House of Leaves is a novel of some seven hundred pages which I read over a scheduled period of seven weeks. (For the record we are not in David Foster Wallace territory here, far less Thomas Pynchon. For goodness sake, just read it!) Over the course of that time my commentary featured words like post-modern, ergodic, quirky, gimmicky and, as I recall, ‘annoying.’ Concentrating on those characteristics I rather ignored the plot, and, dare I say it, the point.
So let’s give it a go.
House of Leaves purports to be Johnny Truant’s reconstruction/ construction of the life work of one Zampanò: namely his academic examination of The Navidson Record, which is a real-time documentary film (in principle somewhat reminiscent of The Blair Witch Project) relating the experience of the Navidson family in the house.
The house is central to the novel and has some rather unpleasant behaviours. Such as absorbing introduced artefacts, refusing to acknowledge established laws of physics, with particular reference to spatial relations and, arguably, corporealising the psyches of those it takes in. There is also a ‘roar’ and evidence of claws…
[Happily, it is established that there is no connection to Indian burial grounds. Taking a pop at Stephen King? Surely not!]
The Navidsons become, in every sense, lost in the house, but by the time they are saved by the power of love (yes, really) Johnny Truant’s framing story, which has jostled for supremacy throughout, has become ascendant, and the fairytale ending of The Navidson Record seems absolutely appropriate.
What follows are a series of appendices and exhibits, and an index.
The index is vaguely amusing, serving as it does two purposes. Firstly, to authenticate the book as a work of reference. Secondly, in cataloguing words and, effectively, the frequency with which they occur. In a novel which satirises critique this is the perfect ending. It is also a timely warning for the would-be critic. In conjunction with the footnotes; which reference fictional works analysing/critiquing elements of The Navidson Record, often spuriously; I am reminded of the charming practice of hanging deceased vermin on a fence as a warning to other ‘vermin…’ (My pet theory, with which I was quite taken; house as metaphor for pysche; did turn up in a footnote. I am duly deflated and disinclined to elaborate.)
But it is the appendices which make the book. At an early point in the narrative the appendices are offered as an optional short cut to understanding the character of Truant. It sounded a bit like an easy option and so… reading the appendices last put the ‘reveal’ in its traditional end spot. I’m old-fashioned. I like it that way.
This novel is a treasure hunt. Acrostics and codes, clues and visual tricks. Those things are clever, and often entertaining, but also threaten to try one’s patience beyond endurance. Expect cynicism to put in an appearance. But persevere!
When Danielewski says ‘Jump;’ for the reader who asks how high, the reward is there. Danielewski has subtler tricks up his sleeve. His writing tends to be understated, very readable, and he juggles an impressive range of differentiated styles between his narrators, further nuanced for mood/sanity/sobriety of each character. The primary plot is compelling as a mystery/horror story and he avoids the let down of the anti-climax explanation (Yes, Stephen King, I am referring to Indian burial grounds) by firstly not having a conclusive ending, but then inviting the reader to re-evaluate the entire novel in terms of the frame. (Look, no spoilers!)
Having re-evaluated the Truant frame, Zampanò begins to assume a rather different form, and I now consider myself a happy reader. The themes here are all cyclical, labyrinthine. As the story whirls round it visits the same places from different perspectives. And the final joke lies in this agonised search for the point at which authenticity begins. Don’t you know it’s all fiction?
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