Visiting writers’ houses does align with everyone’s preferences. This kind of literary tourism isn’t necessarily useful to understanding the artistic sensibilities of the writer who once inhabited it, or is it? April Bernard discusses the internal turmoil that these visits incite:
“Here’s what I hate about Writers’ Houses: the basic mistakes. That art can be understood by examining the chewed pencils of the writer. That visiting such a house can substitute for reading the work. That real estate, including our own envious attachments to houses that are better, or cuter, or more inspiring than our own, is a worthy preoccupation. That writers can or should be sanctified. That private life, even of the dead, is ours to plunder.”
