The House
Overview
The house in Such an Odd Word to Use is no ordinary setting — it is a presence, a container of silences, a space whose acoustics remember things. Set at the back of a shared Clerkenwell garden and hidden from view, this former studio turned dwelling feels like the kind of place London forgets to notice. But some places are only quiet on the surface.
Key Details
- Address: Tucked behind a Georgian terrace, Clerkenwell, London
- Original use: Music recording studio
- Current use: Private residence
- Distinctive traits: Lead-grey acoustic door with a door-viewer, climbing ivy, unusually thick walls, unlabelled porch with glowing doorbell, and an absence of front-facing windows
Backstory
The building was not designed for living — it was repurposed. Somewhere along the way, its soundproofed walls and unmarked doorway were granted a different kind of silence. Tucked behind communal greenery and usually accessed via an unsheltered side path, the house feels like a secret kept by the city.
Its past clings to it. The thickened walls. The echo that lingers slightly too long. The odd placement of windows. And that curious, glowing doorbell — a misplaced technology signalling its presence into the void.
Personality
| Trait | Description |
|---|---|
| Self-contained | The house does not welcome or repel — it absorbs. |
| Unassuming | Its detachment makes it easy to overlook. |
| Quietly unsettling | Certain sounds behave differently inside. |
| Watchful | The feeling of being observed isn’t always external. |
| Residual | The past seems to linger in the structure itself. |
Relationships
- Mark — its inhabitant, though perhaps not its master
- The Garden — its only true witness, silent and overgrown
- Previous Occupants — never seen, but perhaps never fully gone
Character Arc
The house does not change — it reveals. Its story is one of thresholds and echoes, the slow return of forgotten impressions. As the novel unfolds, the house becomes less a backdrop and more a participant — shaping perception, distorting memory, and reframing what counts as evidence.
It is not haunted, exactly. But it isn’t passive either.
Notes for Readers
The house stands as a cypher. Its features are described precisely, yet never completely. What matters is not what it is, but how it feels — a place built to mute things, now repurposed to amplify what others try to ignore.
Watch the spaces. They remember.