Mapping Out The Library of Babel

I recently read The Library of Babel, a short story by Jorge Luis Borges. If you haven’t read it, I thoroughly recommend it. It’s a very short, but thought provoking read. This article will contain spoilers if you haven’t.

I found myself captivated by the shape and layout of the galleries in this strange universe. Our narrator describes them as follows:

The universe (which others call the Library) is composed of an indefinite, perhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries. In the center of each gallery is a ventilation shaft, bounded by a low railing. From any hexagon one can see the floors above and below - one after another, endlessly. The arrangement of the galleries is always the same: Twenty bookshelves, five to each side, line four of the hexagon’s six sides […] One of the hexagon’s free sides opens onto a narrow sort of vestibule, which in turn opens onto another gallery, identical to the first - identical in fact to all. […] Through this space, too, there passes a spiral staircase, which winds upward and downward into the remotest distance.

When initially reading this, I got the impression that anyone in any gallery of the library can make their way to any other, either by walking to another on the same floor or taking the spiral staircase. There are a few problems with this, but I want to get the obvious one out of the way first:

Only One Exit? #

When taking the description at face value, we can only account for five sides of the hexagon: four lined with bookshelves, and one exit to the vestibule.

The problem with these blocky bowties is that our narrator will only have access to two galleries per floor. They could travel up and down the spiral staircase (the circle in these diagrams) to all other floors to infinity, but what about the rest of infinity?

Given that the sixth wall is unaccounted for in the description, I think it makes sense to assume that two identical exits from each gallery is implied.

A Parallel Universe #

So, with two exits in mind, I immediately envisioned the walkways being set symmetrically on either side of the gallery with two bookshelf walls on either side:

This could perhaps work. It might never occur to the inhabitants that the universe could also stretch out in another direction. There would be literal parallel universes, each equipped with an endless library with its own unwitting librarians pondering the meanings of their books, just behind the wall, but I don’t think this was the intention.

If we want to give our librarians any chance of wandering the infinite library, we’re going to have to lose the symmetry.

The Beauty of Asymmetry #

When creating asymmetrical walkways, we really only have two options: exits that are next to each other, and exits that are one (or three) sides apart. Both solutions give us a wavy line, but I thought I’d explore the latter in detail, for the sole reason that it seems more aesthetically pleasing to me.

Perhaps I’ll look into the other option another time.

At first glance, it appears that we have the same problem: a universe of galleries going in just two directions with no way to bridge between them. However, this is where we can take advantage of the staircases that go up and down between floors. By rotating each floor we can allow our librarians to move along any axis.

A World Divided #

While moving to another floor will allow you to walk in a different direction, we can see clearly that it’s not possible to get to any floor. Sometimes we must pass a bunch of floors before we get to another hexagon that aligns with our own.

It turns out that the library will be split into thirds, without any walking route between them. The occupants of these galleries will be aware of this because they will be able to see and speak with librarians of different worlds via the ventilation shaft at the centre of each gallery. I haven’t drawn these in the diagrams here to keep them as simple as required to demonstrate walkable routes.

In conclusion, I couldn’t find a way to connect all galleries of the library when adhering to Borges’ description of how they connect, but I did find the idea of three libraries much more interesting, and it inspired me – I kid you not – to write some fanfiction!

The Downfall of Adrian Prose #

“Body!” I hear echoed from above.

I quickly move myself from leaning against the railing to the infinite ventilation shaft, and nearly drop my book in the process. I turn around, just as the corpse whips by, downwards into his unending journey.

“Body!” I echo, and then promptly cover my nose and mouth. It’s only fair to warn those below.

“…body, body!” I hear from below. Far too quiet, and too late to be of any use, with a childish mocking tone to it.

I look down to the floor below. It’s a Prose gallery. People from the Prose house are known to be rude, though Prose say that Chapters are stupid and that Pages are crazy. There might be some truth to that last one, to be fair, but we all succumb to a bit of book madness now and then.

