I finished House of Leaves yesterday. I wasn't even going to write anything about it for fear that others would be spoiled.
I'll cut right to why I'm writing this, due to what's just happened. Since finishing House of Leaves, I can no longer rest with my face towards the wall.
Likewise, I don't like having my door shut. Furthermore again, just now as I sat down, my floor creaked twice, immediately slamming my heart rate up about thirty points.
Mark Z. Danielewski has made me afraid of my own fucking house. What a mastermind, believe me no contempt is felt. I love this. I doubted Johnny, for a while. Though he remains right: it feels different.
No one's heard from me in like 2 weeks, through many aching nights and sleepless dreams. This book has been my gateway back to life, as though Navy in "Exploration #5", this book my proverbial "Care-"en.
Something strange is the fact all the moments in between the "shocking parts" are almost mercifully kind and peaceful. Johnny ranting about things, Zampanó talking about references.
I remember the first thing that shocked me, which wasn't actually the exploration, nor the hall itself. It was Holloway, in the middle of those closing doors, mirroring what I'd seen on Zeemyth's "BEDROCK.ZIP"
My oh my, golly la dolly vita how they tie it all in, the extra shot actually being Holloway killing himself. It's amazing the things Mark thinks of.
The next big shock was Tom's death. I actually had to pause and stare off for a minute before recovering. It was visceral, sad and unfitting for such a heroic act. Poor Navy as well, he didn't even get a body to bury.
That brings me to the next thing: the house supposedly being over 4.7 Billion years old. I mean, what an interesting detail. Strontium 87.
Navidson pulling out "House of Leaves" in the final exploration also boggled my mind. 737 pages I think it said, which if you count the missing ones is the actual length.
The Whalestoe letters, the depression there. Zampanó's poem about a house of leaves strikes me. The inclusion of Yggdrasil confounds me though I love it all the same.
The reason this is all here is to say: I love it. I can't imagine a world where I wouldn't. In fact, just listening to loud, deep bangs outside my house though they sound somehow internal makes me wonder.
Wonder about how much mystery there is for the blind. Zampanó clearly used that to his advantage. I wish some of the Minotaur lines would've been kept, though they are; I mean entirely.
I wish I could give Mark a big hug and tell him "Thank you. Thank you thank you."
"This place is old, feel just like somebody else, man I ain't changed but I know I ain't the same."
~Jakob (not Esau) Dylan,, The Wallflowers,, "One Headlight".
I will be reading "Only Revolutions".
