House of Leaves: Still Crazed After All These Years

In March of 2000, I was crazily fortunate to attend a reading at the Barnes & Noble bookstore on 17th St, in Manhattan. The authorial line-up: Donald Antrim (The Verificationist), Colson Whitehead (The Intuitionist) and Mark Z. Danielewski (House of Leaves).

I was unfamiliar with Antrim, but had read Whitehead’s novel and was pages into MZD’s 10-year mission, having come across a preview of it in Spin magazine, of all places. Dug the readings, Danielewski’s cropped blue hair … and launched whole heartedly into HofL.

What follows is a letter I sent to MZD upon completion of the novel. Although, it will come off as more of a term paper, with footnotes. In the original letter, I was able to superscript the word “House” and make the font blue, every time it appears. Wish I could duplciate that formatting here in Medium. There wasn’t a Medium then, or I might have shared this earlier. But since the novel still occupies a corner of my consciousness more than a decade later, and it surely still invites readers, I’ll share the letter. Of course, it’s only fully shared if anyone cares or dares to read it.

For those who’ve not read House of Leaves: spoilership ensues.

March 27, 2000

Mr. Mark Z. Danielewski

c/o Pantheon Books

Publicity Department (or maybe even his Editor?)

201 E 50th St

New York City, New York 10022

“Yeah, you really got me now

You got me so I don’t know what I’m doin’, now

Oh yeah, you really got me now

You got me so I can’t sleep at night”

Last night (actually four nights ago) is the first time I’ve slept more than a couple of hours straight since I picked up your House of Leaves. And to tell you the truth, I was a little surprised I managed that. I figured it would take a while to get back to normal (whatever that is). But as your narrator promised, this thing has changed my life.

I’m writing you because I haven’t anyone else to talk with about your book. I’ve got this feeling that you won’t mind hearing what your readers think. What I think. At least I’m going to presume as much. And I’m going to tell you. You know how much you’ve asked of your readers, how much you required us to turn our lives over to your writing. You’ve handled us masterfully. I don’t begrudge you that. I hope you appreciate the trust we put in you in the process. You did not let us down. At least you didn’t let me down.

First, I’m going to go ahead and tell you my answer to the riddle of House of Leaves: “St. Elsewhere,” Episode 137, “The Last One.”

The clues:

1. Johnny Truant’s five and a half minute hallway — (black out in his mother’s hands?)

2. Mommy’s encouragement to put his fertile imagination to work

3. Pelican poems, establish Johnny’s skill with the pen And if we assume that the first set of poems in the Appendix, F, are Johnny’s, then we get many more clues to the House as metaphor(?) for his own mind. Each one pretty clearly spells out an element of the place. Of particular note is the “angles of your wrists” fragment.

4. His frequent footnoted “hallucinations” (although I wish I had a better word)

5. Leaves (leaves) the asylum with “the finished book”

6. The band has a book that hasn’t been finished yet (?) — or certainly published that we readers know of, and when did Johnny Truant put it on the web?

7. Borrowed clues from throughout literature, lore, legends (some biblical) and other writings: stairs, darkness, space

8. As early as page 166, footnote #167, you suggest that the house is the self — at that point I’m thinking Will Navidson’s self, but finally, I’m assigning the house as a metaphor for, or the architecture of, or the journey through Johnny Truant’s self.

9. The pelican pen, page 638.

10. And surely many more overlooked clues

But of course, the most obvious tip of all is the title. This is the House of Leaves. The House of Lievre, Johnny Lievre. Lievre = Leaves = Truant. Leaves, as in to leave, to be truant. Leaves as in the pages of the book. After all, “JOHNNY IS TRUANT!, (page 631, use of all caps makes the line scream out its ambiguity.)

I know you don’t need me to spell it out, but I can’t resist. These kinds of discoveries are best when they’ve been staring you in the face from the beginning. It’s taken me three days to write this letter, and this didn’t dawn on me until this Monday morning while out walking. Even though I’d worked on Johnny’s mother’s name two days ago! (Which makes me now wonder, what deeper interpretation is there that I’ve completely missed!)

