![]() It is not just the idea of the ‘house’ that can be conceived in parts, but likewise memory, queerness and history. A memoir that is retold in swift and devastating pieces, each entities in their own right, which interact and interlock with one another, building memory upon memory until the whole becomes conceivable, like Seurat painting dot next to dot, next to dot. This is the nature of the Dream House of Carmen Maria Machado’s story: transient, fragmented and incomplete. A house is at once a building and thousands of bricks, a whole in pieces, impossible to view in sum, as there’s always another side just around the corner. What do you see? The outside? The front door? A picket fence framing its border? Do you see the kitchen table or the wallpaper in the livingroom? The pigeons nesting in the roof? Can you conceive all of it at the same time? Are you standing inside or outside of it? Can you see it all at once, or is it in pieces? A house, a home, one’s cage, one’s castle is at once a single entity and a consolidation of separate elements: walls, rooms, functions, memories and fixtures. ![]() ![]() Places are never just places in a piece of writing…The Dream House was never just the Dream House. ![]()
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