Thornfield was a three hour drive north and a hundred years in the wrong direction and I loved it without reservation from the moment I saw it through the car window.
Not because it was beautiful though the bones of it were honest and the proportions of the original structure were genuinely fine. I loved it because it was fighting. The 1890s house had been added to in the 1940s by someone with practical intentions and no architectural imagination, and modified again in the 1970s by someone with neither, and then abandoned to itself for the better part of four years. And in all that time, through all of it, the original structure had been quietly, stubbornly pushing back.
I could see it from the driveway.
The way the addition sat wrong against the original west elevation not catastrophi