Well done Mr. MZD. (Shall we read the “Letter to the editor,” in Appendix D, to be an apology for your own claims to authenticity? Really the claim of authenticity is only to be inferred by the primary sleight-of-hand on the title page where you attribute the writing of the book to Zampano and the introduction to Johnny Truant. Otherwise I have been and am still willing to be an eager participant in that thing we call the “suspension of disbelief.”

You get extra credit for the film device. Plus, the only thing more difficult than describing a film is describing a dream. And I think maybe you’ve come close to achieving both. Of course, in that light, one might ask, “what easier film to describe than one that has largely as its subject matter complete darkness?”

I’ve got dozens of notes and questions. Every page took my thoughts beyond the boundaries of its margins. I won’t get to all my treks inside and outside those borders here. But I will try to address some, most being just observations. (Forgive me now if I dredge up only the most superficial ones.)

Mostly I want you to know that I really did READ your book. I paid attention. I was probably clinically obsessed with your tome for the better part of two weeks, (which is nothing I know compared with your ten years!) and could argue that I still am. Obsessed. After all, I’m sitting here working earnestly on this letter, if you want to call it that. I’ve written other authors before, but never with this much focus or this much to say. (No, I’m not the stalker type.)

Okay, relative to interpreting the book, ala this “St. Elsewhere reference,” I realize the central importance of the letters to Johnny from his Mommy (Appendix II, E). I even decoded the 5/8/87 letter, pages 620–623. That letter is full of great stuff, even before it’s decoded. Her letters alone could keep someone busy for quite some time, which I’m sure has you smiling.

I’ve seen the effect a psychosis can have on a person, and you really nailed it in his mother’s letters — which could either be “actual,” or Johnny’s creations. And of course, his whole book comes out of his own psychosis (I’m not really as absolute about that as that sentence sounds) which may be his route to rediscovering himself. He just took a journey through the infinite darkness of his own trauma. (Of course, he may not actually be in an asylum. There are many turns in this nautilus.)

I’m hugely ambivalent about putting this interpretation on paper. It seems to belittle the work. But then maybe that’s just my way of detaching myself from what has been a totally absorbing, engrossing, fear-frought reading adventure. My hat is off to you — even as I draw this conclusion — even if I am wrong — even if I’ve fallen into the trap of interpreting, showing my hand, calling your bluff. But then I don’t think any of us has a choice in that. I’ve written stuff before, that I thought I was being very literal about. But then when it was done, it became something else/more entirely; something I hadn’t — consciously — assembled. And then when others read it, new meanings were attached to it. It’s a rather amazing occurence. And one we all must accept, tolerate, allow, maybe even encourage.

I had less success deciphering the Pelican Poems (Appendix II B.) than the letters. Frankly, I think it might take a while to demystify those. In fact, I’ve spent the least amount of time with them. But I’m not sure I need to for now. I have one clear picture anyway. Perhaps not the definitive picture. Perhaps not your picture. But I have my picture. And it’s working for me … for the time being.

And we mustn’t forget the “Appendix II F: Various Quotes.” I presume they represent further evidence from which Johnny’s fabrication came; touchstones for his imagination. (I know proclaiming that this whole thing is Johnny’s fabrication is highly presumptuous. But as I just suggested above, it’s my way, for the moment, of insulating myself from the fear factor. I can be shown other interpretations — which I’m not asking you to give, believe me. I’ve closed the book on its last page, but I am as easy to open on this thing as the book is itself.)

Why is it fearful? My answer is that you insert doubt into the reader’s world. We let you convince us that this house can or does exist. It’s darkness becomes our own. And we don’t know what we’ll find in there. And that unkown is or can be over-powering. But I don’t have to explain fear to you. Johnny might need some help though, huh. Karen basically represents the reader here. And the description of her reactions are not so foreign to those of us who enter your House.

It would be easy to understate the effect of all your footnotes. Not enough credit will go to the amount of creative energy you put into devising all those thoughts/ideas, people/experts, sources. Again, I commend you on your diligence.

