Friendship, Betrayal, and Loyalty Theme Analysis

The Beauty of the House is immeasurable; its Kindness infinite.

In all of these places I have stood in Doorways and looked ahead. I have never seen any indication that the World was coming to an End, but only a regular progression of Halls and Passageways into the Far Distance.

The Other organizes his time meticulously and never permits our meeting to last longer than one hour. If he requires my presence at other times, he calls out ‘Piranesi!’ until I come. Piranesi. It is what he calls me. Which is strange because as far as I remember it is not my name.

And You. Who are You? Who is it that I am writing for? Are you a traveler who has cheated Tides and cross Broken Floors and Derelict Stairs to reach these Halls. Or are You perhaps someone who inhabits my own Halls after I am dead?

I saw a black scribble against a grey Sky and a flicker of bright red; words drifted towards me – white words on a black background. At the same time, there was a sudden blare of noise and a metallic taste on my tongue. And all of the images – no more than fragments or ghosts of images really — seemed to coalesce around the strange world, ‘Batter-Sea.’ I tried to get a hold of them, to bring them into sharper focus, but like a dream they faded and were gone.

I lined a fishing net with heavy-gauge plastic. Inside I placed what I thought was the right amount of nesting material for two such enormous birds. It approximates three days’ fuel. This was no insignificant amount and I knew that I might be colder because I had given it away. But what is a few days of feeling cold compared to a new albatross in the World?

So this, as far as I can tell, is what the birds told me. A message from Afar. Obscure Writing. Innocence eroded. Interesting. I will allow some time to elapse—say a few months—and then I will examine this communication again to see if the intervening events can shed any light upon it (and vice versa).

That being said, it occurs to me to wonder why it is that the House gives a greater variety of objects to the Other than to me, providing him with sleeping bags, shoes, plastic bowls, cheese sandwiches, notebooks, slices of Christmas cake, etc. , etc., whereas me it mostly gives fish. I think perhaps it is because the Other is not as skilled in taking care of himself as I am. He does not know how to fish.

I realized that the search for the Knowledge has encouraged us to think of the House as if it were a sort of riddle to be unraveled, a text to be interpreted, and that if we ever discover the Knowledge, then it will be as if the Value has been wrested from the House and all that remains will be mere scenery. The sight of the One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall in the moonlight made me see how ridiculous that is. The House is valuable because it is the House. It is enough in and of Itself. It is not the means to an end.

Two memories. Two bright minds which remember past events differently. It is an awkward situation. There exists no third person to say which of us is correct. (If only the Sixteenth Person were here).

“You said you met 16. But you also said 16 does not know the way here. Meaning that you must have met him in his own Hall or, at any rate, in some Remote Region. This surprises me because I do not believe you have undertaken any long journeys since I have known you.” I smiled at the Other, awaiting his answer, which I fully expected would be very interesting.

I stopped reading and stood up, breathing hard. I had a strong urge to fling the Journal away from me. The words on the page—(in my own writing!)—looked like words, but at the same time I knew they were meaningless. It was nonsense, gibberish! What meaning could words such as ‘Birmingham’ and ‘Perugia’ possibly have? None. There is nothing in the World that corresponds to them. The Other was right after all. I had forgotten many things!

I forget. I forget. Yesterday I could not think of the word for lamp-post. This morning I thought that one of the statues spoke to me. I passed some time (about half an hour I think) talking to it. I am LOSING MY MIND. How horrible, how terrible to be in this dreadful place and MAD. I am DETERMINED TO KILL him before this happens. Before I forget why I HATE HIM.

Are you Matthew Rose Sorensen?

I am… I stuttered. I am…

At first I could get no further than this.

I am… I am the Beloved Child of the House.

Yes.

My last thought before I fell asleep was: He is dead. My only friend. My only enemy.

This annoyed me. ‘I do not see why you say I can only see a representation in this World,’ I said with some sharpness. ‘The word “only” suggests a relationship of inferiority. You make it sounds as if the Statue was somehow inferior to the thing itself. I do not see that that is the case at all. I would argue that the Statue is superior to the thing itself, the statue being perfect, eternal, and not subject to decay.’