Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell

A year and more has passed since I read Piranesi by Susanna Clarke. It came to pass by almost by coincidence. Someone (I can't for the life of me remember who) had made a short post on their blog about the book, saying something to the effect of "just read this book" or some such.

I added it to the list of books I want to read.

A few months later, having finished Asimov's Foundation series, I had no obvious next book to get to. So I picked up Piranesi, based on nothing else than someone in my feed reader saying that you need to read this book.

You don't post something like that unless you really mean it.

Boy am I glad whoever it was that posted that actually did post that. They did mean it.

But this post is not about that book. It's about the other book by its author, Susanna Clarke. The one that came out in 2004. It's called Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell.

I knew circa as much about this book as I did about Piranesi before I began reading it. The experience of reading Piranesi felt better for going in blind, and so I wanted to give myself another chance at that experience with Strange & Norrell.

Immediately, it struck me that this book is different from Piranesi. It is not the same at all. It's a whole other experience.

Where Piranesi is about quiet, solitude and introspection, Strange & Norrell is about relationships, society and magic. Yes, magic. No, no, not that kind of magic. Well, there's that as well, because remember Vinculus? But this book is about a different kind of magic. I can't really explain it, and, at any rate, if I did try it would be longer, more disjointed and far less beautiful than the way Susanna Clarke does through the story of Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell.

So it'd be better if you just go and read the book. Because you want to know about magic, right?

And that's about all I'm going to say about this book.

I mean, I could go on about how, yes, there is a story here, but the book is really about the people, the places, the nature and Napoleon and Christians and Faeries and everything else you'll encounter if you choose to experience this collection of words.

And I could elaborate further about how the beautiful duality of the main characters feels like a reckoning of the different parts of the self. About how it is about finding balance between staying at home and going outside. Between conserving the old and creating something new. Between fight or flight. Between Strangeites and Norrellites.

But I won't. Instead I'll just share some of my favourite quotes and highlights. If you have not read the book already, I think you should close your browser and go do so instead of reading on. You can come back when you're through. Don't worry, I'll wait.

Excerpts from the book

I told you, don't proceed unless you've read the book!

Oh, you have? OK, then.

Here are some of my favourite passages from the book.

It presupposes that magicians have some sort of duty to do magic — wihch is clearly nonsense. You would not, I imagine, suggest that it is the task of botanists to devise more flowers? Or that astronomers should labour to rearranged the stars? Magicians, Mr. Segundus, study magic which was done long ago. Why would anyone expect more?

Why, indeed?

…he meant to write it all down and publish it. But when it came to the point he found that a sort of fixed melancholy had settled on him and he was not able to rouse himself enough to begin.

That's exactly how it is! So succinctly and utterly clearly described. Also touched upon in the following:

…none of the articles which appeared in The Friends of English Magic were written by Mr. Norrell, who was found to be entirely incapable of finishing a piece of writing; he was never satisfied with what he had written. He could never be sure that he had not said too much or too little.

I feel seen. And then there's this.

Mr. Norrell could never believe himself ready to publish: He ocould never be sure that he had got at the truth; he did not believe he had thought long enough upon the matter; he did not know if it were a fit subject to place before the public.

Mrs Wintertowne, whose character was so forceful and whose opinions were handed down to people in the manner of Moses distributing the commandments

I just love Clarke's way of describing persons and their traits. This is such a simple, yet vivid way of breathing life into a character.

The air was a great confusion of noisy wind and bitter, driving rain which got into all the gaps in his clothing so that he was very soon chilled to death.

She's no less talented at describing a scene. I felt cold reading that. And have a look at this next one:

A bleak, white sun rose in a bleak, white sky like an allegorical picture of despair

Now I feel cold and bleak. But let's do one more:

She wore a gown the colour of storms, shadows and rain and a necklace of broken promises and regrets.

None of these adjectives mean anything in this context, really, but they communicate so much. OK, one more, and this is perhaps my favourite:

It was about nine o'clock on a moonless night.

That's how you set a scene. Nine words to paint an entire picture. Perfection.

Nothing, I believe, inspires a man with such eagerness to begin his day's work as the sight of his instruments neatly laid out

Thought this accurate.

But just as in a dream where the most extraordinary events arrive complete with their own explanation and become reasonable in an instant, Stephen found nothing to be surprised at.

Wow! I had never even given thought to that particular aspect of dreams, but it is the perfect comparison to draw upon because it is so specific and so familiar to everyone.

It is also true that his hair had a reddish tinge and, as everybody knows, no one with red hair can every truly be said to be handsome.

Made me laugh! Let's do another one describing a character's looks:

In repose her looks were only moderately pretty. There was very little about her face and figure that was in any way remarkable, but it was the sort of face which, when animated by conversation or laughter, is completely transformed.

So effective because we've all met someone like this. Who looks as plain as me one moment, and the next they're smiling and illuminating the entire room.

Steady labour is rewarded by increase of knowledge and, best of all, one need not so much as look upon another of one's fellow creatures from one month's end to the next if one does not wish it!

Describing why I, Norrell, enjoy working from home!

It appeared to be, upon the whole, the history of a city in Faerie, called "Seven", but the information was presented in a very confusing style and the author would frequently break off form his narrative to accuse some unspecified person of having injured him in some mysterious way.

From one of the many delightful and hilarious footnotes!

When he arrived back at the hotel in Shoemaker street, he sat down and wrote a long letter to Arabella describing in great detail the shocking way he was treated. Then, feeling a little better, he decided that it was unmanly to complain and so he tore the letter up.

Again I laughed! But, also, writing helps. Clarke knows this. Strange knows this.

"Can a magician kill a man by magic?" Lord Wellington asked Strange. Strange frowned. He seemed to dislike the question. "I suppose a magician might," he admitted, "but a gentleman never could."

Of course he couldn't.

In the end is it not futile to try and follow the course of a quarrel between husband and wife? Such a conversation is sure to meander more than any other. It draws in tributary arguments and grievances from years before — all quite incomprehensible to any but the two people they concern most nearly. Neither party is ever proved right or wrong in such a case, or, if they are, what does it signify?

Am married, can confirm.

Of all the AUREATE magicians he is the most mysterious. No one knows why in 1138 he caused the moon to disappear from the sky and made it travel through all the lakes and rivers of England.

That is mysterious and it makes total sense that he's the most mysterious of all the AUREATES.

A sort of breeze rushed by. It was not unpleasant — indeed it had the refreshing fragrance of the ocean.

I know that breeze! It is indeed not unpleasant.

I will end with three passages where Clarke is describing a particular building, that I found absolutely amazing:

Starecross Hall was the principal building in a village which otherwise comprised a handful of stone cottages and farmhouses. Starecross itself stood in a most isolated spot, surrounded on all sides by brown, empty moors. Tall trees sheltered it from storms and winds — yet at the same time they made it dark and solemn. The village was amply provided with tumbledown stone walls and tumbledown stone barns. It was very quiet; it felt like the end of the world.

That's also how you set a scene. And:

Houses, like people, are apt to become rather eccentric if left too much on their own; this house was the architectural equivalent of an old genleman in a worn dressing-gown and torn slippers, woh got up and went to bed at odd times of day, and who kept up a continual conversation with friends no one else could see.

There are many more clippings, but these are some of my favourites.

Reading this book is not so much reading a book as it is experiencing a story. It is, quite simply, a mesmerising collection of words.

OK, I couldn't help myself. There's one more I need to include. It's about what grief does to a man. A topic of which I know more than some, and less than others:

His words and his face were all that his friends remembered — with this difference: that the man behind them seemed only to be acting a part while his thoughts and his heart were somewhere else entirely.