I first read about House of Leaves in Spin magazine, probably a couple months back, I’ll have to track down the issue. It was just a brief reference. But it caught my attention. I checked web book sites immediately and frequently, hoping to get a clue as to its release. I went to Borders [alas, no more] and reserved one. It finally came. So I’ve been prepping myself for this exploration for some time, not really even knowing at all what I was in for. There was just something about the way it was marketed, perhaps intentionally that worked.

At the time, I was reading “The Intuitionist,” by Colson Whitehead, and was very taken with the book, the way it sets a sort of film noir style. And while I appreciated the racial allegory of it, I was particularly intrigued by what was purposefully a “quantum elevator.”

I also, think that Mr. Whitehead’s quantum elevator would fits theoretically in your House (not that I would dare suggest an insertion or alteration, mind you) at least in the explanation provided on pages 170 through 179, with footnote #207 re: quantum space. Then, if you look at pages 285 through 302 (minus a a five page Johnny foot(Truant)note) you wonder if that quantum elevator isn’t there in practice. Perhaps Will and Tom each take a ride on Colson’s black box in your novel.

Colson Whitehead read. Donald Atrim read. You read. Blue hair and all. I must say though that I was a bit disappointed. Not in the writing or the reading. Not in the authors or their books. But in the host. B&N didn’t seem too eager for questions. I was torn. I wanted to eavesdrop on a discussion, perhaps even participate. But I hadn’t finished the book. I didn’t want to spoil its reading. But there I was and there you authors were. A quandary. One I allowed the host to resolve. (I probably should have hung around. Who knows? Maybe a genuine conversation broke out!)

Anyway, I prevailed upon you for a signature; declared that you were keeping me awake nights; you seemed sympathetic enough about that news and boldly signed the book. Which I do appreciate. And then I left.

You kept the fires burning by making the one comment about trying to catch up on your own sleep. Which was totally in keeping with the warning of your narrator -– and the blurb writers — and my own state of mind. It was the perfect, haunting remark to make. Again a tribute either to happenstance or carefully orchestrated marketing in which you were a participant. You said the right thing. I have lost sleep. Maybe you are still trying to catch up. Can a creation terrify its creator as much as the witness? MBShelley may have answered that for us. (Which you explore, don’t you? — if my shallow memory serves me.)

By the way, we visited St. John The Divine Cathedral, while in NYC. And the MOMA.

I completely buy your effort to build the book as labyrinth.

You touch on a subject I am rather intrigued by myself (only one? Hardly.) And that is the “camera can not lie.” In the digital age, the camera and almost every possible recording device is suspect. To the point where now the camera can not tell the truth.

I know you referred to your motivation to do what films do — I think with pacing — in a novel. I’m sure you largely succeeded. I certainly caught a number of filmic references and devices in the book, but haven’t chosen to explore that here. I hope you’ve sold the movie rights and someone is already trying to figure out how to shoot The Navidson Record and at least some of its trapping/wrappings.

I really enjoyed how you kept planting words and ideas that completed a circle begun much earlier or foreshadowed an idea that would come up later, all of which helped build this ever-changing, infinite(?) labyrinthine House , such as the exploration of the echo, and the word “uncanny” Your House is not only masterfully designed, but masterfully built. You plan ahead for an idea, then let us discovery its fulfillment later on.

I got a kick out of the purposeful typos; some of which you actually make an issue of yourself. For example: “collude“ and “collide”(page 150), “scarred” and “scared” (page 151), “for” and “from” (page 151, #198, a great way to get both meanings!),“parenthesees” and “parent he sees” and “parentehtical” and “parenthetical” (page 379, page 401), “pisces” and pieces” (page 599) to name a few. Maybe we could throw “pantheon” and “Pantheon” (page 423, “perfect pantheon of absence”) too. (?) [PUBLISHER, too.]