I see a middle-aged wiry man looking back at me with a grin on one side of his face.

“What’s your name, Chapter?” he asks.

“Maria”, I tell him to be polite.

I’m not interested in making small talk with someone who just mocked me, so I turn to the bookshelf and put my book back. dije lqoish doesn’t appear to have any meaning in its pages.

“Maria?” he asks “My name’s Adrian” he says proudly.

I glance behind him to see several books scattered on the ground. He’s been making a mess.

“Nice to meet you, Adrian.” I say as I walk to find another gallery, one with another Chapter above and below, perhaps.

“Maria??” he calls. I keep walking. “I’ve found your name in a book!” he yells excitedly.

I turn around to see if I can read the lies on his face.

“No you haven’t.”

“I have, I promise! I’ve seen it in uhh…”

He closes his eyes and snaps his fingers repeatedly. He opens his eyes again with a final snap and points to me.

“As it happens, I’ve seen it in women.” he says.

“We’re done here.” I tell him, and leave to the next gallery.

By “women”, Adrian was referring to women are lowly, a large district, named – as all districts are – by the notoriety of a group of words found in succession in a book somewhere in that region. When groups of words are found together like this, those words are spread around as though they may have some kind of significance and important meaning. The more words that seem to form a meaning, or the more potent that meaning, the bigger and more popular that district becomes. People tend to move to districts that represent meanings they believe in. It doesn’t take a great deal of thought to know what kind of fanatics choose to live in women are lowly.

I walk past the spiral staircase and into the next gallery, sandwiched between two Page galleries, and safe from the lies and interruptions of my new malicious acquaintance. I pick up a book at random and begin skimming through What if he’s telling the truth, I wonder. I shake the idea out of my head, put the book down and make my way over to a gallery that I know will keep my mind off things.

Only a few galleries over, on this very floor, technically outside of my home district of poem doubt is a book I tend to go back to for that dizzying feeling. It’s not a nice experience by any means, but it does well to distract me.

I look over to the single shelf with the gold embossed label on the top that reads trqaiqaq fdmyb. I slowly drift my finger along the spines of the old dusty books until I find the title I recognise. aubnrso. I pull out the book and leaf through the pages until I get to the line:

…qsen zxsk river wz zuy…

I’ve personally found hundreds of words throughout my searchings. “time”, “shoulder”, “notice”… I even found a three-syllable one a few years back: “consider”. But there are sometimes words that everyone agrees will cause that existential dread. “river” is one such word. I look at the word for just about as long as I can handle, and then drift off to sleep with my back against the bookshelf.

“Maria!”

I’m abruptly pulled away from my dream. I open my eyes and look around.

“I found you” I hear from above.

I look up at the gallery above. Adrian Prose.

“So you did.” I say, as I stand. “And it would’ve taken you at least two staircases to do so”, I add, with less subtlety to my disdain.

“No, no.” he says, as he shakes a book in his hands. “I found the book with you in it”.

He’s lying. He’s obviously lying. But, of course, I’m not going to say that to him, because, unlikely as it may be, if my name is in that book, perhaps it would contain some important meaning.

“Throw it down to me.”

“That’s not very polite of you, Maria. Where’s my thank you?” he grins with one side of his face again. “Besides” he adds “You know I can’t risk that. If it bounces into the void, I’m sure to be sent after it.”

It’s a quiet area, I doubt there’s anyone else around, but punishment or not, we can’t risk losing a book.

“Well, ascend with it then.”

Ascending is what we call switching between houses. The only way to do so is by having someone hang down from the railing of their house so that their legs dangle within arm’s reach of your own. You can then make your way off the railing of your own and climb up the body of that person to make it over their railing. It’s not safe by any means. People fall trying to ascend all the time. Even if you want to travel downwards in a different house, you do so by ascending and then taking the stairs, because nobody has ever successfully switched to a different house by climbing downwards.

