House of Leaves is a fucking dense-as-hell read because of just how fucking incompatable the multiple narrative “levels” are with each other.
The Navidson Record (film) is, of course, incompatible with reality for the basic science-fiction reasons - the House is impossible, and much of the horror comes from its incomprehensibility and incompatibility with human experience.
The Navidson Record (book) is, in turn, totally incompatible with both “our” reality and the reality of Johnny Truant. Most immediately apparent is how flagrantly Zampano fabricates and alters events in his description of the film, imagining publicity and celebrity where none exists or ever existed.. Digging deeper, you’ll notice how the synopsis and description of the film is impossible - it would have to be at least ten hours long! The film, like the house, transcends dimensions.
And Johnny Truant’s additions reveal the most massive impossibility of all - that The Navidson Record (book) could ever exist, even as a work of fiction. It’s a book about a fictional film, written by a completely blind man on hundreds of unsorted scraps of paper, and we’re supposed to believe that Johnny managed to compose a relatively-coherent book out of it? Even before considering the numerous instances Johnny describes of parts of the manuscript becoming damaged or lost, it strains belief.
House of Leaves is a labyrinth of narrative and paradox. It tells more stories than its pages - its leaves - actually contain. And while it also manages to contain and support something comprehensible and human - a literary Navidson Expedition, a core story surviving in the darkness - it is also haunted by the monstrous, the uncanny, the impossible and inconsistent - a metafictional minotaur.
And that’s all before we even touch on the competing iconographies. Norse mythology sets its roots in while Greceo-Roman legends haunt the proceedings, viewed through documentarian, academic, and bildungsromian lenses both apart and in varied combination.
Goddammit I love House of Leaves.