I was going to plumb the whole “ash” thing for a while, but have decided not to. I’ll only observe that you do use it in a number of ways. It pops up in the most nonchalant way throughout the book. It remains oddly neutral in either the most menacing or most pastoral surroundings. Interesting. I suppose that’s another clue that the “place/space” isn’t necessarily menacing in and of itself. It our mind that gives it purpose, malice, effect. And I said I wasn’t going to talk about “ash.” Residue. Residual. Residence!

And I caught the “Beauty & The Beast” reference (borrowing?) on page 258, “I’m especially good at expectorating.” We could pull the beauty and the beast thread out of the House and have a decent gradual thesis right there probably.

And the J.D. Salinger thing early on, “blows high the roof beams . . .”

And “I’ve been falling down so long, it feels like floating up to me.” Of course, this one line gave me an entirely new interpretation of the novel. And a fun one at that. Do you know that BBC radio program called “My Word”? I catch it on Public Radio from time to time. It’s an oddly scored radio game show that challenges two teams with language and literature questions and puzzles. Each week, a common idiom or proverb or literary quote is given to the two gentleman contestants. While they play the game (apparently) they concoct an elaborate story which they then tell at the end of the program. The “punch line ” of their story is always some subversion of that initial line. They are always inventive and almost always deliver a surprising warping of the line. So the idea here is that you have woven a very inventive story for 473 pages just to get down to this twist on the Richard Farina title. An awesome bit of work — — however secondary a spin on the whole book I take it to be!

You introduce another fascinating idea from biblical literature for me with “the third beside you,” in your discussion of echo (see footnote 22 again). The phrase conjures the appearance of Jesus after his resurrection. He appears to two disciples as they walk along a roadway. I know you’re talking about interpretation here. I know I’ve got two embedded in this letter. And a third perhaps that I haven’t quite put a finger on.

I’m something of a closet cosmologist and as such, had fun with your scientific smatterings, including the quiet reference to the Big Bang (page 373, #340, and page 45).

If there is a god in the House, then you chose (or created?) a good reference. Utterance as the act of creation. Johnny’s tool is the voice inside his head, which becomes the written word for us. And I happen to like your suggestion that maybe the big bang was the result of god opening his big mouth.

I was glad that you didn’t resort to the parallel universe thing as a way of explaining away the phenomenon of the House. It’s such a convenient tool now in film and fiction. I’m sure if you had chosen to use it or plant it in here, you would have given it a fresh spin. (Of course, maybe I’ve missed exactly that explanation!) But then I would have enjoyed a detour through multi-dimensional space, string theory, etc. Maybe in the Third edition? Surely Mr. Truant is keeping tabs on ongoing scholarly studies and analysis of the House and its occupants, former occupants, at least.

There is — among many other layers, leaves — one set of elements that I wonder about. And that is the character’s names. I’ve been trying to figure them out, particularly Navidson’s.

The fact that Johnny’s name is such an obvious label is what motivates me to examine the others.

Early on, Holloway’s name is ripe for decoding: hollow, hollow way, hallway, hall, hell

Daisy = Hal 9000, 2001: A Space Odyssey (page 477)

Reston = rest on (little there, but what about Reston, Virginia?) And every time I read “Billy Reston,” I think of Billy Preston, the drummer.

Chad — well, I found this on the web: “You find satisfaction in being outdoors or in getting out into nature, or in dealing with the products of the earth.”

Jed — how about “dynamic, restless, independent, ready to accept challenges, and outspoken. You enjoy change, travel, and new experiences” That seems to describe your Mr. Leeder.

Wax (museum?) or maybe “very independent nature, yet you are friendly, approachable, and generous. You can be a spontaneous, expressive, and talkative person. Generally you are good-natured, though at times you can be rather blunt and sarcastic.” As in: “That’s nice!”

Tom is good though. I was looking up that “third” thing, see my footnote 27, when I stumbled into John 21:24: “Now Thomas, one of the twelve, called The Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. That’s a good one. And Tom is no longer with them . . . when Johnny came . . . to his senses?

