The Progress of Susanna Clarke’s Works

I wonder if I’m the only one who prefer “The Ladies of Grace Adieu” and “Piranesi” over “Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell”. Something tells me I’m not.

It seems to me as if over years, the works published by Susanna Clarke have been getting only better and better.

It all started with a door stopper of “Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell”, a novel mixing history and fantasy and set during the era of Napoleonic Wars. And although I know it has been both praised and awarded, I would still have several critical remarks on it.

The set of characters is my main complain. There are so many of them that eventually, most of them aren’t important at all, and in the end, only four or five of them are well-drawn. Mr Norrell is your Snappish Eccentric. Jonathan Strange is your Young Enthusiastic Mage with New Ideas. Sir Walter Pole is a man with all the flaws of his privileged class and of his time, and yet strangely caring about those around him. The main faery villain is queer and charming. And there’s Stephen Black, and Stephen Black is another question.

And there are no women who are as well-drawn as those male characters. There is Lady Pole and there’s Strange’s wife, but they are either presented in the need of rescue from magic, this way or another, or put on the second stage. The author claimed it had been all about the historical context, as women had lived in domestic sphere back then mostly. To my mind, though, it isn’t an explanation good enough. I could devise several ways in which women could participate in magecraft in Regency Period. An influential landowner—kind of Catherine deBurgh, let’s say—or an outspoken socialite—like Emma Woodhouse—could have been an equal match to male magicians, even if they performed magic in secret or under disguise, I think. What I mean that excluding women from the novel #becausehistory doesn’t have much sense, actually. Just look at the works of Jane Austen or Elizabeth Gaskell! Also, making up for this exclusion with presenting one of your protagonist as kind of a proto-feminist and with describing herstory in footnotes and not in the very narration is somewhat problematic to me.

There are many social questions which are reconstructed (or deconstructed) well in the novel, though. The whole thing with English conceit and pride, and with the hatred towards “wicked Frenchmen” is disarmingly convincing and accurate. The descriptions of officials and ministers are laughable. Overall, one can see that if “ Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell” is a love-letter to England, this love isn’t blind or naïve about drawbacks of this country.

And then, you got Stephen Black, an African majordomus of Sir Walter Pole. Only then you see that the author might have claimed to have written the book with all the bias of the period, but somehow, it doesn’t stretches out to the racial attitudes of the era. And to be honest, I don’t have anything against it. The way Clarke writes about institutional racism and creates Stephen as a cunning gentleman loyal to his friends—and one of the most complex characters—is the way she should have written about her female characters. The same apply, I think, to her portrayal of lower classes—there’s not enough of it.

I’m aware, though, that examining fantasy books from social perspective may seem unimportant—it’s magic which should count! you may say. And fantasy elements in “Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell” are vivid and elusive in turn. Vivid when it comes to descriptions of the fictional magic system and its history, and elusive when we step into the Faery’s lands. And the latter one, I have to admit, was rather dissapointing to me.

“The Ladies of Grace Adieu” is everything its precedessor lacked, though. Its subversiveness is equally delicious and its depiction of ethnic minorities equally unaffacted. And you got more Faery. More girls and more sisterhood. More ordinary people and more plots of manners. More magic. More fairytale-like aura. You can’t ask for more.

The characters and their dealings with fairies are diverse. You get a herstory about three female magicians who oppose Mr Strange—and they aren’t condemned for it by the narrator at all. You get an account written in seventeenth century dialect (gorgeous!) from the perspective of an ex-servant maid outwitting both the Faery and conceited scientists. You get a retelling of Queen Madb’s story. You get Wellington who makes a fool from himself before a seamstress. You get a snubbish minister whose life and heritage turns completely against his expectations. And you get other stories as well, some appreciating the wit of the commoners and some turning the trope of fairies having kids on the mortals on its head.

The overall aura is less gothic than in “Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell” but it is also more uncammy, using the tropes of illusion and subversion. Magic has always its cost and faeries aren’t Your Noble Quendi. But neither they are dubious in the poor cliched way of paranormal romance. They are just the creatures of English folklore. And real folklore isn’t as timid and easy as we presume nowadays.

If the captivating aura and the splendid cast of characters wasn’t enough, this set of short stories does often imitate various conventions. Some stories, such as “The Ladies of Grace Adieu” or “Mrs Mabb” sound as if they had been written by Austen. Some other uses an archaic dialect very deftly. And yet another one is the parody of nineteenth century diaries.

“Piranesi”, the second novel by Clarke, isn’t as diverse in tone as “The Ladies of Grace Adieu” but it is very gratyfying in other aspects. It is deliberate and precise—after a way, an antonym of her door stopper debut. It is also very surprising; so surprising that you want to re-read and re-read it even after you are done with the intrigue.

“Piranesi” is what I expected “The Magicians” trilogy to be: a tale of secret history and secret associations sprinkled with magic, mythology references and alternate universe travelling. And unlike Grossman’s works, it’s deprived of triggering tropes and dislikeable characters. It is also much more inclusive—in a subtle way. It introduces diverse characters in a very natural way; for example, once you’ve been already accustomed that the main character is the kind of an Everyman, it’s revealed he’s biracial. It doesn’t define him but it I’m sure that many people may find their representation in Piranesi. There are also other characters, such as an Action Girl and a Foreign Scholar type, and introducing them doesn’t feel forced out at all. And even when some characters turn quite dubious, such as a gay anthropologist, you don’t feel you are stepping into the Queer Villain type. So, really—if you think that “strong women” or protagonists of colour are “thrown into” unnecessarily, you’d better learn some acceptance on “Piranesi”.

What is the most interesting aspect of the book, though, it its plot, I think. Some reviewers claim that beautiful as it is, “Piranesi” is a novel where nothing actually happens. Well, to my mind it happens a lot; maybe even in a too concise way. Under the guise of phylosophical pondering and descriptions of the eerie uncanny House, it’s a paranormal thriller filled with great secrets and hidden identities. After all, it is more embodied into the Celtic and Antique mythology, more than “Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell” was. It is also just a beautiful story and the love letter to culture/architecture/literature, but really—there is much more to it than its beauty and than its symbolism.

And just one final thing.

I have not written this essay to suggest that Susanna Clarke should rather stay within small forms. I’ve written it to praise her works with the same aware love with which she writes of her country and of her characters.