my friend Haley Stewart about enchantment, memory, and anti-horror novels in part five. Haley is an author, podcaster, and Fellow at the Word on Fire Institute. She also joined me for an episode on last year’s book club as well! You can read more about her below.

Listen to our conversation above, and following along in the notes below. And don’t forget to chime in with your thoughts in the discussion on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.

SPOILER WARNING:

The following analysis will have spoilers to the extent that it is necessary for discussing the chapter…

Change in Language…

Over the course of the last few weeks we’ve begun to observe a change in Matthew’s language. He has gradually begun to recognise words that correspond to the modern world, he no longer capitalises certain words that he used to, he even begins to use profanity, something which seems very unlike what we know of the man called Piranesi. In this chapter we find ourselves immersed in Matthew’s pre-Piranesi memories, and so I found the opening lines particularly important:

“I visited him in mid-November. It was just after four, a cold blue twilight. The afternoon had been stormy and the lights of the cars were pixelated by rain; the pavements collaged with we black leaves.”

There is so much to notice here. First, he is not using his unique journal dating system (“the year the Albatross came to the South-Western Halls”). Second he uses technological language to describe a natural phenomenon. Through this, we know that we are no longer in Piranesi’s mode of “original participation,” but Matthew Rose Sorensen’s dis-enchanted posture.

Memory…

It is interesting to note that Ketterley continually asserts his excellent memory. This is striking in comparison to Matthew who has clearly lost some of his memories, but not permanently, and retained some level of sanity in comparison to James Ritter who falls into an almost subhuman slump after his time in the house. What does Ketterley’s fear of losing his memory reveal about the House? Or about himself? Piranesi’s submission to the house, or his mental atunement seems to have allowed him to receive something from the house which Ketterley never can. And this seems to be connected to Ketterley’s desire to control, his fear of losing power. 

Earlier in the book Piranesi declares “And if the House has made you forget, then it has done so for good reason.” At this point we are forced to ask whether it was the kindness of the house, or the desperation of Matthew’s situation that caused him to forget. Keep this question in your mind over the following weeks…

The dark side of enchantment…

This chapter climaxes with a terrible ritual and Piranesi’s imprisonment in the labyrinth (or The House). What does this mean? Is the House and evil place? The product of witchcraft or psychological experimentation? 

To answer this question, I think we need to look to Clarke’s clear references to The Magician’s Nephew. Ketterley is clearly a reference to Andrew Ketterley, the magician who dabbles in dark magic, and accidentally trips his way into the Wood between the Worlds. Like Uncle Andrews, Ketterley is cowardly and clumsy. He doesn't understand what he is doing or the power of what he is working with. He stumbles upon something real, but he is in no way in control. And though he is loth to admit it, it frightens him.

It reminds me, in many ways, of the turn toward the occult at the turn of the century. Driven by a sense of dissatisfaction with the dry materialism of their age, but unwilling or incurious about traditional religious accounts of the supernatural, many people sought alternative means of encountering the spiritual world. C.S. Lewis even had a period of interest in Theosophy, only to abandon it after being scared off by his friend's mental breakdown after supposed demonic encounters. Barfield himself as an adherent of Anthroposophy, a very similar mode of thinking the Ketterley’s. What these had in common was a sense that one could access and control the spiritual. Of course, the outcome was either disappointing or terrifying; there is a spiritual world to encounter, but it cannot be controlled. Those who tread boldly fall.

So it is possible (probable even) that the House exists quite outside of Ketterley’s experiments; he might not have created the House, but merely found it, like Uncle Andrews.

A final note: Clarke mentions a Berlioz requiem twice. The Symphonie Fantastique, a piece about witchcraft, darkness, enchantment seems the more natural choice given the themes of the book, but no. A requiem. Death. Judgement. Hope. I think thi is fitting, foreshadowing the themes which are more fundamental that enchantment… but I can't say why without ruining the book. :) So join in on the discussion and read on!

Haley Stewart …

is a Fellow of the Word on Fire Institute. She is a homeschooling mother of four, wife to a whisky maker, co-host of The Fountains of Carrots Podcast, and the author of The Grace of Enough. She earned a BA as a University Scholar from Baylor University and lives in central Texas.

Find Haley on Twitter, Instagram, and her delightful podcast with Christy Isinger “Fountains of Carrots.”

Haley wrote a review of Piranesi for Church Life Journal, called “The Wobbly Chronology of Disenchantment” for Notre Dame’s Church Life Journal. You can read it here!

Part Four: 16 (with Matthew Rothaus Moser)

“I looked up at the Statues on the Walls of the Vestibule. ‘I need water,’ I told them. ‘Bring me a drink of water.’

But they were only Statues and they could not bring me water. They could only look down on me with Calm Nobility”

— Susanna Clarke, Piranesi

Dear Friends,

I can hardly believe we’re more than half way through our summer book club on Piranesi by Susanna Clarke. This week, things begin to fall apart in the House. After discovering that the mysterious visitor to the house (“16”) is a woman, Piranesi’s suspicions that the Other has been hiding things from him are confirmed. Piranesi is torn between a desire to meet the third living human being in his memory, and a fear that she intends to drive him mad. However, after learning that a catastrophic flood will sweep through the House, he sets out to find 16. What he finds instead is something that will upend his simple existence: a name. His own name.

Matthew Rose Sorensen

Joining me to discuss this week’s chapter is another Matthew: Dr Matthew Rothaus Moser (which, incidentally, has the same number of syllables as Matthew Rose Sorensen). Matthew is a professor of theology, a scholar of Dante, and a friend of Speaking with Joy. We discussed A Wrinkle in Time on last summer’s book club, and before that he introduced the podcast to Dante through on conversation on the Soul in Paraphrase. Rather appropriately, we both agreed that there are some nods to Dante in this chapter; 16 has an air of Beatrice to her.

I invite you to listen to our conversation at the link above (or wherever you enjoy listening to podcasts), and then to join in on the discussion posts on instagram, twitter, or Facebook (whichever you prefer). The discussion questions are below, but first a few themes from this week.

Names:

Names are a curious thing. Jung observed that they are both the most public and the most personal fact about us. Any barista, professor, or tax agent may know your name, but to be called by name by a voice that loves you is one of the most intimate human experiences. In Genesis, God invites Adam to name all the animals, and it is only when has done so that he realises he is incomplete, lonely even in Eden. In this chapter, Piranesi puzzles over how to sign his name on the humorously contemptuous letter he sends 16:

My only difficult was that I did not know how to sign the letter. I could not write 

YOUR FRIEND’ as I did when I wrote to the Other or to Laurence (the person who had wanted to see the Statue of an Elderly Fox teaching some squirrels). 16 and I were not friends. I tried putting ‘your enemy’ but this seemed unnecessarily confrontational. I considered ‘the one who will never submit to being driven mad by you’ but that was rather long (and not a little bit pompous). In the end, I simply put:
PIRANESI

This being what the Other calls me.