Pelafina Heather Lievre . . . the obvious “leaves” connection. And then in French, livre is book, which is a nice layer to add. The name Heather gives you a good meaning, one that defines something about his mother’s personality: “You can give good advice although it is unlikely that you would follow it yourself. You would be most successful in situations where you can use your skills in diplomacy in handling people, but where you are not under pressure or required to carry responsibility and make decisions. It is difficult for you to be individual and make your own decisions… Pelafina? Didn’t drum up anything direct. It could be some mythic moniker you dug up. Or it just means, what it says: the “final name;” “the last name?” (The surname Lievre is the clue to not only Johnny’s identity, but the novel’s central device.) Or “the last one,” as in Episode 137? She could also be an ancient oracle or wise woman, for she knows many languages (Latin, Old English, and something of the romance languages?) and much literature and legend. Her list of allusions alone is long. Could she be . . . (?) Somewhere in Johnny’s head, that’s exactly who she is.

And then there’s Zampano. I think it has something to do with design or architecture, but I’ve got nothing conclusive on that at the moment. I’ve found the surname in Italian, French, German and Swiss telephone directories. I found a restaurant by that name in California (perhaps one you haunt?) Strangely enough I did find this definition from a web page from Zampano Kennels in Auckland, New Zealand: “The name Zampano comes from the strongman character, played by Anthony Quinn in Fellini’s Italian blockbuster movie, “La Strada.” Roger Ebert has this to say about Fellini characters: “They are always turning away from the warmth and safety of those who understand them, to seek restlessly in the barren world.” That could certainly be said of Zampano, Johnny, and even Will Navidson. Then the obvious hit me, Mark Z. Danielewski. Some relation?

I think it’s very cool that you did the reading at B&N. I think it’s very cool that you’ve done the whole web thing. I think the pairing with POE is cool. Frankly, I was so absorbed in the book, I didn’t really even look carefully at the little POE card tucked into the pages. So it was only a couple days ago that I discovered all the web stuff. I had done searches for House of Leaves on various search engines, but nothing had come up. (“Nothing” had come up. Nothing is a word that now has a place associated with it in my mind. I suppose that qualifies as life changing.) I didn’t think to simply type in the title as address. Although I must say not much happens there, as yet. (Or am I missing something?)

I’m just assuming that you might want to know how successful you have been. You pulled someone right into a world you created. If I wrote something, I’d like to know if I’d been effective. You’re probably picking up those clues all around you. I’m sure this isn’t the only “letter ”that’s come your way since the book was published. But perhaps not one with as many clues as this one. Who knows if that’s of value to you.

What do I do now? I try to decide if I can recommend House of Leaves to my friends. Do I dare? Do I warn them? Do I tell them I have survived? I won’t suggest it to just anybody.

I’ve been struggling with this issue since early on. I had skimmed over the book, read into it a few score pages, been priming my pump of fear, when I decided to go ahead and write a “review” for amazon.com. I was really into the book before I really got into it. But I wanted to say something about it and the www made it possible. So I posted a note before heading to NYC. I wanted to boost the talk, fuel the embers. At the same time I wanted to walk a line. I wanted to warn people about reading it and yet encourage people to read it. That rather long “review” appears in the Appendix to this letter. Fortunately, I can still stand by those words, upon completing the reading of your most novel novel.

The Appendix also includes portions of some e-mails tossed back and forth with a friend in Italy. She’s the one friend I have who I thought I could recommend your book to. The one friend I thought could handle it. The one person to whom I could say “read this; be prepared to let it “change your life.” I will seek others.

Clearly I’ve given myself a great deal of license in writing you this ten pound note. I suppose it doesn’t matter if you read all or any part of it. I suppose, more than anything, I wrote this for myself, as a way of getting my hands around the throat of this House of yours (actually that metaphor may be in poor taste, given the sympathy I now habor for Johnny). Because I know that if I don’t subdue the doorway this book opened in my mind, it will subdue me — or my attention. However, I have managed to enter on one side and emerge from the other — intact. And I’m feeling pretty strong right now.

Until I finished, I’d lie awake at night rehearsing realizations like: “With your eyes closed, even the smallest room is as large as your imagination.”

