Piranesi

“Question: when I feel myself about to die, ought I to go and lie down with the People of the Alcove?” 

The narrator feels a deep responsibility to care for the bones he found in the labyrinth, aka his “Dead.” This is because he believes he is the “Child of the House” inhabited by these bones, rather than having a former life in London. This early moment foreshadows how the narrator will prioritize the care of the People of the Alcove over comforting Sorensen’s family near the end of the novel.  

“I write down what I observe in my notebooks. I do this for two reasons. The first is that Writing inculcates habits of precision and carefulness. The second is to preserve whatever knowledge I possess for you, the Sixteenth Person.” 

This passage speaks to the theme of writing (which the narrator capitalizes to emphasize its importance). The narrator’s journal is what reveals and ultimately contains his initial personality (Sorensen). His desire to communicate to another person speaks to the loneliness that the labyrinth and forgetting his past have created.

“It is my belief that the World (or, if you will, the House, since the two are for all practical purposes identical) wishes an Inhabitant for Itself to be a witness to its Beauty and the recipient of its Mercies.” 

The narrator initially writes this while he has lost all memory of England, and rereads this entry after he discovers he has lost his memories and has been asked to return to London. In the end, these words help him to decide to return with Raphael to see Sorensen’s family. However, early in the novel, these words demonstrate his intimate relationship with the labyrinth; he has become like the ancients who communicated freely with their world. 

“As well as my regular meetings with the Other and the quiet, consolatory presence of the Dead, there are the birds. Birds are not difficult to understand.” 

In the labyrinth, the narrator is so lonely that he speaks to the birds. He even helps some with gathering dry nesting materials. More significantly, he practices ornithomancy, or fortune-telling with birds, that turns out to be fairly accurate.

“The Ritual is a piece of ceremonial magic by which the Other intends to free the Great and Secret Knowledge from whatever holds it captive in the World and to transfer it to ourselves.” 

Earlier, the narrator includes a list of what “Knowledge” Ketterley hopes to attain, including immortality, telepathy, telekinesis, flying, and mind control. This contrasts with the narrator’s ornithomancy; his memory loss in the labyrinth allows him to connect with a form of magic almost naturally, without ceremony. Ketterley imprisoned the narrator specifically to assist with his quest for the “Great and Secret Knowledge.”  

“For a moment I had an inkling of what it might be like if instead of two people in the World there were thousands.”

This passage speaks to the narrator’s loneliness. He doesn’t remember his family or friends because of the labyrinth’s magic and the trauma of imprisonment, but in this moment feels like he is part of a crowd when the statues in the 88th Western Hall are suddenly illuminated with moonlight. Statues are frequently linked to people throughout the novel; this is an example of the power of architecture and the arts. 

“I realized that the search of the Knowledge has encouraged us to think of the House as if it were a sort of riddle to be unravelled, a text to be interpreted, and that if ever we 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 narrator’s connection to the labyrinth causes him to value it as it exists rather than valuing what could be gained from it and transported to another world. He simply wants to be part of the House rather than use its magic to imprison or manipulate others. This makes him unlike other men who travel to and from the labyrinth: Arne-Sayles and Ketterley.

“The World feels Complete and Whole, and I, its Child, fit into it seamlessly.” 

The narrator calls himself the Beloved Child of the House. After losing Sorensen’s memories, his mind creates a new identity intrinsically linked to the labyrinth. The power of architecture here is to reform a person so deeply embedded in a building that it becomes their entire universe. 

“This is what I call a Distributary World—it was created by ideas flowing out of another world. This world could not have existed unless that other world has existed first.” 

This passage is part of Arne-Sayles’s explanation of how the labyrinth was created, and why the narrator calls him the Prophet. A “Distributary World” is a portal world; in the case of the labyrinth, there are a couple different portals, including a ritual, or (for Arne-Sayles) returning to an innocent state of mind at a location from childhood. The flowing of ideas can be seen in the statues representing archetypes, occupations, etc. for the narrator. 

“He smelt of paper and ink, of a finely balanced perfume of violet and aniseed.” 

Here, Arne-Sayles’s scent is described. The narrator’s heightened sense of smell is highlighted throughout the novel. It is said that this sense is linked to memory; these kinds of details speak to the theme of memory loss. Also, the theme of writing is interlaced with the purple floral notes, speaking to how both the narrator and Arne-Sayles are writers.

“During dinner Arne-Sayles talked about the other world (a place where architecture and oceans were muddled together) and how it was possible to get there.” 

Older journal entries are represented with italics in the novel; this emphasizes the doubled act of reading where the reader is basically reading over the narrator’s shoulder. We discover details alongside the narrator; here he reads an entry (he doesn’t remember writing) about how Arne-Sayles lured a philosophy student named Maurizio Giussani into the labyrinth. The mixture of constructed and natural elements is an important aspect of the theme of architectural power.

“She is caught in the stream; she cannot move from the moon’s reflection [...] asks a wood of birch trees to help her [...] The true language of Moon/Wood is simple, stark imagery: moon, darkness, water, trees.” 