(But I do not think that it is my name)

Of course, what Piranesi does not know is that 16 knows his name: Matthew Rose Sorensen.

Disenchantment:

Learning his real name causes Matthew great pain. He begins to remember a past, a time before his innocence. The world begins to contract, to turn grey. The statues can no longer comfort him. I nearly cried when I read this chapter again. It is full of grief. The most touching moment is the one which I quote at the beginning of this post: Piranesi seeks the comfort from the statues, and can find none. It is such a contrast from the previous chapter, when he discovers the truth about the Prophet. Then, he found solace in the beauty of the statues. But now, they are silent. They could only look down on him with Calm Nobility.

I think the reason we feel such grief as we read this chapter is that now Piranesi is like us. Now the world does not speak to him. It reminds me of bit from a poem by Sylvia Plath:

... I only know that a rook

Ordering its black feathers can so shine

As to seize my senses, haul

My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear 

Of total neutrality.

Sylvia Plath, “Black Rook in Rainy Weather”

“Fear of total neutrality.” That is what Matthew Rose Sorensen experiences. He has become disenchanted. Notice that I say he has become disenchanted, and not The House. The House is as ever it was, but a veil has fallen over Piranesi’s perception, and he can no more “re-enchant” the House than escape the flood. Piranesi is sort of person Charles Taylor describes when he writes “there will be people who feel bound to give it up, even though they mourn its loss.

Can the world ever speak to Matthew again?

Loneliness:

For all the sadness of this week’s revelations, we must remember that on some level, they are good. Matthew is clearly not safe, and though knowledge increases his sorrow, it could also protect him. And there’s something else too: Piranesi is made for companionship.We see it in the way he so naturally relates to everything around him. In my conversation with Malcolm Guite, we talked about how Owen Barfield didn’t actually think it would be good for the human race to stay in a place of “original participation” (Piranesi’s outlook). Mankind, according to Barfield, needed to mature, to individuate so that they could commune. This seems to be the case with Piranesi, who so naturally (and clearly) wishes to know and be known by 16. 

So while we grieve his lost innocence, and fear the forces that brought him to this situation, it is possible that this is all a part of his growth. Perhaps, perhaps, there is hope.

But before then: suspense! Next week, we read Piranesi’s journal to find out what happened. But first! Let’s discuss this week’s chapter…

Discussion Questions:

What is the significance of names? Is it significant that 16 is the first person to call Matthew (Piranesi) by his real name? Why did this undo him?

Who should Matthew trust? What criteria should he use to evaluate the trustworthiness of others? Is it good that he is becoming disenchanted?

I can’t wait to hear all your thoughts!

Peace,
joy

P.S. In case you’ve forgotten, or this is your first week, this is how the book club works: We’ll read one chapter each week. I’ll post a podcast with a friend where we discuss the chapter (this week it’s with my brother Joel!). Then I’ll post discussion questions on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook, where you can chime in with your ideas, opinions, thoughts and questions. That’s it! That’s all it involves! At least online. I always enjoy the discussions that take place in the comments, but I also strongly encourage you to start a real life bookclub! Really, it’s a lot of fun.

Part Three: The Prophet (with the Crouches!)

Title Plate, Imaginary Prisons, Giovanni Batista Piranesi, 1761

“Do you trust the House? I ask Myself.

Yes, I answer Myself.

And if the House has made you forget, then it has done so for good reason.

But I do not understand the reason.

It does not matter that you do not understand the reason. You are the Beloved Child of the House. Be comforted.

And I am comforted.”

— Susanna Clarke, Piranesi

Hello, Friends!

Welcome back to Reading with Joy, my summer book club where we’re reading Piranesi by Susanna Clarke. A few weeks ago, I saw that Andy Crouch (who you may know from Christianity Today, his book Culture Makers, or his work on Praxis Labs) was tweeting about Piranesi. I sent a note to see if he’d like to join in on the book club, and to my great delight, that note resulted in not one, not two, but three insightful (and merry) guests: Andy, Amy, and Timothy Crouch! It turns out that Piranesi made its way through the Crouch clan this year due to some dedicated evangelism on Amy’s part. I felt like I was sitting in on a Crouch family discussion. Each member had such a unique insightful perspective. Listening back through, I was struck by how much we laughed. It was so enjoyable. Listen in at the link above!

In this chapter, we experience an encounter with evil, an acquirement of knowledge, and a loss of innocence.

I found Timothy’s description of this chapter very helpful: it is the Genesis three of Piranesi’s story. In chapters one and two, we are introduced to the House, and we cannot help but say, as God does at the end of the creation story, “It is very good.” In Part Three, however, we discover that there is a snake in this garden: the Prophet! In his conversation (if it can be called that) with the Prophet, Piranesi begins to realise that he has forgotten many things and that the Other may not be telling the truth. He resolves to read his old journals, which he thinks may contain hints to his previous life. This discovery begins to erode the edenic peacefulness of Piranesi’s life. He has eaten from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. He lies to the Other. He practices hiding. He is worried he will go insane.

“The Lord God called to Adam, ‘Why are you hiding?’

And Adam replied, ‘I heard you coming and didn’t want you to see me naked. So I hid.’”

— Genesis 3:9-10

Discussing this chapter with the Crouches was such a joy. I felt like I was merely joining in on a family discussion. Everyone (except me, surprisingly!) had tea. We talked about the wicked Prophet, self-care, naïveté, knowledge, innocence, the difference between opponents and enemies. I’m pulling out a few important points below, but you’ll have to listen into the episode to learn why I will, henceforth, picture Andy Crouch playing a flute made out of a swan bone as he readers his Twitter timeline.

SELF-CARE:

“I have resolved to take better care of Myself…”

Piranesi is understandably upset by the realisation that he suffers periods of illness and forgetfulness, and that there is much about his life that he does not understand. He resolves to try to discover the origins on his life in the house, but knowing that it will be very upsetting to him, he engages in activities that sooth and care for both his body and soul. He eats, he mends his socks, he plays his pipe, and he visits the statues.

“Their Beauty soothed me and took me out of Myself; their noble expressions reminded me of all that is good in the World.”

There is something so wise and beautiful in this. In our world of constant disaster and newsfeeds, it is so tempting to binge-watch the world burn. As we scroll through hate, bitterness, loss, and irony, we can become benumbed, cynical, or depressed. What if instead of constantly exposing ourselves to the horrors of the world, we went the way of Piranesi: tending to our physical needs, reminding ourselves of all that is good in the world, and playing our flute made from the bone of a swan.