Or I’d twist myself up out of the covers to go to the bathroom and see its black doorway looming before me, with no light whatsoever, not even a glint of moonlight catching a porcelain rim. And I would think back to earlier times in my life, before I grew cynical, when fear was a real and palpable thing, when ideas could frighten and the world wasn’t so hard and fast as it is now, after you’ve been in the daily grind for twenty years. At least for me, a forty-something guy who still knows how to turn himself over to a fine book … when he finds one.

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve felt open again, engaged, challenged, dared. It’s been good. Am awakening. So thanks.

So, Mark Danielewski, you stole more than two weeks of my consciousness, not to mention hours of sleep from my nights. Of course, now I’ve stolen hours away from work and daily life to process this exercise you put me through. But I let you do it. And it was worth it. It isn’t everyday one has something this challenging to ponder. This letter serves as a surrogate dialogue. I’m sure you have to imagine a dialogue with your reader. Maybe this letter will serve as the countering half of a conversation you started when you tossed (pitched/hurled? something more aggressive than just “offered”) your book out there for us/me to read.

With that, I’m done. I have to stop somewhere, because every time I look at the book, I see something else.

This one is definitely for you,

Steve Wood, Overland Park, KS

Somewhere in middle America where the insides of all the House s add up to all the outsides. At least I’m going through my days — and nights — hoping and believing so.

P.S. On Friday, I came home to discover that I had been lucky enough to get a hardcover of House of Leaves from amazon.com, “signed by the author.” At first, I doubted the signature’s authenticity, since it looked dramatically different from the “Z” you dashed off in NYC. Then that hit me too — like the “Z” in Zampano. It looks like “JT.” Johnny Truant.

House of Leaves = House of Lievre.

Z= JT.

Clever. But then I’d expect nothing less. As I said, every time I look at your work, I see something different. Something new. Some new narrative juggling. I salute you.

Appendix

A.

(amazon.com, SWood review of House Of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski.)

Mr. Danielewski spends the opening pages of his book, from the “dedication” through the “introduction” warning you not to read the book. So what do you do? You read the book! Why the quotes around those words? Because there is more to behold in every word. Every idea is layered, boxes inside boxes, not just layers on layers. This is no two-dimensional construct (as “leaves” might suggest). Just as the “house” (sorry I can’t print the word in blue) is bigger on the inside than on the outside, so are the words, the ideas and the book themselves. The metaphor is stunningly simple, yet profound, and well, complex. On one level, it’s like every slasher pic ever made, where you know the character (future victim) shouldn’t open that door, or go down that dark hallway. He/she has to because it’s there. Because it’s hardwired into the script and can’t be changed. Only you, the reader, are the subject, here. You get your hands on this book and you have to “do it.” On another level, you can marvel at the idea. Is it about the harmless curiosities of multi-dimensional space? Or is it about the pure horror of the supernatural? Are they one and the same? You’ve got to give Mr. Danielewski credit for knowing his audience and playing us for all we’re worth. The comparisons to Pynchon, Wallace and others are inevitable because right away you see that the text is steeped in nearly real-time cultural allusions, and other written references, some of which appear to be actual, others not. So this, this is-it-really-a-novel? novel is very dense, highly compressed, even at more than 700 pages. But then, there are many pages that are nearly blank! Who’s the joke on? The book invites you to move around; scan appendices, examine the index (which even has entries for words like “for,” with dozens of pages listed). You have to smile, if not laugh outright. But at the same time, he manufactures a brooding edginess and mystery. You wonder about heeding jacket blurb cautions not to read the book just before going to bed. But you go ahead and read anyway. Is this rhetoric elevated to the sublime? Or the cruel? A tower of reader manipulation. But you’re a willing partner. You read it and you want to look into Danielewski’s eyes — just to see if maybe you can catch a glimpse of where this came from. He’s working with a couple of very simple ideas, but he’s looking at them in a whole new … darkness? Yeah, it’s pushing the post-modern envelope, but at the same time you’ve expected someone to do this. If he hadn’t done it another daring young writer would have taken novelistic de/re-construction here or close by. Of course few would have chosen terror as their playground. But this is not all just a literary game. Or is it? Joyce said as much of his own “Finnegan’s Wake.” I daresay, few others could have pulled it off … to the extent that part of me wants to know how other readers survived reading it! Is the editor still a functioning member of society? The proofreader? The author himself? His agent? The other reviewers on this web page? Is that a thumbs up! Yes, if you’re willing to turn yourself over to a master. It may depend on how brave you are, whether you can detach yourself from the work so you can come up for a breath of fear-free air once in a while, or whether you allow it to take you and — as at least one of its narrative voices promises — change you forever. I’ve had a hard time thinking of anything else since I got my hands on it. — This text refers to the Paperback edition.

