Like a city built on rock and roll, the house is structurally unsound. It consists largely of stairs and stairways and staircases, and all the small things stairs require. Balusters and balustrades. Bullnoses and open risers. Handrails. Newel posts. Landings, flights, mitred joints, drops, scrolls, winders, treads. It’s an assembly of curves and helixes. It’s held together with spirals and strings.
Every door in the house is slightly smaller than its corresponding frame, and so each one has a tendency to open and shut without warning. Nothing fits as it should. The windows stick; the floors tilt. The walls meet at all the wrong angles. The roof extends beyond the bounds of decency. It defies all modes of description.
Gillian Devereux