“Sorrow can be alleviated by good sleep, a bath and a glass of wine”

— Thomas AquinasKNOWLEDGE:

In my conversation with Malcolm Guite, we discussed how Piranesi and the Other model two different postures toward knowledge: knowledge as power, and knowledge as relationship. This theme is continued in Piranesi’s conversation with the Prophet, but in this chapter we also see knowledge as a loss of innocence. As Piranesi realises his forgetfulness, we feel sorrowful, knowing that his remembering might bring about horrific realisations. Nonetheless, we want Piranesi to be safe, and so we want him to thinking clearly, to remember, and, perhaps most pressingly, to protect himself from the Other and the Prophet.

This tension brings with it an important question: can Piranesi retain the beautiful, gentle relationship he has with The House if he finds out what is really going on? Can Piranesi discover what Paul Ricoeur describes as the “second naïveté,” the return not merely to belief, but childlike acceptance and love. Is it possible for Piranesi? Well, we can’t help but hope so…

IMAGINARY PRISONS:

While we’re on the subject of knowledge we may not be able to recover from, there’s something I haven’t been telling you all: Piranesi was a historical figure who is famous for having created imaginary prisons (and also for attempting to reclaim the foregone glory of the ancient romans)… seem important? perhaps?

Watch this fascinating lecture to learn more:

That’s all for this week, friends! In case you’ve forgotten, or this is your first week, this is how the book club works: We’ll read one chapter each week. I’ll post a podcast with a friend where we discuss the chapter (this week it’s with my brother Joel!). Then I’ll post discussion questions on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook, where you can chime in with your ideas, opinions, thoughts and questions. That’s it! That’s all it involves! At least online. I always enjoy the discussions that take place in the comments, but I also strongly encourage you to start a real life bookclub! 

Don’t forget to read through the last few weeks of discussions on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram… they’ve been illuminating!

Till next week, friends!

Joy Marie

“May your paths be safe, your floors unbroken, and may the House fill your eyes with Beauty”

— Susanna Clarke, PiranesiA bit more about this week’s guests… Andy Crouch…

Is partner for theology and culture at Praxis, an organization that works as a creative engine for redemptive entrepreneurship. His two most recent books—2017's The Tech-Wise Family: Everyday Steps for Putting Technology in Its Proper Place and 2016's Strong and Weak: Embracing a Life of Love, Risk and True Flourishing—build on the vision of faith, culture, and the image of God laid out in his previous books Playing God: Redeeming the Gift of Power and Culture Making: Recovering Our Creative Calling.

Andy serves on the governing boards of Fuller Theological Seminary, the Council for Christian Colleges and Universities, and InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. He also serves as an advisor to The Repentance Project, The Pelican Project, and Revoice. For more than ten years he was an editor and producer at Christianity Today, including serving as executive editor from 2012 to 2016. He served the John Templeton Foundation in 2017 as senior strategist for communication. His work and writing have been featured in The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal,Time, and several editions of Best Christian Writing and Best Spiritual Writing—and, most importantly, received a shout-out in Lecrae's 2014 single "Non-Fiction."

From 1998 to 2003, Andy was the editor-in-chief of re:generation quarterly, a magazine for an emerging generation of culturally creative Christians. For ten years he was a campus minister with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship at Harvard University. He studied classics at Cornell University and received an M.Div. summa cum laude from Boston University School of Theology. A classically trained musician who draws on pop, folk, rock, jazz, and gospel, he has led musical worship for congregations of 5 to 20,000. He lives with his family in Pennsylvania.

Timothy Crouch…

Is a professional musician and worship leader, as well as an amateur theologian and Bible nerd. He has a degree in classical viola performance from Rice University's Shepherd School of Music, and has served for two years in campus ministry with Chi Alpha Christian Fellowship at Rice. He has recently relocated from Houston, TX to Durham, NC, to begin a Master of Theological Studies at Duke Divinity School, where he plans to study theology & the arts and New Testament.

Amy Crouch …

Is a student at Cornell University studying linguistics, English, and anything else she can fit into her schedule. She wrote a book called My Tech-Wise Life: Growing Up and Making Choices in a World of Devices about how to live with wisdom and intentionality in a culture permeated by screens and apps. She loves to cook, climb mountains, and chat about books.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS:Piranesi has learned a lot in this chapter, about his world, human nature, his circumstances, much of it unpleasant. Do you think he is handling this information well? How does self-care help him to recover calm? Is he acting wisely?Do you think the House is real? What do you think is going on? Is Piranesi safe? Does he need to leave? Discuss on Facebook Discuss on Instagram Discuss on Twitter Piranesi By Clarke, Susanna Buy on Amazon Strong and Weak: Embracing a Life of Love, Risk and True Flourishing By Crouch, Andy Buy on Amazon My Tech-Wise Life: Growing Up and Making Choices in a World of Devices By Crouch, Amy, Crouch, Andy Buy on Amazon

Part Two: The Prophet (with the Crouches!)

Title Plate, Imaginary Prisons, Giovanni Batista Piranesi, 1761

“Do you trust the House? I ask Myself.

Yes, I answer Myself.

And if the House has made you forget, then it has done so for good reason.

But I do not understand the reason.

It does not matter that you do not understand the reason. You are the Beloved Child of the House. Be comforted.

And I am comforted.”

— Susanna Clarke, Piranesi

Hello, Friends!

Welcome back to Reading with Joy, my summer book club where we’re reading Piranesi by Susanna Clarke. A few weeks ago, I saw that Andy Crouch (who you may know from Christianity Today, his book Culture Makers, or his work on Praxis Labs) was tweeting about Piranesi. I sent a note to see if he’d like to join in on the book club, and to my great delight, that note resulted in not one, not two, but three insightful (and merry) guests: Andy, Amy, and Timothy Crouch! It turns out that Piranesi made its way through the Crouch clan this year due to some dedicated evangelism on Amy’s part. I felt like I was sitting in on a Crouch family discussion. Each member had such a unique insightful perspective. Listening back through, I was struck by how much we laughed. It was so enjoyable. Listen in at the link above!

In this chapter, we experience an encounter with evil, an acquirement of knowledge, and a loss of innocence.

I found Timothy’s description of this chapter very helpful: it is the Genesis three of Piranesi’s story. In chapters one and two, we are introduced to the House, and we cannot help but say, as God does at the end of the creation story, “It is very good.” In Part Three, however, we discover that there is a snake in this garden: the Prophet! In his conversation (if it can be called that) with the Prophet, Piranesi begins to realise that he has forgotten many things and that the Other may not be telling the truth. He resolves to read his old journals, which he thinks may contain hints to his previous life. This discovery begins to erode the edenic peacefulness of Piranesi’s life. He has eaten from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. He lies to the Other. He practices hiding. He is worried he will go insane.

“The Lord God called to Adam, ‘Why are you hiding?’

