Piranesi/Matthew Rose Sorensen Character 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?

In accordance with the first system, I have named two years 2011 and 2012. This system strikes me as deeply pedestrian. Also I cannot remember what happened two thousand years ago which made me think that years a good starting point. According to the second system I have given the years names like ‘The Year I named the Constellations’ and ‘The Year I counted and named the Dead.’ I like this much more. It gives each year a character of its own. This is the system I shall use going forward.

Do trees exist? Many things are unknown. Once—it was about six or seven months ago—I saw a bright yellow speck floating on a gentle Tide beneath the Fourth Western Hall. Not understanding what it could be, I waded out into the Waters and caught it. It was a leaf, very beautiful, with two sides curving to a point at each end. Of course it is possible that it was part of a type of sea vegetation that I have never seen, but I am doubtful. The texture seemed wrong. Its surface repelled Water, like something meant to live in Air.

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.

And yet I cannot help thinking that if the situation was reversed and if it were the Other’s sanity that was threatened by 16, I would not resort to killing him quite so quickly. To be honest, I do not think that I would ever want to kill him – the idea of it is abhorrent to me. Certainly I would try other things first, like finding a cure for his madness. But the Other is rather inflexible in his character. I would not go so far as to say it’s a fault, but it is a definite tendency.

0001

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!

It occurs to me that there are many other ideas that I understand perfectly, even though no such things exist in the World. For example I know that a garden is a place where one can refresh oneself with the sight of plants and trees. But a garden is not a thing that exists in the World nor is there any Statue representing that particular idea… Instead, scattered about the House are Statues in which People or Gods or Beasts are surrounded by Roses or Strands of Ivy, or shelter under the Canopies of Trees… It is from these things that I deduce the idea of a garden. I do not believe this happens by accident. This is how the House places new ideas gently and naturally in the Minds of Men. This is how the House increases my understanding.

0111

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.

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 everyday.

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.

He had suffered. He had been alone with his enemy. It had been more than he could bear. Perhaps the Other had taunted him. Matthew Rose Sorensen had torn into pieces the description of his enslavement that he had written in his Journal and he had scattered the pieces in the Eighty-Eighth Western Hall. Then the House in its Mercy had caused him to fall asleep — which was by far the best thing for him — and it had placed him inside me.

0111

‘Get in the boat!’ I shouted to him. ‘Get in the boat before it’s too late!’

He fired again, hitting a Statue above our heads. I felt a sharp pain in my forehead. I cried out. I put my hand up and brought it away covered in blood.

0011

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.’

I remember how this world works—more or less. I remember what Manchester is and what the police are and how to use a smartphone. I can pay for things with money—though I still find the process strange and artificial. Piranesi has a strong dislike of money. Piranesi wants to say: But I need the thing you have, so why don’t you just give it to me? And then when I have something you need, I will just give it to you. This would be a simpler system and much better. But I, who am not Piranesi–or at least not only him—realize that this probably wouldn’t go down too well.

1011

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

1011

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?

In accordance with the first system, I have named two years 2011 and 2012. This system strikes me as deeply pedestrian. Also I cannot remember what happened two thousand years ago which made me think that years a good starting point. According to the second system I have given the years names like ‘The Year I named the Constellations’ and ‘The Year I counted and named the Dead.’ I like this much more. It gives each year a character of its own. This is the system I shall use going forward.

Do trees exist? Many things are unknown. Once—it was about six or seven months ago—I saw a bright yellow speck floating on a gentle Tide beneath the Fourth Western Hall. Not understanding what it could be, I waded out into the Waters and caught it. It was a leaf, very beautiful, with two sides curving to a point at each end. Of course it is possible that it was part of a type of sea vegetation that I have never seen, but I am doubtful. The texture seemed wrong. Its surface repelled Water, like something meant to live in Air.

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.

And yet I cannot help thinking that if the situation was reversed and if it were the Other’s sanity that was threatened by 16, I would not resort to killing him quite so quickly. To be honest, I do not think that I would ever want to kill him – the idea of it is abhorrent to me. Certainly I would try other things first, like finding a cure for his madness. But the Other is rather inflexible in his character. I would not go so far as to say it’s a fault, but it is a definite tendency.

0001

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!

It occurs to me that there are many other ideas that I understand perfectly, even though no such things exist in the World. For example I know that a garden is a place where one can refresh oneself with the sight of plants and trees. But a garden is not a thing that exists in the World nor is there any Statue representing that particular idea… Instead, scattered about the House are Statues in which People or Gods or Beasts are surrounded by Roses or Strands of Ivy, or shelter under the Canopies of Trees… It is from these things that I deduce the idea of a garden. I do not believe this happens by accident. This is how the House places new ideas gently and naturally in the Minds of Men. This is how the House increases my understanding.

0111

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.

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 everyday.

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.

He had suffered. He had been alone with his enemy. It had been more than he could bear. Perhaps the Other had taunted him. Matthew Rose Sorensen had torn into pieces the description of his enslavement that he had written in his Journal and he had scattered the pieces in the Eighty-Eighth Western Hall. Then the House in its Mercy had caused him to fall asleep — which was by far the best thing for him — and it had placed him inside me.

0111

‘Get in the boat!’ I shouted to him. ‘Get in the boat before it’s too late!’

He fired again, hitting a Statue above our heads. I felt a sharp pain in my forehead. I cried out. I put my hand up and brought it away covered in blood.

0011

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.’

I remember how this world works—more or less. I remember what Manchester is and what the police are and how to use a smartphone. I can pay for things with money—though I still find the process strange and artificial. Piranesi has a strong dislike of money. Piranesi wants to say: But I need the thing you have, so why don’t you just give it to me? And then when I have something you need, I will just give it to you. This would be a simpler system and much better. But I, who am not Piranesi–or at least not only him—realize that this probably wouldn’t go down too well.

1011

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

1011