B.

(Is it still compelling to read other people’s mail?)

From: “steve_wood” <>

To: friend in italy

Subject: a hundred

Date: Tue, Mar 21, 2000, 4:27 PM

i have a hundred things to tell you about

and will in due time

so i promise, i’ve got a whirlwind o’ junk going on in my head

i’m reading this book that’s blowing my mind and i’m trying to decide whether or not to send you a copy.

It’s inventive as hell

it’s hilarious as hell — in a quite cerebral sort of way

and

and this is the biggest part

it’s scary as hell

so i’m wary of recommending it

but then you’re the bravest person I know, so

what d’ya think?

let me know

signed swood

over here in darkest america

>From: friend

Please please send on the book info. I’ve discovered three of the coolest book stores here.

>To: friend

I managed to go to a reading at Barnes & Noble on Tuesday night for three very talented authors — all from Knopf Publishing, Random House.

One of whom is Colson Whitehead, who wrote a really really cool book, The Intuitionist — about of all things, elevator inspectors in New York City. Has a definite film noir feel to it and introduces a powerful notion — at least to me — of the quantum elevator — although that’s secondary to the racial allegory which the book is meant to be. Available in paperback. Worth reading — wonderful language — — which you have to get used to. I had read the book and found out (on the wonderful world wide web) he was doing a reading — nice coincidence.

The second author was Donald Atrim — who’s someone I’d never heard of before. I think his stuff is humorous — at least the parts he read were. The book is “The Verificationist” — don’t ask me to explain this “ist” thing — about a group of university profs talking over pancakes at a diner … sounds odd, but I bought the book for its wonderful dialogue and the ideas they toss around.

The third author was MZD. Mark Z. Danielewski. And I was really surprised to see his name on the list, because I had just come across his book and tracked one down. He’s the author of House of Leaves — and it’s the book that’s commandeered my existence. The book I referred to in yesterday’s e-mail. It’s a monster book. 720 pages, packed with footnotes and appendices, and more ideas than you can juggle at once — but he’s tying them all together, making you wince and curl up and laugh and drop your jaw. I’m almost done. I have to finish. But it’s taking it’s toll — even though he tells you it’s going to — which means you ought to be able to diffuse it — but you — well I — haven’t been that successful. I’m still a functioning member of society. But it’s taking some will power. — Unlike the secondary narrator of the book who is dissembling before your very eyes as you read the massive, invasive tome.

I wrote an early review for the thing on Amazon.com. You might check it out. I cheated, I wasn’t done with the thing, but I couldn’t help but warn/encourage readers, so I submitted it. My notes are still largely true now that I’m almost done — but there are so many more layers to be added — — leaves, of course. If you go to amazon, my long paragraph will be toward the bottom of customer reviews.

And as I said, I’m wary of recommending the darn thing. it’s overpowering. What a great experience! But then, is it right to recommend to someone that they run the risk of turning themselves over to this, what? madman? Master manipulator?

I wrote in the amazon note that I’d like to look into this guys eyes. And I did. And he was a friendly, funny character. Obviously extremely intelligent. But he was smiling. He said he was trying to catch up on his sleep — presumably after ten years of working on this thing — but maybe because he can’t recover from the (Conradian?) horror he cooked up. But he looked pretty healthy to me. So maybe it’s all part of his rhetoric.