And Adam replied, ‘I heard you coming and didn’t want you to see me naked. So I hid.’”

— Genesis 3:9-10

Discussing this chapter with the Crouches was such a joy. I felt like I was merely joining in on a family discussion. Everyone (except me, surprisingly!) had tea. We talked about the wicked Prophet, self-care, naïveté, knowledge, innocence, the difference between opponents and enemies. I’m pulling out a few important points below, but you’ll have to listen into the episode to learn why I will, henceforth, picture Andy Crouch playing a flute made out of a swan bone as he readers his Twitter timeline.

SELF-CARE:

“I have resolved to take better care of Myself…”

Piranesi is understandably upset by the realisation that he suffers periods of illness and forgetfulness, and that there is much about his life that he does not understand. He resolves to try to discover the origins on his life in the house, but knowing that it will be very upsetting to him, he engages in activities that sooth and care for both his body and soul. He eats, he mends his socks, he plays his pipe, and he visits the statues.

“Their Beauty soothed me and took me out of Myself; their noble expressions reminded me of all that is good in the World.”

There is something so wise and beautiful in this. In our world of constant disaster and newsfeeds, it is so tempting to binge-watch the world burn. As we scroll through hate, bitterness, loss, and irony, we can become benumbed, cynical, or depressed. What if instead of constantly exposing ourselves to the horrors of the world, we went the way of Piranesi: tending to our physical needs, reminding ourselves of all that is good in the world, and playing our flute made from the bone of a swan.

“Sorrow can be alleviated by good sleep, a bath and a glass of wine”

— Thomas AquinasKNOWLEDGE:

In my conversation with Malcolm Guite, we discussed how Piranesi and the Other model two different postures toward knowledge: knowledge as power, and knowledge as relationship. This theme is continued in Piranesi’s conversation with the Prophet, but in this chapter we also see knowledge as a loss of innocence. As Piranesi realises his forgetfulness, we feel sorrowful, knowing that his remembering might bring about horrific realisations. Nonetheless, we want Piranesi to be safe, and so we want him to thinking clearly, to remember, and, perhaps most pressingly, to protect himself from the Other and the Prophet.

This tension brings with it an important question: can Piranesi retain the beautiful, gentle relationship he has with The House if he finds out what is really going on? Can Piranesi discover what Paul Ricoeur describes as the “second naïveté,” the return not merely to belief, but childlike acceptance and love. Is it possible for Piranesi? Well, we can’t help but hope so…

IMAGINARY PRISONS:

While we’re on the subject of knowledge we may not be able to recover from, there’s something I haven’t been telling you all: Piranesi was a historical figure who is famous for having created imaginary prisons (and also for attempting to reclaim the foregone glory of the ancient romans)… seem important? perhaps?

Watch this fascinating lecture to learn more:

That’s all for this week, friends! In case you’ve forgotten, or this is your first week, this is how the book club works: We’ll read one chapter each week. I’ll post a podcast with a friend where we discuss the chapter (this week it’s with my brother Joel!). Then I’ll post discussion questions on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook, where you can chime in with your ideas, opinions, thoughts and questions. That’s it! That’s all it involves! At least online. I always enjoy the discussions that take place in the comments, but I also strongly encourage you to start a real life bookclub! 

Don’t forget to read through the last few weeks of discussions on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram… they’ve been illuminating!

Till next week, friends!

Joy Marie

“May your paths be safe, your floors unbroken, and may the House fill your eyes with Beauty”

— Susanna Clarke, PiranesiA bit more about this week’s guests… Andy Crouch…

Is partner for theology and culture at Praxis, an organization that works as a creative engine for redemptive entrepreneurship. His two most recent books—2017's The Tech-Wise Family: Everyday Steps for Putting Technology in Its Proper Place and 2016's Strong and Weak: Embracing a Life of Love, Risk and True Flourishing—build on the vision of faith, culture, and the image of God laid out in his previous books Playing God: Redeeming the Gift of Power and Culture Making: Recovering Our Creative Calling.

Andy serves on the governing boards of Fuller Theological Seminary, the Council for Christian Colleges and Universities, and InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. He also serves as an advisor to The Repentance Project, The Pelican Project, and Revoice. For more than ten years he was an editor and producer at Christianity Today, including serving as executive editor from 2012 to 2016. He served the John Templeton Foundation in 2017 as senior strategist for communication. His work and writing have been featured in The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal,Time, and several editions of Best Christian Writing and Best Spiritual Writing—and, most importantly, received a shout-out in Lecrae's 2014 single "Non-Fiction."

From 1998 to 2003, Andy was the editor-in-chief of re:generation quarterly, a magazine for an emerging generation of culturally creative Christians. For ten years he was a campus minister with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship at Harvard University. He studied classics at Cornell University and received an M.Div. summa cum laude from Boston University School of Theology. A classically trained musician who draws on pop, folk, rock, jazz, and gospel, he has led musical worship for congregations of 5 to 20,000. He lives with his family in Pennsylvania.

Timothy Crouch…

Is a professional musician and worship leader, as well as an amateur theologian and Bible nerd. He has a degree in classical viola performance from Rice University's Shepherd School of Music, and has served for two years in campus ministry with Chi Alpha Christian Fellowship at Rice. He has recently relocated from Houston, TX to Durham, NC, to begin a Master of Theological Studies at Duke Divinity School, where he plans to study theology & the arts and New Testament.

Amy Crouch …

Is a student at Cornell University studying linguistics, English, and anything else she can fit into her schedule. She wrote a book called My Tech-Wise Life: Growing Up and Making Choices in a World of Devices about how to live with wisdom and intentionality in a culture permeated by screens and apps. She loves to cook, climb mountains, and chat about books.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS:Piranesi has learned a lot in this chapter, about his world, human nature, his circumstances, much of it unpleasant. Do you think he is handling this information well? How does self-care help him to recover calm? Is he acting wisely?Do you think the House is real? What do you think is going on? Is Piranesi safe? Does he need to leave? Discuss on Facebook Discuss on Instagram Discuss on Twitter Piranesi By Clarke, Susanna Buy on Amazon Strong and Weak: Embracing a Life of Love, Risk and True Flourishing By Crouch, Andy Buy on Amazon My Tech-Wise Life: Growing Up and Making Choices in a World of Devices By Crouch, Amy, Crouch, Andy Buy on Amazon

Part Two: The Other (with Malcolm Guite)

Gustave Dore, The Albatross is Shot,

“It swept on, coming directly towards me. I spread my arms in answer to its spread wings, as if I was going to embrace it. I spoke out loud. Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! was what I think I meant to say, but the Wind took my breath from me and all I could manage was: ‘Come! Come! Come!’

The bird sailed across the heaving Waves, never once beating its wings. With great skill and ease it tipped itself slightly sideways to pass through the Doorway that separated us. Its wins-and surpassed even the width of the Door. I knew what it was.

