Another House Inside a Book

One of the most beautiful books I own is this one, Wildings, by Duff Hart-Davis. It's the life story of Eileen Soper, an English artist and illustrator of children's books and is filled with sepia-toned photos and pages of Eileen's art.

Eileen lived at Wildings from age three until weeks before her death and shared the home solely with her sister, Eva, after their parents' deaths. The book is a description of the house at Wildings as it was discovered after both elderly sisters were taken to the hospital hospice care. For whatever reasons, I love rereading these words and picturing the scenes they conjure.

But let me make it clear--I, myself, could not live in a house kept like this (though some dark winter days I'm tempted to let my house become something mysterious and crowded with interesting objects wherever ones eye pauses. But that feeling passes, usually after a few cluttered days.) 

No, I couldn't live that way, but truly, I love to visit Eileen's house, peeking into corners and over her shoulder at her rampant art and collections.

From Wildings: The Secret Garden of Eileen Soper:



"Most of the rooms were full to the doorways, partly of furniture, but mainly of apple boxes, cardboard cartons, carrier bags and bundles of paper. Always a human squirrel, Eileen had rarely managed to throw anything away, and now her nest was crammed with the detritus of a lifetime's work...

"The rest of the room was solid with cartons. Most of them contained papers: income tax returns fifty years old, bank statements from the second world war, copies of ancient correspondence with book publishers, drafts of poems scribbled on the backs of torn-up cornflakes packets... But there were also old magazines and newspapers by the thousand, books stacked in piles on the floor,, rolls of material ordered but never used, pairs of shoes carefully packed inside plastic bags and then stowed inside other bags.


"The high-ceilinged studio, on the first floor at the back, was also packed with books and papers, as well as with framed and unframed oil paintings by both Eileen and her father; another upstairs room contained box after box of empty jam jars... Mice were nesting not only in Eileen's slippers but also in the chest of drawers on the landing and in other comfortable resorts. From the stores in the kitchen it looked as though the sisters had lived exclusively on milk jellies and biscuits, but there were ample stocks of food for birds and other wild creatures."

***


And yes, this next part sounds more romantic than it is in reality. I realize that. Really, I do, but still--

"Dormice gave birth in the beds of the house, and birds customarily pecked the sisters awake each morning. If not Eden, it was enough for them."

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