You walk into the exhibit;
you see a space with life-size photographs of her living room projected on each wall.
If you walked into the room, you would find yourself
inside Gertrude Stein’s living room.
I was living in Paris when I first read Stein’s The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas.
I walked to her apartment building on 27 Rue de Fleurus.
Stood in front of it.
Read the commemorative plaque.
Her living room is long gone, now just a photographic shadow.
What do I gain by seeing the room itself?
Or any author’s room, for that matter. Does it change how we read their work?
I think about whose home I would like to visit, real or fictional.
Homer’s study? Plato’s bedroom? Madame Bovary’s kitchen?