An albatross!”

— Susanna Clarke, Piranesi

Dear Friends,

Last week, we met Piranesi, a gentle soul who lives in what he calls the House, a vast labyrinth of halls, through which tides was in and out. Piranesi looks to the House as a guardian, and feels a deep kinship with all the creatures which dwell in its halls. There is something contagious about the innocence, openness, and generosity of Piranesi’s outlook, and yet we can’t help but be concerned. While his world feels timeless, small things seem to indicate that perhaps it is not. A passing mention of “2012” and other various clues make us wonder if perhaps all is not as it seems. We worry for Piranesi, because he is so easy to love.

This week we meet a new character, quite unlike Piranesi: the Other. 

For this week’s episode, I took the train down to Cambridge and chatted with Malcolm Guite over a cup of tea. Malcolm is a poet, priest, scholar, and rock and roller. He’s a favourite of this podcast. I featured one of his poems on this episode about disappointment and improvisation. I’ve often recommended his excellent curated collection of poems for lent and advent. His original poetry is splendid, and you can find a good deal of it on his wonderful blog. He also hosts a wonderful YouTube channel called “a Spell in the Library,” which is simply delightful. I was absolutely chuffed that we managed to record this episode. Listening back through it, I smiled when I realised you can hear birds chirping and the occasional “clunk” of our teacups on the table.

This was a particularly special conversation because Malcolm and Susanna Clarke are friends and literary compatriots, exchanging manuscripts, books, and ideas. I loved hearing Malcolm’s poetic and perspective on this book. Our conversation centred around three topics: Barfield’s notion of “final participation”, the literary parallels between Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” and the albatross scene in Part Two, and whether and how one can believe in an enchanted world in our present day.

We began by discussing the deeper implications of Barfield’s notions of original and final participation. Malcolm explained Barfield’s argument that the linguistic habits and evolutions of modern man had contributed to an increasing sense of alienation between the material and spiritual realm. This was not, for Barfield, an entirely negative thing. There was a need, in his mind, for individuation, the recognition of ourselves as individuals in the grand tapestry of creation. Barfield believed this process would not ultimately be alienating, but lead us back to a deeper communion. In Barfield’s eyes, the fulness of this process would be Final Participation, returning to a meaningful relationship with nature which integrates our distinctiveness as individual beings and souls. Integral to this, is his theology of the Holy Spirit (about which I know little!).

“‘God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—
Why look’st thou so?’—With my cross-bow
I shot the ALBATROSS. ”

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge

This conversation tied in perfectly to this week’s chapter, and the introduction of The Other. The Other seems to be a product of the gradual alienation that Barfield describes in the modern man. The Other seeks some lost power in the world, based in an intuitive and porous relationship with nature. He enlists Piranesi to help him find it. But there is an obvious difference between Piranesi and the Other. Piranesi naturally and intuitively relates to the world, sees its powers and beauty, and sees himself in a loving, reciprocal relationship with it. In contrast, the Other is oblivious to the realities Piranesi naturally perceives, sometimes showing disdain or condescending to him. Against Piranesi’s wishes, The Other seeks to find and use the ancient power for his own ends. The Other knows that he is “dis-enchanted” and thinks that, somehow, he can reclaim enchantment, meaning, and a meaningful relationship with nature by force. And this makes Piranesi uncomfortable.

This reminded me of a pet-peeve of mine: talk of “re-enchantment.”

If you swim in the waters of poetry, art, theology, etc., somewhere along the way, you will have heard someone say we need to “re-enchant the world.” I always wonder what exactly this would mean—believing in fairies? Arbitrarily attributing poetic and human qualities to nature? Writing more poetry? All these impulses remind me of the Other. In a way, it’s understandable. There is something anemic about modern life. We feel locked on the outside, and want inside. We feel “disenchanted” and so it sounds very appealing to “trenchant things.” Just like the Other. The problem with this, is that it can become an expression of control and manipulation, which, according to Barfield, is what made us lonely to begin with. Malcolm observed that the Other seems to represent the “essentially exploitative and manipulative approach to nature” which Barfield seeks to transcend. This treats knowledge as a means to power, rather than as a foundation for true relationship. Malcolm had some very choice (and insightful!) Words for proponents of re-enchantment: 

“It’s not (or should not) be about me taking a dully world and ‘re-enchanting it’ with some enchanting, magical poetry… it is about me removing the false covering of ordinariness, which Coleridge called the ‘film of familiarity and selfish solicitude,” that we have to remove that film and awaken the mind’s attention. But that’s about lifting the veil to reveal a radiant glory. The radiant glory is there right now.”

“Nobody is going to ‘re-enchant’ the world except the God who made it. And He has already done so.”

— Malcolm Guite

AMEN, Malcolm, amen.

All this relates to the other central theme of our conversation: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner!

There is a very important scene in this chapter, which emphasises the themes I spoke about last week: alienation and kindness. In it, Piranesi sees a albatross coming toward him, and imagines himself as an angel declaring joy and peace to the world. It’s a strange and wonderful scene, beautifully illustrating Piranesi’s posture toward the world. It also happens to be a reference to one of the most important poems in the English Language… Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge!

“At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God’s name. ”

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"

In this poem, a old, gristled sailor tells a story of meeting an albatross, who the whole crew befriends, shares their food with, and delights in as a friend. Then, suddenly and without explanation, the mariner shoots the albatross in a sheer assertion of power. This action casts him into a profound spiritual and actual crisis. The crew dies, he’s cast into hellish fever dream of punishment, gradually being drawn toward redemption and forgiveness. His penance is to tell his tale. It is a beautiful and upsetting illustration of alienation, but as the mariner draws toward redemption he begins to display kindness. He blesses the creatures of the air and sees them as messengers of God’s kindness.

Malcolm argues that this poem was prophetic both of Coleridge’s own life, and of society. (I chuckled as I listened to his description of Coleridge’s own spiritual crisis which bears similarities to the experience of completing a phd: “Coleridge made a disastrous choice… was full of loathsomeness, wanted to die, and eventually recovered”). Malcolm describes the present experience of meaninglessness in the following way: “We shot the albatross in the 17th-18th century and now we’re just stuck on a bizarre random ship in the ocean of the cosmos full of dead stuff for no particular reason.” Can our ship reach a safe harbour?

Malcolm and I discussed the poem itself, the albatross scene in Part Two, and the significance relationship of several other books who share in the same literary conversation concerning these topics: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Coleridge, and maybe even George MacDonald’s Phantastes. One of the most interesting parts of our conversation, however, centred around the “real world” application of these ideas. Many of us find the enchanted outlook of Piranesi appealing, but also unrealistic. How do we know the difference between our exploitative projections, and the “unveiled glory” of the cosmos? We worry for Piranesi, that he is being taken in, that he has missed something. Could this not also be the case with a religious worldview?

