Describing a Room by Peter Fuller
Pathologist Andrew Bennett had been in attendance at Flat 21, Peabody Buildings, Clerkenwell for almost half-an-hour before the two detectives casually ambled into Block C and asked the young police constable in the lobby to tell them where the ‘body’ was to be found. Following his instructions, they climbed two flights of stairs and saw in front of them the apartment’s open door. Police barrier tape crisscrossed the frame barring them from entering.
“The cavalry has arrived”. Detective Inspector Munroe called through the latticework.
“You’ve finally got out of bed, then”, came the reply from within. Seconds later Andrew Bennett arrived at the door and proceeded to lift away the tape. “You’ve got to see this”, he said and led the two down a short passageway into the main living area.
“Bloody hell”, exclaimed Detective Constable Hills casting his gaze around the room. “We’ve found ourselves a hoarder”. To emphasise his point he added, “And then some!”
In one corner of the room piles of neatly-folded newspapers and magazines reached from the floor to ceiling. Another pile consisted of mail and flyers that had been posted through the flat’s letterbox over years and which had neither been opened, nor read.
Hauls of scrounged remnants, so indiscreetly packed, were everywhere. These mountains of junk had been stored with such precision that narrow passageways were formed allowing access between the small kitchen, the bedroom, its adjoining bathroom, and a cramped sagging settee in the living room. In front of the settee there was also just enough room for a small table upon which reams of paper were strewn, together with a clearly much-cherished Olivetti typewriter.
Munroe’s gaze had already been was drawn to the piles of books that stood sentinel around a soot-filled fireplace. On top of these slumps of battered editions he found a box of manuscripts – novels, poetry and plays – mostly unfinished and all unpublished.
“He was a writer, then”. He said quietly to himself. And then he thought of Auden’s rationale, “A messy life, a brilliant mind”. He picked up the box that contained a lifetime of one man’s labours and dreams and cradled it gently to his chest.
He mused, too, about what state of mental despair would allow the progression from untidiness, to clutter, to cluttered mess, to an overloaded depository of “useful” items just waiting (and waiting) to be used again – layered less and less charmingly and more and more dustily, and that would finally lead to death.
“Was it murder, suicide, or natural causes?”, he called softly over his shoulder.
“It was suicide, actually”. Bennett said. “So, I have no need to invite you two gentlemen into the bedroom to inspect the corpse, that is unless you cannot resist the urge to do so?”
“You’re a very funny man, Andrew!” countered the D.I.
“Seriously, it was definitely suicide”, Bennett said bring the banter to an end, “His demise was brought about by a combination of pills and alcohol. A gentle way to go. And he left a letter”.
Bennett returned to the bedroom and retrieved the letter that he had found clutched in the dead man’s hand. He gave it to Munroe, who took it and went outside onto the landing where he began to read the solitary man’s final declaration.
I thought this was very successful, and actually much better for being short. It clearly conveyed the mental anguish of trying to exert some sort of control, combined with an inability to cope that characterises hoarding, while trying to clear an ever diminuishing space in the room and probably one’s mind for the creative process. In the layering there is a clear downwards progression and one can see how being overwhelmed would lead to suicide. Setting it in the Peabody buildings immediately sets a depressing tone.
I like this very much, it’s sad and poignant and a good reminder (to me anyway!) next time I look at an empty margerine tub and think ‘that could be useful…’ I like the expression ‘layered less and less charmingly’. If you live alone, it’s all to easy to fall into habits that initially make sense but gradually make sense only to you! Nice contrast with the jolly policemen too.
I like the dynamic of this – the fact that it is more than just a description. Being written in the form of a police investigation gives it an impetus. There is a nice contrast between the seriousness of what is being investigated, the ending of a man’s life, and the lightness of the policemen’s banter. This rings true – it’s part of their coping mechanism. And there is a poignancy about the dead man’s hoarding habit, the surrounding mess contrasting with the neatness of a ‘much-cherished Olivetti typewriter.’ I also liked the restraint which ensured we, the readers, didn’t actually see the man’s body. The piece is a particularly good interpretation of the brief, and I liked the way it was both complete in itself, but also capable of further development.