In one's life, for many, the place means everything. In the novel Blank by Trina St Jean, a young teen looses her memory after an upsetting accident and spends the novel trying to figure out what happened. Jessica's life is set in her family farm and surrounding forest. Setting is crucial to her story because of her love for nature, her accident, and her runaway plan. To begin, Jessica’s family farm is the perfect place for a nature lover like Jessica, it could be that living on the farm made her develop her love, or that is grew over time. Nonetheless, the farm is a crucial setting to the story: “After taking the first photo it starts to come back to me. Not a memory, but a feeling. Like I’ve done this before” (St. Jean 189). Here it is seen
The house sat on the mostly yellow, dead grass of street in Perry Iowa. It of course held memories just like many other houses, but this one tried hard to forget the memories. It was once a yellow like the dead grass it sits upon now. The newly painted blue on the house was a fresh start to the house – making new memories – but just like the ones forgotten they drown in the blue color. It’s an unforgettable house, unforgettable like the memories it produced.
All humans try to find purpose in life. Their experiences are personal and interconnected with others. At times, internal conflict can blur the lines between imagination and reality. This is most evident with the novel House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. The novel is written with a multi-layer of narratives, and a character that goes insane piecing together a documentary of a fictional family and an uncanny house. The root of Johnny’s conflict becomes apparent as he begins exploring all the strange occurrences and realizes that almost none of it is real. Yet, the occurrences were realistic enough to drive Johnny insane. Danielewski uses the multiple hallways of the Navidson house to mirror the multiple dimensions of the character’s psyches. The labyrinth theme, and use of footnotes lead to confusion between imagination and reality. The layers of puzzles in the House of Leaves forces the reader to wander through their own psyche’s hallways in search of clues and connections to help them discover new ways in which to interpret themselves.
Tranquil gusts kissed my skin; the sweet sensation of a breeze and the rustle of the trees’ leaves sung me a lullaby. As I lie, back to my trampoline and limbs sprawled, my mind would undergo a sort of cleansing, ridding me of my troubles. My home held my childhood; it possessed memories that had accumulated from day one, intertwining and condensing them to forge a place that would bear peace and serenity. I never contemplated departure, even when it was apparent my parents sought for a better place to reside, for no place could replace my home. Alas, my assumptions were proven to be erroneous.
The house was long, white, and had blue shudders. I could always pick out which set of windows out front peeked into my bedroom because of the messy off-white paint stuck to it after years of never being touched up. Inside, so much more was going on than the typical all-American home lead outsiders to believe. Confusion, growth, fear, and lots of aluminum cans.
I can recall my childhood home all too vividly. Though I have not had a glimpse of it in nearly a decade, the vast edifice and its protracted corridors are indelibly etched into my mind - the entryway, glass french doors several meters high; the towering double staircases culminating in an indoor balcony; the seemingly innumerable
It was a distinguished neighborhood, stately houses with sprawling porches made for sipping cold drinks and entertaining guests. Fourteen thirty-seven Twain Street was nestled at the far end the street. The house actually looked out of place when compared to the neighborhood, if it could even be considered a part of the neighborhood. The house was located roughly a quarter mile up the street from the closest neighbor, undiscernible from the woods that surrounded it. I stopped at the gate and regarded the worn house. It was made in the same style as the others in the neighborhood, but something about it made it different. It had character. The paint wasn’t peeling, but it had weathered the long hot sun for many a day and it had begun to form lines, giving the house the impression of a wrinkled and withered old
They were flimsy shelters, most of them poorly built of light wood, with spindle porch-posts horribly mutilated by the turning-lathe. Yet for all their frailness, how much jealousy and envy and unhappiness some of them managed to contain! The life that went on in them seemed to me made up of evasions and negations; shifts to save cooking, to save washing and cleaning, devices to propitiate the tongue of gossip. This guarded mode of existence was like living under a tyranny. People's speech, their voices, their very glances, became furtive and repressed. Every individual taste, every natural appetite, was bridled by caution. The people asleep in those houses, I thought, tried to live like the mice in their own kitchens; to make no noise, to leave no trace, to slip over the surface of things in the
When someone visits a home they often notice many details, including possessions, cleanliness, or even organization. At a glance, this may seem fairly insignificant, but, truthfully, a home can reveal a person’s current feelings or hints of their personality. Oscar Madison and Felix Ungar from The Odd Couple are complete opposites that have very unique personalities and feelings that are reflected through their living spaces. Oscar, with his large house and terrible organization, and Felix, with a perfectly clean home and lovely furniture, both find individual personality in their homes. Oscar has a large house with beautiful furniture, matching his feelings at a specific moment in time. Being the only man in this large, immaculate house reveals that he is truly lonely. He has an endless amount
The term “Glass House” does not just describe the house itself; but also the surrounding environment. While designing and building the house, Johnson has also found architect to re-design the surrounding landscape. In fact, part of the designed landscape refers to the The Burial of Phocion by France artist Nicolas Poussin. (Tutter, 2011, p.2) The sense of enclosure seems to be disappeared, or expanded widely to not just where the four glass-walls are; but the entire land that the Glass House is positioning on. The image of the landscape is reflecting, as well as showing through the house which sense of interior and exterior become unsettle, persistently questioning the entire problem of the relationship of the numerous spatial elements in particular
The single drive and one story house was home for a family of 4. Teaching school and driving buses got them the house on a street filled with strangers who would soon become life long friends. Marriage and college took the children dear to their hearts to new streets where life would mature them. Bumpy roads and misfortune would bring this 4 person home back together, but this time adding two more little ones for memories to be had. Years of growing older and moving through grade school would turn a short time visit into a long one. Friends and family coming and going, that door never once came unhinged. A house as busy as that one could never break because of the love shared in it. Home improvements along
Throughout the 4,810 square feet of living space is an interior that was designed by a local artist, and with their stroke of brilliance, it features elegance that is unmatched. Remarkable large wood beam ceilings, curved walls, plush furniture, and a splendid art are just a few of the many things that will please
Any person in the right mind wouldn’t like living the life that I’m living. But I guess I’m not in the right mind, considering I love my life. My mom died when I was five from cancer. I don’t remember her much, but judging from stories my dad told me, she seemed very nice. And from the pictures I’ve seen I know she was beautiful, I’m talking super model looks. She must not have been any kind of model, though or else we would have had a lot more money. In case you didn’t know, I’m Alexa (preferably Alex) and I have cancer as well. Leukemia. I can tell my dad worries about me. If I died he’d be all alone, but I don’t plan on doing that anytime soon. Speaking of,
The house that I’ve grown up in is very unique, my parents built it by hand. With no help from anyone besides some family and friends. My dad and his ex wife started building it before they got divorced, and there was only 2 floors because then it was only a home for a family of 4. When my mom and dad got married they had to build more onto it because the family of 4 turned into a family of 6. Plus both of my parents would help anyone that needed it, and so they became foster parents. All my siblings and their children call where I live “The Farm” because our house sits on around 450 acres land, that have anywhere from horse and cows grazing on it at almost all times year, to baling hay during the summer months. There is always something going on at The Farm.