standing at that moment by a window looking out at a magnificent view that stretched far from Gamla Stan towards Saltsjon. He felt numb. There was a kitchen off the hall to the right of the front door. Then there was a living room, an office, a bedroom, and even a guest room that seemed not to have been used. The mattress was still in its plastic wrapper and there were no sheets. All the furniture was brand-new, straight from IKEA.
What floored Blomkvist was that Salander had bought the pied-a-terre that had belonged to Percy Barnevik, a captain of industry. The apartment was about 3,800 square feet and worth twenty-five million kroner.
Blomkvist wandered through deserted, almost eerily empty corridors and rooms with patterned parquet floors of different kinds of woods, and Tricia Guild wallpaper of the type that Berger had once coveted. At the center of the apartment was a wonderfully bright living room with an open fireplace, but Salander seemed never to have had a fire. There was an enormous balcony with a fantastic view. There was a laundry room, a sauna, a gym, storage rooms and a bathroom with a king-size bath. There was even a wine cellar, which was empty except for an unopened bottle of Quinta do Noval port National! –from 1976. Blomkvist struggled to imagine Salander with a glass of port in her hand. An elegant card indicated that it had been a moving-in present from the estate agent.
The kitchen contained all manner of equipment, with a shiny French gourmet stove with a gas oven as the focus. Blomkvist had never before set eyes on a Cornue Chateau 120. Salander probably used it for boiling tea.
[
The description goes on for another page until the author wraps up with the following paragraphs.
]
The arrangement was all out of proportion. Salander had stolen several billion kroner and bought herself an apartment with space for an entire court. But she only needed the three rooms she had furnished. The other eighteen rooms were empty.
Blomkvist ended his tour in her office. There were no flowers anywhere. There were no paintings or even posters on the wall. There were no rugs or wall hangings. He could not see a single decorative bowl, candlestick, or even a knick-knack that had been saved for sentimental reasons.
Blomkvist felt as if someone were squeezing his heart. He felt that he had to find Salander and hold her close.
She would probably bite him if he tried.
—Stieg Larsson,
The Girl Who Played With Fire
I’m not advocating using so many words to describe the personal space of every character, or even using such long descriptions of Setting in every story, but in this 724-page novel, the author chooses to show much of Salander’s personality via her living space, and it works.
The reader sees only three rooms, and only the furnishings of those rooms, because that’s what matters to Salander. These rooms make her appear as if her life is full and positively changing. But because we are able to get a different perspective on Salander’s private space, from another character, Blomkvist, it allows the reader to see her in a very different light and to feel, much like Blomkvist feels, that this young woman is very isolated and alone. By allocating enough words in his descriptions, Larsson brings home the shock of the contrast of those descriptions.
Here’s another short passage from a science fiction story. The author’s intention is not to contrast personal space as Larsson did in the last example, but to move the character from a public space to her private space (mostly private as she shares it with another character called March). The author also gives the readers a sense that they are really on a ship hurtling through space. If Ann Aguirre, the author, wrote a rough-draft version it might have been something like this:
ROUGH DRAFT: I left the cockpit to go to my sleeping area, which I share with March. It’s not much but it works.
Doesn’t do a lot to pull you into this story’s science
What floored Blomkvist was that Salander had bought the pied-a-terre that had belonged to Percy Barnevik, a captain of industry. The apartment was about 3,800 square feet and worth twenty-five million kroner.
Blomkvist wandered through deserted, almost eerily empty corridors and rooms with patterned parquet floors of different kinds of woods, and Tricia Guild wallpaper of the type that Berger had once coveted. At the center of the apartment was a wonderfully bright living room with an open fireplace, but Salander seemed never to have had a fire. There was an enormous balcony with a fantastic view. There was a laundry room, a sauna, a gym, storage rooms and a bathroom with a king-size bath. There was even a wine cellar, which was empty except for an unopened bottle of Quinta do Noval port National! –from 1976. Blomkvist struggled to imagine Salander with a glass of port in her hand. An elegant card indicated that it had been a moving-in present from the estate agent.
The kitchen contained all manner of equipment, with a shiny French gourmet stove with a gas oven as the focus. Blomkvist had never before set eyes on a Cornue Chateau 120. Salander probably used it for boiling tea.
[
The description goes on for another page until the author wraps up with the following paragraphs.
]
The arrangement was all out of proportion. Salander had stolen several billion kroner and bought herself an apartment with space for an entire court. But she only needed the three rooms she had furnished. The other eighteen rooms were empty.
Blomkvist ended his tour in her office. There were no flowers anywhere. There were no paintings or even posters on the wall. There were no rugs or wall hangings. He could not see a single decorative bowl, candlestick, or even a knick-knack that had been saved for sentimental reasons.
Blomkvist felt as if someone were squeezing his heart. He felt that he had to find Salander and hold her close.
She would probably bite him if he tried.
—Stieg Larsson,
The Girl Who Played With Fire
I’m not advocating using so many words to describe the personal space of every character, or even using such long descriptions of Setting in every story, but in this 724-page novel, the author chooses to show much of Salander’s personality via her living space, and it works.
The reader sees only three rooms, and only the furnishings of those rooms, because that’s what matters to Salander. These rooms make her appear as if her life is full and positively changing. But because we are able to get a different perspective on Salander’s private space, from another character, Blomkvist, it allows the reader to see her in a very different light and to feel, much like Blomkvist feels, that this young woman is very isolated and alone. By allocating enough words in his descriptions, Larsson brings home the shock of the contrast of those descriptions.
Here’s another short passage from a science fiction story. The author’s intention is not to contrast personal space as Larsson did in the last example, but to move the character from a public space to her private space (mostly private as she shares it with another character called March). The author also gives the readers a sense that they are really on a ship hurtling through space. If Ann Aguirre, the author, wrote a rough-draft version it might have been something like this:
ROUGH DRAFT: I left the cockpit to go to my sleeping area, which I share with March. It’s not much but it works.
Doesn’t do a lot to pull you into this story’s science
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