Despite its apparently ocular "objectivity," despite what we'll discover is an unusually intense thematic interest in questions of vision, voyeurism, and narcissistic gazing, we must yet insist that what looks here like "looking" turns out to be "eating," and that what gets eaten is a vomitory (no)thing which cannot be assimilated without both eliminating the stuff of my world and reintrojecting the negated negation that will come now completely to devour me.
And what that space both "is" and "contains"--what it in fact envelops by being--turns out to be the vomitory (no)thing that must be expelled from the perceiving subject and then fended off in the apprehended object if a self and its world are ever to "meet" in the visual field at all.
And I'm in that world, above all else, in alien, viscous, and fractured non-being that must be described as regurgitative, because Sanctuary asks me to identify in it with selves that it labors before my eyes to turn into vomitory and inhuman "objects" that become the dispersed dissipation of "me" and tend to break down into (no)thing--a hole.
There is indeed here no one to "see" through that doesn't turn into a vomitory (no)thing, no chance (conversely) of seeing through eyes that don't encounter the world vomitorily.
6), this is because the identity of the seer is here "in" the object as much as in the eye, and the mark of the other has always already imprinted itself on an ocular organ that's thereby degraded to a vomitory consistency somewhere "between" a liquid and a solid.
Pap is in fact a perfect figure for the novel's implied or ideal reader, whose "eye" the narrative mode solicits only in order to spit up into it, and whom it lets neither in nor out except in oral-ocular consumption of self in the mode of vomitory (no)thing.
Any attempt at a reading that's more "thematically" oriented than the one so far offered will have to confront this vomitory tendency toward oxymoronical (anti-)significance.