Anyway, I’ve been taking notes as I read the crazy thing. I’m going to write MZD a ten pound letter… and wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t respond. I think he’s that involved. He had to be as involved in the design and production of the book as in the writing. It’s at times a puzzle to read and only he could have supervised its printing.

There’s stuff on the web about it. www.pantheonbooks.com, iuniverse.com,

houseofleaves.com

In fact, you can read the book at iUniverse.com. It’s available one page at a time, using previous/next buttons. I suppose you could save it/print it, but you’d have to do it in single pages. Tedious to say the least.

Also, his sister is a musician — goes by the name of POE — had an album in ’95 that got critical reviews. She has a new album coming out in June, which he helped her do lyrics for, with a song on the thing related to the book “The Five and a Half Minute Hallway.” It refers to the first part of the book, so you find out pretty quickly what it’s about.

In a nutshell? shall I tell you? The Paradoxes?

(no I haven’t gone quite bonkers here. I’m just into this thing. A few more words and I’ll stop.)

you might want to skip this next block — indicated by three asterisks. No plot spoilers really, but it does tip you off to the gross construct, (sleight-of-hand?) of the book.

***

The book is about a film.

The film is called The Navidson Record.

The film is made by Will Navidson in an attempt to explain/discover/make sense of how it can be that his house is larger on the inside than on the outside.

The book is written by a man named Zampano — his careful analysis of the film. BUT, Zampano is BLIND.

Zampano’s dies — in the intro (which spins pages warning you not to read the damn book!), his book is picked up by Johnny Truant, a Pynchonian misfit (ala Slothrop of GR), who proceeds to dig into the reams of pages and write his own commentary — which we get in a series of meandering footnotes (largely filled with his sexual adventures, of course). But of course Zampano has written his own footnotes, which explore all kinds of public and scholarly reaction to the film and its makers. All of which look absolutely authentic, but many of which are pure d’bunk — fiction. And he has invested an incredible amount of energy in the fabrication of these references. I spent a few hours in the New York City Public Library checking some … and found many that are authentic, of course, — — or appear to be — — I’m not as trusting of reality right now — at least in his world.

***

I’ll stop there. That’s something of the landscape — but a looming landscape it is. And I do say, enter at your own risk. It will sweep you away — if you let it. And I also suggest however, that if you don’t let it, then perhaps it isn’t worth reading. It’s one of those things you have to turn yourself over to … and then hope or have faith that you will emerge on the other side an intact person. Maybe changed. But intact nonetheless. That can’t be said for all the characters, however.

Okay, so I’ve gone on and on too long. Maybe it’s what I need to do to objectify this experience. Because I’m going to need to distance myself from it before I can sleep through the night again — which was already a running struggle for me anyway.

with any luck my warnings will case harden you and you’ll be impervious to MZD’s armour piercing ammo

or maybe it’s just me and it will all roll off you like H2O off a quack’s back.

you will devour and then wonder if you should have

i stand by the amazon review, now that I’ve finished, which I did at lunch … (and I’m still alive, rather happily, so maybe now I can go about getting some distance from this thing and reconnecting with the world out here … and hopefully getting some sleep again!)

— — — — — — — (See Appendix A.) — — — — — — — — — — —

well let me just say this…

i did finish — i even finished the appendices yesterday evening — which you must read, to get the complete picture …

and I’m alive. I’m intact. I slept for six straight hours last night. Peacefully. Finally.

So you can do it. But the fear is worth experiencing.

get the book, take the MZD drug and ride the high. mine took two weeks to peak and I wonder how long the come down will last… i think it’s gonna take me a while to get it out of my system.

i have an interpretation of the book now. but of course, i’ll save that for much later.

— — — — a brief chunk of text deleted here — — — — —

Appendix C — Y

(Missing, lost in a corrupted zip disk)

Z.

In the final installment of the television show “St. Elsewhere,” Episode 137, entitled “The Last One,” the viewer learns that the entire series had actually occured in the mind of Tommy Westphall, the autistic son of Dr. Westphall. A more graceful coup of the viewing public’s mind I’ve never witnessed in television.