“Ascend to Chapter?” he asks with an air of disbelief. “And whose going to pull me up? You? No, I don’t think so. I tell you what, Maria, I’ll read it to you.”

Adrian opens the book and his mouth at the same time as though he’s about to speak. He waits for a moment and then peers down at me with an exaggerated look of offence on his face.

“Maria, if you’re going to be so obtuse I really don’t think I’ll bother.”

Adrian casually flicks the open book out of his hand and into the abyss. I panic and reach out to grab the falling book, but it’s too far over.

“Book!” I scream as I desperately stare down to find hands and arms being outstretched from countless floors below in vain attempts to catch it. I hear echoes of the dreaded word travel down the chasm in hundreds of voices, all too late to save it.

I look up at Adrian, tears filling my eyes

“Why would you do that?”

He smirks and slowly retreats away into Prose where I can’t see him.

My name wasn’t in there, I think to myself, but a thrown book deserves retribution.

My despair turns to anger.

I run through the galleries calling for anyone in Prose.

I look up.

“Hello?”, no response. I run to the next gallery and look down.

“Anyone there?”, nothing. I see an old Page woman peering down, but she can’t help me.

I decide to try a different floor, almost falling down the spiral staircase.

“Prose?” I call, still nothing. I run into another gallery and hear a faint voice behind me.

“Hello?”

I turn on my heel and make my way back to the previous gallery.

“Anyone there?” I ask hurriedly.

“Yes, up here”. I see a very old Prose man looking down concerned. “Are you okay, my dear?” he asks.

“I, uhh…” This guy looks too old. I glance over to the direction I was headed, sweating and out of breath, wondering if I could gamble somebody else.

“I need to ascend” Well I’ve said it now.

“You need to ascend?” he laughs in disbelief. “And you think I can help you with that?” he adds in a manner that would sound friendly if it weren’t completely at odds with what I need.

“Do you have anyone else nearby?” I plead.

“I haven’t seen anyone in days”

I make half an exhausted attempt at jogging into the next gallery to look for someone else and then return straight back to my only chance.

“What’s your name, Prose?”

“Robin.” There’s that dizzying feeling again. He has an apologetic look on his face. The face of someone who unintentionally gives book madness every time he speaks his name.

“Well Robin” I say, in disbelief at what I’m about to ask of him. “You see, I need you to help me ascend because I… uhh…”

At just that moment I realise that I’m still holding aubnrso from before I fell asleep.

“I’m returning a fallen book!”

Robin looks surprised “You caught that?” he asks as he fruitlessly attempts to look closer. “Your wrists don’t look broken to me” he adds.

“It bounced off someone’s hand and into my gallery”, and before he questions that “…and I’ve been reliably informed that it belongs in Prose, so I would really appreciate your help in returning it.”

He gives me a hopeless look and disappears out of sight behind his railing.

I fall to my knees in frustration and exhaustion when I hear a grunt and notice Robin’s leg slowly making its way over his railing.

“Thank you, Robin!”

I tuck the book under my belt and climb up onto the railing. Robin’s feet hang precariously within reach and I begin to climb my way up his legs. For a moment that lasts far too long, Robin’s frail hands are carrying his and my shuffling weight over the endless ventilation shaft. I quickly make my way up to the railing and help pull him back in.

Robin breathlessly turns to me. “You never did tell me your name, my dear.”

“Maria Chapter” I tell him, as I come to a stand.

“Well,” he says, “I suppose it’s Maria Prose now, isn’t it.”

I spend countless hours scouring gallery to gallery when I finally find Adrian. He’s peering over a railing and casually spitting either into the abyss or more likely at someone below. I approach him from behind until I’m almost touching him.

“What’s that you said?” I ask.

Adrian turns around and recognises me too late. I push my forearm against his chest to pivot him over the railing. He panics and tries to gain purchase.

“You’ll be sent after it.” I remind him. His eyes widen. He opens his mouth to plead, but nothing comes out.

“Body!” I shout.

It’s only fair to warn those below.