This is another italicized journal entry, one that the narrator has forgotten writing about Sylvia D’Agostino. Her film Moon/Wood is described here. This is halfway understood by the amnesiac narrator; the imagery of water, celestial beings, and darkness is familiar. Trees, however, do not exist in the labyrinth, and they are what saves the protagonist of D’Agostino’s film. 

“This is how the House places new ideas gently and Naturally in the Minds of Men. This is how the House increases my understanding.”

This passage is just one example of how statues help the narrator figure out forgotten words. Since the labyrinth is a “Distributary World,” ideas have been transmigrated and represented with statues. The narrator does not try to force his will on the House; rather, he allows the structure to educate him.

“As I looked at this yellow mark I thought at first that it must be one of my marks, which had somehow survived Flood, Tide, Wind, Rain, Mist.” 

Here, the narrator has found one of Raphael’s chalk marks, but believes it came from him because of his profound feelings of isolation due to memory loss. This passage also speaks to the power of the elements; they are even capitalized by the narrator in a style that emulates the British Romantic poets. That the writing survives the elements is part of the overarching theme about the power of the written word.

“No one has ever written to me before. 16 wrote for a long time, which in some obscure way pleased me [...] Part of me (a very foolish part) felt that it would almost be worth going mad in order to read the message.” 

Ketterley convinces the narrator that 16’s words will drive him insane. This is a lie to keep the narrator from talking to the police officer investigating his disappearance. However, the narrator has forgotten anyone has ever written to him before, and is so lonely that he’s willing to risk insanity in order to talk to another person. 

“The way the Ancients perceived the world was the way the world truly was. This gave them extraordinary influence and power. Reality was not only capable of taking part in a dialogue—intelligent and articulate—it was also persuadable. Nature was willing to bend to men’s desire, to lend them its attributes. Seas could be parted, men could turn into birds and fly away, or into foxes and hide in dark woods, castles could be made out of clouds.” 

This is an italicized journal entry that outlines the narrator’s notes for a talk about Arne-Sayles in 2013. It describes Arne-Sayles’s philosophy regarding the labyrinth: he believed one could live like the “Ancients” there. It is, as a somewhat-flooded structure, a constant discussion between the architectural and the natural. 

“Theory of Other Worlds. Simply put, it said that when knowledge or power went out of this world it did two things: first, it created another place; and second, it left a hole, a door between this world where it had once existed and the new place it had made [...] his third, most famous book, The Half-Seen Door [...] discussed these ideas.”

This passage is another journal entry that the narrator did not remember writing. It paraphrases some of Arne-Sayles’s book, describing how a portal world functions. The narrator wrote this as pre-writing for a book about Arne-Sayles, so there are two levels of book-within-book metatext, in addition to Clarke’s novel, which could also be said to be a type of portal world.  

“One sentence puzzles me: The world was constantly speaking to Ancient Man. I do not understand why this sentence is in the past tense. The World still speaks to me every day.” 

When the narrator reflects on the forgotten entries about Arne-Sayles, he gets caught up in the grammar of one sentence. The narrator, by living in the labyrinth rather than just visiting, and by losing his memory, lives in dialogue with the “House” and nature, like the Ancients. This passage’s chronological implications (the past as present in the labyrinth for the narrator) connect it to the calendaring motif that runs throughout the novel. 

“Words! Words made by 16! Before I had time to tear my eyes away I read the entire message.”

Here, the narrator realizes that Raphael has left him a message written in stones, asking if he is Matthew Rose Sorensen (the name of his former identity). While Ketterley has lied about the magical properties of words (that, from 16, they cause insanity), the transformation of pebbles into letters is magical to the narrator. He is so lonely from memory loss that another person existing and engaging in one of his main passions—writing—is a fantastic concept.

“Why a labyrinth?” “A vision of cosmic grandeur, I suppose. A symbol of the mingled glory and horror of existence. No one gets out alive.” 

This passage is from the lost journal pages that the narrator pieces together to learn of his imprisonment by Ketterley. This transcribed conversation takes place moments before Sorensen’s abduction; he asks the question about the “other world” Arne-Sayles visited. Ketterley’s answer foreshadows his own death in the labyrinth, but the narrator escapes alive with Raphael.

“She was a strange girl […] A poet.” 

Here, Ketterley describes Sylvia D’Agostino not only as a victim of Arne-Sayles’s interpersonal manipulations, but also as an odd artist. Her profession as poet is frequently referenced, as well as her films. Ketterley, unlike D’Agostino, is not favored by Arne-Sayles; he lacks poetic/artistic qualities. Ketterley also describes the narrator as “odd” (24), aligning him with D’Agostino.

“The Waves sank down and the Waters became peaceable.” 

This is when the flood waters recede, and the narrator is able to speak to Raphael. The element of water kills Ketterley, its power becoming deadly at the climax but here returns to a peaceful state. Both symbolic and anthropomorphic, water plays a key role throughout the novel.  

“He fishes in the air with his fingers to catch at the elusive words.”

When the narrator returns to London, he is questioned by a police officer named Jamie Askill who tries to describe Raphael. The metaphor of fishing recalls how the narrator spent much of his time in the labyrinth; words and fish eluded him, but he did eventually find both. Raphael is hard to describe because she is a bit odd, like D’Agostino and the narrator.