Book Review: House Of Leaves by Mark Z Danielewski

I discovered this book through it's cult fanbase on TikTok, and even though I usually can't stand the reading community on that app, on this occasion I completely understand their obsession. I finished it over the two weeks of my December holiday, during which I pretty much only put it down to stuff my face with Christmas leftovers or to head down a Wikipedia rabbit-hole which it sparked. It had me hooked from the very start despite its imposing 700 pages and its labyrinthine formatting. 

The primary focus of the story is the Navidson Record, a documentary film of ambiguous authenticity which follows a man and his family as they attempt to adjust to life in their new house. This film is analysed and mused upon by a mysterious writer, Zampano, whose sprawling prose covers Navidson's backstory, his filmmaking choices, and gives us a comprehensive rundown of the strange goings-on inside the Navidson household. Zampano, unlike a majority of critics, fully believes that the film is a legitimate factual record, which we see him grapple with as he recounts its increasingly unsettling and supernatural events. 

Framing this narrative, we have the reclusive fictional editor, Johnny Truant, who finds Zampano's chaotic writings in his flat after the old man's death, and becomes obsessed with compiling them into a coherent piece of literature. Zampano's text is littered with footnotes from Truant, who adds his own personal opinions and goes off on long tangents about his personal life, which becomes increasingly intertwined with his obsession with the Navidson Record. He finds himself beginning to agree with Zampano, believing the film to be the truth, and paranoia begins to set in. 

Danielewski uses unorthodox page layouts to immerse you in Truant's world. As the book goes on, you experience the efforts of an increasingly desperate Zampano to get all his thoughts into writing, with post-it notes stuck to pages, writing cramped into margins, and entire paragraphs obscured by ink spills. It really feels like you're sitting there with Truant, thumbing through stacks of disorganised pages as he recounts anecdotes from his life. 

Zampano's accounts of the Record are tense, unnerving and at times even genuinely scary. It is endlessly creative, and keeping up with the layers of the narrative as they overlap and spill into one another is what makes it so gripping. 

I strongly recommend this book for anyone looking to expand their literary horizons and try something a bit experimental. Definitely not a coffee table book.