The House

by Jane Unrue

Prose. Jane Unrue's extraordinary prose unfolds within the confines of a mythological I used to walk when the moonlight was just enough to make the metallic structural elements (the rest of the house as if missing) appear to be coming at me from all sides. 'I know those door frames and window frames are not really coming at me,' I remember saying, 'but it sure does look as if they are.' In restless, suspended sentences that seem to push closure beyond the horizon, a woman wanders from room to room or ventures outside.

59 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2000

Reviews

[S̶e̶a̶n̶ · Rating 4 out of 5]

I behold something that reveals itself without word or sound, by means of shape; and these shapes and the relationships between these shapes do not have anything to do with what is personal; although, shapes and the relationships between them, can be most personal in that they are a creation of one's mind as exposed in light—and I am touched.

It's just that this one traveled, as would a figure equipped with compound eyes and radial vision, facing forward, going about business, that business being a sequence of architectural events unfolding one by one (I used to walk on the wrap-around gangway, then through the summer dining garden, continuing on until I got to the lake) to be experienced as a human being might experience pleasant flutters of excitement when brushed across the skin.

[W.B. · Rating 5 out of 5]

Should be a cult classic. Fetishistic and haunted writing. I have to reread this again soon.

[Dorothy Mahoney · Rating 4 out of 5]

Short prose pieces describe a house and its contents. What is real and what is not.
"Wind: intricate arrangement of air boxes, only they are in a tumble."