Home Obscure Light

Things: A Story of the Sixties by George Perec



Your eye, first of all, would glide over the grey fitted carpet in the narrow, long and high-ceilinged corridor.

Its walls would be cupboards, in light-coloured wood, with fittings of gleaming brass. Three prints, depicting, respectively, the Derby winner Thunderbird, a paddle-steamer named Ville-de-Motitereau, and a Stephenson locomotive, would lead to a leather curtain hanging on thick, black, grainy wooden rings which would slide back at the merest touch.

There, the carpet would give way to an almost yellow woodblock floor, partly covered by three faded rugs.

It would be a living room about twenty-three feet long by ten
feet wide. On the left, in a kind of recess, there would
be a large sofa upholstered in worn black leather,
with pale cherrywood bookcases on either side,
heaped with books in untidy piles. Above the sofa,
a mariner's chart would fill the whole length of that
section of the wall. On the other side of a small low table,
and beneath a silk prayer-mat nailed to the wall with
three large-headed brass studs, matching the leather
curtain, there would be another sofa, at right
angles to the first, with a light-brown velvet covering;
it would lead on to a small and spindly piece of furniture,
lacquered in dark red and providing three display shelves for
knick-knacks: agates and stone eggs, snuffboxes, candy-boxes, jade
ashtrays, a mother-of-pearl oystershell, a silver fob watch, a
cut-glass glass, a crystal pyramid, a miniature in an oval
frame. Further on, beyond a padded door, there would be
shelving on both sides of the corner, for caskets and
for records, beside a closed gramophone of which
only four machined-steel knobs would be visible, and
above it, a print depicting The Great Parade of the Military
Tattoo. Through the window, draped with white and brown curtains
in cloth imitating Jouy wallpaper, you would glimpse a few trees, a
tiny park, a bit of street. A roll-top desk littered with papers
and pen-holders would go with a small cane-seated chair.
On a console table would be a telephone, a leather
diary, a writing pad. Then, on the other side
of another door, beyond a low, square revolving
bookcase supporting a large, cylindrical vase decorated
in blue and filled with yellow roses, set beneath an oblong
mirror in a mahogany frame, there would be a narrow table with
its two benches upholstered in tartan, which would bring your
eye back to the leather curtain.

It would be all in

browns, ochres, duns and yellows:

a world of slightly dull colours, in carefully
graded shades, calculated with almost too much
artistry, in the midst of which would be some

striking, brighter splashes -

a cushion in almost garish orange,

a few multicoloured book jackets amongst the leather-bound volumes.

During the day, the light flooding in would make this room seem a little sad, despite the roses. It would be an evening room. But in the winter, with the curtains drawn, some spots illuminated - the bookcase corner, the record shelves, the desk, the low table between the two settees, and the vague reflections in the mirror — and large expanses in shadow, whence all the things would gleam - the polished wood, the rich, heavy silks, the cut glass, the softened leather —

it would be a haven of peace, a land of happiness.

The first door would open onto a bedroom,
                                                                                                                                     its floor covered with a light-coloured fitted
carpet. An English double bed would fill the
                                                                                                                                     whole rear part of it. On the right, to both
sides of the window, there would be tall and
                                                                                                                                     narrow sets of shelves holding a few books,
to be read and read again, photograph albums,
                                                                                                                                     packs of cards, pots, necklaces, paste jewellery.
To the left, an old oak wardrobe and two clothes
                                                                                                                                     horses of wood and brass would stand opposite a
small wing-chair upholstered in thin-striped
                                                                                                                                     grey silk and a dressing table. Through a half-open
door giving on to a bathroom you would glimpse
                                                                                                                                     thick bathrobes, swan-neck taps in solid brass,
a large adjustable mirror, a pair of cut-throat
                                                                                                                                     razors and their green leather sheaths, bottles,
horn-handled brushes, sponges. The bedroom walls
                                                                                                                                     would be papered with chintz; the bedspread would
be a tartan blanket. A bedside table, with an openwork
                                                                                                                                     copper band running round three of its sides, would
support a silver candlestick lamp topped with a very
                                                                                                                                     pale grey silk shade, a square carriage clock, a rose
in a stem-vase, and, on its lower shelf, folded newspapers
                                                                                                                                     and some magazines. Further on, at the foot of the bed,
there would be a big pouf in natural hide. At the window,
                                                                                                                                     the gauze curtains would slide on brass rods; the thick
woollen double curtains would be half drawn. In the half-light
                                                                                                                                     the room would still be bright. On the wall, above the bed
made up and turned down for the night, between two small
                                                                                                                                     wall lamps, the astonishing, long, narrow black-and-white
photograph of a bird in the sky would surprise you by
                                                                                                                                     its slightly formal perfection.