A long time ago I had a conversation with one of my friends who falls on the atheistic side of agnosticism. He said “we agree on how to live. You have to live like there’s a God. But I think it’s all an illusion.” Malcolm and I talked about this conversation on the podcast. How do you move from a dissatisfaction with the modern, deadened way of seeing the world toward a genuine belief that isn’t just based on wishful thinking? Malcolm thinks good literature and “imaginative supposes” might be a good place to start. I do hope you’ll listen in to hear them all. If, after this podcast, you want to read more around all theses ideas, go read The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, and then pick up Malcolm’s book The Mariner (which Susanna Clarke endorsed!).

As ever, do make sure to pop over to Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter to join the conversation! 

I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

Peace,
Joy Marie

p.s. here is Malcolm on his noble steed. His arrival was announced by its polite roar…

The Book Club — How it Works

I’m excited you’re joining in! This is how it’s going to work: We’ll read one chapter each week. I’ll post a podcast with a friend where we discuss the chapter (this week it’s with my brother Joel!). Then I’ll post discussion questions on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook, where you can chime in with your ideas, opinions, thoughts and questions. That’s it! That’s all it involves! At least online. I always enjoy the discussions that take place in the comments, but I also strongly encourage you to start a real life bookclub! 

Ask a friend to have a coffee and discuss a chapter each week! Have a few friends to your garden! It’s really so much more fun. The other great thing about this book is that it’s only seven chapters (i.e. parts), so it’s a less than two month commitment. Speaking of commitment, the schedule is below.

Book Club Schedule:

June 22nd, Part 1: Piranesi,  with Joel Clarkson.

June 29th, Part 2: The Other, with Malcolm Guite

July 6th, Part 3: The Prophet, with Andy, Amy, and Timothy Crouch

July 13th, Part 4,: 16, with Matthew Rothaus Moser

July 20th, Part 5: Valentine Ketterley, with Haley Stewart

July 27th, Part 6: Wave, with Leah Libresco, Caitrin Keiper, and Susannah Black

August 3rd, Part 7: Matthew Rose Sorensen, TBD.

Discussion Questions:What did you make of the Albatross Scene? Do you think it is significant? What does it reveal about Piranesi, or the House?Are the intentions of the Other honourable? Why or why not?
Mariner: A Voyage with Samuel Taylor Coleridge By Guite, Malcolm Buy on Amazon

Dear Bookish

The Magician's Nephew (Full-Color Collector's Edition) HarperCollins Buy on Amazon

Part One: Piranesi

Giovanni Battista Piranesi, 1720-1788

“As a scientist and an explorer I have a duty to bear witness to the Splendours of the World…”

— Piranesi, Susanna Clarke

Hello, friends. I’ve been counting down the days to the commencement of our summer book club on Piranesi by Susannah Clarke… and it’s finally here! I’ve hosted an online bookclub each summer for the last four years, and every year I enjoy it more than the last. I’m excited to invite you into the world of this strange and beautiful book. You can read more about why I chose Piranesi in last week’s post, and catch all the details for how the book club will run at the bottom of this page. In this first episode I talk with my brother Joel Clarkson about our experience reading it out loud together last autumn, and give a literary and thematic introduction to the book. In this post, I want to offer some of thoughts, and draw your attention to two important themes in the book:

Alienation and Kindness.  

In his essay “The Rediscovery of Meaning,” Owen Barfield tries to account for the “pure cussedness” of the fact that “the more able man becomes to manipulate the world to his advantage, the less he can perceive any meaning in it.” Barfield argues that when the scientific method hardened into an epistemological outlook, the horizons of scientific knowledge exponentially expanded, while the vistas of meaning began to contract. Ingrained to a “habit of inattention,” we began to treat the world as an object quite separate from ourselves, and thus quite alien. We are alienated from the natural world. We speak of the “environment” as if it is something quite separate from ourselves, and not that from which these bodies of ours draw their very substance. 

What would it be like if we weren’t alienated from the natural world?

This is one of the questions that Clarke imaginatively explores in Piranesi. She writes:

“Ancient peoples did not feel alienated from their surroundings the way in which we sometimes do. They did not see the world as meaningless; they saw it as a great and sacred drama in which they took part. Barfield called this idea “original participation” and I tried to describe this sort of relationship in Piranesi’s attitude to the House.”

— Susanna Clarke, an interview in the Hindustan Times

This endeavour is tied up with another notion: disenchantment. The sociological historian Max Weber (1864-1920) famously argued that modernity was characterised by a movement toward rationality, which he describes as a process of “disenchantment.” Weber suggests that the pre-modern individual existed in an “enchanted garden,” a place full of mystery and meaning where the natural world was a book which revealed aspects of the nature of God, and everything oozed with a significance beyond its mere material existence. This notion has been picked up by authors like Charles Taylor who argues that the secular self perceives the world through an “imminent frame,” where God may exist, but nothing in the material world shares divine meaning or life. Taylor observes the  perceived loss in the way that the modern person experiences the world. We live, as Alison Milbank writes in “the Kantian world of dead objects.”

So there is a sense of loss, of hauntedness. But what is the solution?

If you read very long you’ll bump into another notion: re-enchantment. If Piranesi embodies the “premodern man” who exists in a state of “original participation,” I think the Other, to whom we have been indirectly introduced in this first chapter, embodies a lonely modernist. He is convinced that there is some “Great and Secret Knowledge” hidden somewhere in the world. Something the modern world has forgotten. Something he must find and master. In this, however, he seems to demonstrate the very mindset Barfield argues destroyed “original participation” to begin with: the ability to “manipulate the world to his advantage.” This presents an interesting conundrum: nature is as ever it was, but we have lost touch with her, and the world seems drained of its vitality and beauty as a result. This loss of meaning is mirrored in the actual destruction of nature. We are less and less able to name nature, to feel its significance, and so perhaps unsurprisingly, the natural world is under threat. It is no tragedy to kill a “Kantian world of dead objects,” if it is, after all, already dead.

Perhaps providentially, as I prepared for this week’s discussion, I happened also to be reading Pope Francis’ encyclical on the environment (Laudato Si — Praise be to you, my Lord). After an introduction cataloging the manifold and potential disastrous effects of the destruction of creation, and an affirmation of the important and central role of scientific research in addressing these issues, the Pope turns to more poetic considerations. He begins to describe his own namesake: Saint Francis. 

