This is not for you.
Or at least, that’s what House of Leaves’ dedication page says. It’s a weird book, to say the least. Here’s some of the things it has that might dissuade potential readers: Colored text, obnoxiously long footnotes, a character archetype that was cliche the second it was written and was certainly outdated by the time the book was published, being forced to tilt the book at awkward angles (or even using a mirror) to read, an entire chapter on the etymology of the word “echo” that has what some would say, perhaps rightly, a weak payoff, and an overall air of pretentiousness. That isn’t to say any of these things are bad (like I said last week, clichés are tools), just that they can be off-putting.
But here’s the thing: The people that like House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski really like it. There’s something just weird about the book that draws people to it, whether that be how the front cover of most copies is a quarter inch thinner than the rest of the pages (Clever or impractical? You decide!) or how even the premise (a blind hermit writes a semi-critical analysis of a movie that was never made (but seems may or may not still exist in-universe?) but dies before its publication, someone finds the manuscript, decides to edit it, and maybe(?) goes insane) is just… like what?
House of Leaves is generally put in the Horror category, but it’s not the type of horror that keeps you away from the basement or, as the book implies, taping measuring tapes and yardsticks to the walls of your single-room apartment. It wants you to be afraid of the dark, or more specifically, the unknown. It wants to point behind you and say, “Look out!” while at the same time clamping your neck, making you unable to turn around. And you can hear that something is indeed behind you, and if you could just see and understand it, that would be great but you can’t because you’re too busy reading House of Leaves.
But on the other hand, it’s also a romance. It’s about failed relationships and coming back from them (boy isn’t that a nice coincidence for these past few Raindrops on Roses posts). In the critiqued film, Will Navidson wants to bring his family together, to repair a strained relationship. In the editor’s notes, Johnny Truant finds himself desperately trying to find someone to hold onto as the manuscript scrapes away at his sanity.
These two genre threads nearly pull the book apart at the seams sometimes. But it all works, and I think that’s because of, despite House of Leaves’ reputation, it’s weirdness is still fairly contained. You know when the book is going to get off-putting due to the incredibly tell-y nature of the piece, and everything else is simply the story of two people trying to make sense of something they could never hope to understand.
-F
Nice
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