“The very nicest thing about being a writer is that you can afford to indulge yourself endlessly with oddness, and nobody can really do anything about it, as long as you keep writing”
The quote is from her delightful essay about writing and the pressures of everyday life. Reading about her days, you can feel a jollity to the weirdness which the claustrophobic atmosphere of her fiction lacks. At least The Haunting of Hill House lacks it. I finished the book the other night in a feverish rush and after closing the final page felt as if the objects around me and the walls and the bricks holding them up were all objects of menace. Thinking that the mischievous waffle iron in her essay might be an ancestor of Hill House makes me feel a bit better.