“His response to the world around him was so much more than intellectual appreciation or economic calculus, for to him each and every creature was a sister united to him by the bonds of affection… such a conviction cannot be written off as naive romanticism, for it affects the choices which determine our behaviour. If we approach nature and the environment without this openness to awe and wonder, if we no longer speak the language of fraternity and beauty in our relationship with the world, our attitude will be that of masters, consumers, ruthless exploiters unable to set limits on their immediate needs. By contrast, if we feel intimately united with all that exists, then sobriety and care will well up spontaneously. The poverty and austerity of Saint Francis were no mere veneer of asceticism, but something much more radical: a refusal to turn reality into an object simply to be used and controlled”

— Pope Francis, Laudato Si'

I think the point Pope Francis is making is an important one. It is not merely about what we know about nature— what it is made up of, how we can use it, how rapidly we are destroying it. It is how we relate to nature, how we imagine it. The poetic shapes the practical. Saint Francis spoke of the sun as a brother and the moon as a sister. Saint Francis’ view of the world was, in a manner of speaking “enchanted,” and the Pope reminds us that “such a conviction cannot be written off as naive romanticism, for it affects the choices which determine our behaviour.” Nature is as ever she was. Our language to describer her has changed, and along with it our relationship to nature itself. Is there a way of out alienation that doesn’t simply fall back on wilful ignorance of (exciting and useful!) scientific discovery or nostalgia for a past we can never reclaim?

This leads to the second theme I want you to notice in this book: kindness. 

Kindness has sometimes been relegated to the realm of kitsch “Practice Random Acts of Kindness” bumper stickers used to command (and it’s not a bad suggestion). The Merriam Webster dictionary defines kind as “of a sympathetic or helpful nature; of a forbearing nature; arising from or characterized by sympathy or forbearance.” We tend to think of kindness according to its actions. But the etymological origin of kindness is not action, but relationship. Online Etymology Dictionary writes that the word kind originally meant “‘class, sort, variety,’ from Old English gecynd ‘kind, nature, race,’ related to cynn ‘family’ (see kin), from Proto-Germanic *kundjaz ‘family, race,’ from PIE root *gene- ‘give birth, beget,’ with derivatives referring to procreation and familial and tribal group.” Janet Soskice picks up on this in her beautiful little book The Kindness of God.

“In Middle English the words ‘kind’ and ‘kin’ were the same— to say that Chris is ‘our kind Lord’ is not to say that Chris is tender and gentle, although that may be implied, but to say that he is kin—our kind. This fact, and not emotional disposition, is the rock which is our salvation.”

— Janet Martin Soskice, Kindness of God

God is kind to us because, through Christ, he became one of our kind. God is involved in the business of human affairs. Christ’s disposition of kindness is prefigured in the Hebrew word “hesed,”  often translated as “loving-kindness,” a word which, itself, was made up to account for the capaciousness of this little word. The Psalmist writes “The LORD is compassionate and gracious, Slow to anger and abounding in lovingkindness” (103:8). Bound up in this image is a God who is gentle, loyal, generous. Hesed implies a personal love and energetic responsiveness. God responds to us, is in relationship with us. God is not alienated from us.

I think kindness is the opposite, or perhaps more appropriately, the antidote to alienation. To be alienated is to be left outside, to be strange and unknown and to experience others as strange and unknown. Barfield describes this alienation with creation, but we see it in our society too, lonely, angry, and incomprehensible. And in ourselves. We feel trapped outside each other, desperately wanting to be known. We want inside.

In this first chapter, after a dangerous experience which nearly kills him, Piranesi writes in his journal: “The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite.” An experience which could have been alienating reveals kindness to him. Why does he interpret this experience, and the house more generally, through a lens of kindness and not alienation? It is something to ponder. Is it possible to recover kindness? To see the world, as Saint Francis did, and as Piranesi does, as our sister? Can we ever escape the “pure cussedness” of modernity? These are all questions worth exploring. But of course, Piranesi is a story not an essay. So you’ll have to read on to find out what insights, or rather what sights (perspectives on the world) it might offer.

I can’t wait to hear what you think!

Reading list:

Owen Barfield, Rediscovery of Meaning and Other Essays (Middleton: Wesleyan University Press, 1985)

Susannah Clarke, Piranesi, (London: Bloomsbury, 2020)

Pope Francis, Laudato Si’, Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2015, https://www.vatican.va/content/france...

Alison Milbank, Apologetics and the Imagination: Making Strange,” In Imaginative Apologetics: Theology, Philosophy, and the Catholic Tradition, Edited by Andrew Davison (London: SCM Press, 2011).

Janet Soskice, The Kindness of God (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008).

The Book Club — How it Works

I’m excited you’re joining in! This is how it’s going to work: We’ll read one chapter each week. I’ll post a podcast with a friend where we discuss the chapter (this week it’s with my brother Joel!). Then I’ll post discussion questions on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook, where you can chime in with your ideas, opinions, thoughts and questions. That’s it! That’s all it involves! At least online. I always enjoy the discussions that take place in the comments, but I also strongly encourage you to start a real life bookclub! 

Ask a friend to have a coffee and discuss a chapter each week! Have a few friends to your garden! It’s really so much more fun. The other great thing about this book is that it’s only seven chapters (i.e. parts), so it’s a less than two month commitment. Speaking of commitment, the schedule is below.

Book Club Schedule:

June 22nd, Part 1: Piranesi,  with Joel Clarkson.

June 29th, Part 2: The Other, with Malcolm Guite

July 6th, Part 3: The Prophet, with Andy, Amy, and Timothy Crouch

July 13th, Part 4,: 16, with Matthew Rothaus Moser

July 20th, Part 5: Valentine Ketterley, with Haley Stewart

July 27th, Part 6: Wave, with Leah Libresco, Caitrin Keiper, and Susannah Black

August 3rd, Part 7: Matthew Rose Sorensen, TBD.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS:

Piranesi has a near death experience with the house, and yet concludes that “the beauty of the House is immeasurable. Its kindness infinite.” Why does he draw this conclusion from such an ambiguous and threatening event? Do you think the house is really kind?

Piranesi thinks he is a scientist. Do you think he is a scientist? In what meaningful ways is he, or is he not a scientist? How does his perspective compare with our own contemporary understanding of the natural world?

Piranesi By Clarke, Susanna Buy on Amazon P.S. additional bookclub!

As many of you may know, I have a Patreon which has been a great means of support as I’ve finished my Phd. Of course, the Piranesi book club is free and public, but I will also be hosting another, smaller book club on the Patreon which you can join if you fancy also supporting my work with the podcast. In that bookclub we will be reading A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L’Engle. Last year we read Revelations of Divine Love by Julian of Norwich, One of the reasons that I picked this book in particular is that, even though it was written nearly a millennia later, this book is similar in its motherly, epistolary tone. This book has the feeling of someone writing it exactly to you, to me. And of course Madeleine says that in one of the sections we read this week. That it is personal. Vulnerable. Named. In our present parlance we might even say: authentic.

The book asks: how can we find a circle of quiet? how can we find and keep contact with the essential, the fundamental, the real? how does this nourish our vocation, our writing, our relationships?

