That Particular House

Today, as usual, I can't help but think of that House on Ash Tree Lane. Much of House of Leaves is set in the residence, though we shouldn't ignore Johnny's flat, or Zampano's flat, the rest of the city for that matter, including places one hardly thinks of and never visits; Johnny's Hotel room, many other hotel rooms, though not belonging to him; New York (and more specifically, Central Park), the Whalestoe Institute, the tattoo parlor (aka The Shop), Ashley's house, Texas[sic], and Texas; to say nothing of Johnny's original home, Karen's childhood home - and the nearby well and barnyard - though I cannot forget Raymond's House, the hospital, the bloody curb, the strip club by the airport, and the airport; the labyrinth of Kyrie's inner ear, a match to Johnny's own; the Skylab, the Atrocity; Gdansk man's oil rig, the two-door BMW Coup (if that can be defined as a place), and the windy edge known to some as Mulholland, or to others as a sinuous road running the edge of the Santa Monica mountains; the Santa Monica mountains, with that one lonely spot beneath one lonely lamp; the state of Virginia, Antarctica, the coast of Spain, a laundry room, a swimming pool, car parks, the many bars, pubs, parties and mansions, Yggdrasil.

Ah, Yggdrasil. Barely mentioned in the entire novel. But I have more than a suspicion that it is there. The great tree of life connecting the worlds of the Nordic mythos. Perhaps no coincidence, I met an Odinist recently, which only served to strengthen my belief that I could find the tree in the House. The last page denotes its presence.

 

The tree that supports the nine worlds. And what supports it? The same question has been applied to the dark hallways of House on Ash Tree Lane. Perhaps the House is a manifestation of it, and the darkness that tears through Holloway, the claws that rip Zampano's floorboards, perhaps the roots wreck such havoc. Perhaps. The tree is an ash. An ash on Ash Tree Lane.

I have pictured many times a web that holds the secrets and mysteries of the book, suspends them and conceals them throughout the pages. Call it Calypso. But this is not a fitting image, a web is flimsy, like leaves before the wind. What if this was not a web, but roots? Where then, is the whole, where is the rest of the tree?