I'll do the podcast book club for the $10 tier (podcasts belonging in that tier originally). So if you want to join in (and support beleaguered phd student!) buy the book and make sure you’re in that tier by Monday, June 21st.

Summer Book Club: Piranesi

“The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite.”

— Piranesi, Susanna Clarke

Hello, friends! After a six month hiatus from casting pod, I am back. I’m excited to tell you about my summer bookclub on Piranesi by Susanna Clarke. First, let me give you a little back story.

Last summer, upon returning to the UK in the midst of the mandatory lockdowns, I read Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, Susannah Clarke’s sprawling tale of two magicians in an alternative history, whose fierce scholarly rivalry brings about the restoration of magic in England. It’s a strange and wonderful tale, indulgently long, which was just the ticket for two weeks inside during a hot summer. So, when I heard Susannah Clarke was coming out with a new novel, I rushed to my nearest book-monger, prepared to joyfully devour nine hundred pages on absolutely whatever her imagination had seen fit to produce: fairies, footnotes, Byron, the Battle of Waterloo. But what I found in my hands was something rather different from her first volume: a modest book of less than three hundred pages, about a man who lives in a house that loves him.

The world of Piranesi is bounded, precise, lonesome; and yet as I lived in it, I could feel my soul expanding.

The story is told through the journals of a man who lives in a labyrinthine house, filled with statues, through which tides wash in and out. He believes himself to be one of two living humans in the world. He spends his days fishing, cooking, mending his nets, attending to the bones of the thirteen humans who have come before him, and attempting to help the Other (his one human companion) in his efforts to discover some lost ancient power in the House. The Other calls the narrator “Piranesi,” but he thinks of himself primarily as a “Beloved Child of the House.”

Some books become a part of your bones. That’s how Piranesi was for me. It’s the sort of book that fuses itself into your imagination, so that when you seen the world, you see a little bit of the book too. Or perhaps its merely that the book helped you see something in the world which you had always missed before. After I read the last chapter, I read it again and again, seeking to soak up the good, profound, and essential something that wafted through it. Rowan Williams writes that the best beloved books offer us “states of atunement to reality which we value and seek to recover.” And I sought to recover what Piranesi offered.

What exactly was it that Piranesi offered? I thought about this question a lot, and even wrote a review meditating on it for Plough (it’s mostly spoiler free if you ant to give it a peek!). I think it offers what Paul Ricouer describes as a second naivety. A recapitulation of innocence which outlasts cynicism. It is a book which asks whether it is possible to see the world as a good place, permeated with kindness and meaning, even in the light of life’s hardest, harshest boundaries. Even given loss, wickedness, and banality.

That seems to be a question worth asking.

That is why I have chosen feature Piranesi on my book club this summer!

IIt’s been a joy to host book clubs on my podcast for the last few years. We’ve read The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis, Orthodoxy by GK Chesterton, and Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle. This year, it only made sense to dive into Piranesi, which I enjoyed so much and which I think brings up many good ideas and images to dwell on and discuss. For those who have not participated in the book club before, this is how it works:

How it works:

We’ll read one chapter each week. I’ll post a podcast with a friend where we discuss the chapter. Then I’ll post discussion questions on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook, where you can chime in with your ideas, opinions, thoughts and questions. That’s it! That’s all it involves! At least online. I always enjoy the discussions that take place in the comments, but I also strongly encourage you to start a real life bookclub!

Ask a friend to have a coffee and discuss a chapter each week! Have a few friends to your garden! It’s really so much more fun. The other great thing about this book is that it’s only seven chapters (i.e. parts), so it’s a less than two month commitment. Think it over!

Here is the schedule:

Book Club Schedule:June 22nd, Part 1: Piranesi, with Joel Clarkson.June 29th, Part 2: The Other, with Malcolm GuiteJuly 6th, Part 3: The Prophet, with Andy, Amy, and Timothy CrouchJuly 13th, Part 4,: 16, with Matthew Rothaus MoserJuly 20th, Part 5: Valentine Ketterley, with Haley StewartJuly 27th, Part 6: Wave, with Leah Libresco, Caitrin Keiper, and Susannah BlackAugust 3rd, Part 7: Matthew Rose Sorensen, TBD.

BE FOREWARNED: some of the chapters are pretty long (80 pages!), but overall the book is a very swift and easy read. (It will be hard to stop yourself!). If you get a bit behind (or a bit ahead!) don’t worry about it. Chime in when you have time. Jot down your thoughts as you read.

BE EXCITED: there are many wonderful aspects of this book. It is a gripping story. Its narrator is one of the most loveable characters I’ve ever encountered in literature. It deals with essential, human questions (loneliness, meaning, evil, innocence, kindness). And it is in literary conversation with many interesting authors: C.S. Lewis, Owen Barfield, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Jorge Luis Borges. You’re going to love it.

BE INSPIRED: one of the things I love best about hosting the summer book clubs is that I get to talk to wonderful people about interesting books. I hope you’ll follow along in the podcast, but most of all I hope you will invite a friend to read along with you, and have your own interesting conversations. I challenge you to invite a friend to join you in the book club. You all could meet for real life over a cup of tea every week, or even Zoom if that works better. Last year I heard the most wonderful stories about people reconnecting with old friends, forming new friendships, and deepening the ones they have.

So what do you say?Will you join in?GIVE AWAY!

One other thing: a generous benefactor has given me over a dozen copies of Piranesi to give away. Head over to Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook, to enter to win a copy for you and a friend.

To enter:

make sure you’re following me (so I can direct message you)

share the post

tag a friend that want to join the book club with you!

Easy as that! :) The entry to the give away will end on Wednesday July 9th, so that the rest of you can get your book ordered in time for the first week of the book club. I hope also that the literary generosity of the benefactor of this give away will be catching… I’m so thankful for souls of such generosity!

Alright! That’s all for now. See you all in two weeks for Part One: Piranesi.

xx

joy marie

Piranesi By Clarke, Susanna Buy on Amazon P.S. Patreon (additional bookclub!)

As many of you may know, I have a Patreon which has been a great means of support as I’ve finished my Phd. Of course, the Piranesi book club is free and public, but I will also be hosting another, smaller book club on the Patreon which you can join if you fancy also supporting my work with the podcast. In that bookclub we will be reading A Circle of Quiet by Madeleine L’Engle. It is a wonderful collection of essays by L’Engle about the writing life, culture, family, motherhood. It’s a little bit of everything, but it’s a real, soul filling delight.

I'll do the podcast book club for the $10 tier (podcasts belonging in that tier originally). So if you want to join in (and support beleaguered phd student!) buy the book and make sure you’re in that tier by Monday, June 21st.

A Circle of Quiet By LEngle, Madeleine Buy on Amazon