My earliest memory is of a dream. It was in the house where we lived when I was three or four. I dreamed I was asleep in the house in an upper room and that I awoke, came downstairs and stood in the living room. The lights were on although it was hushed and empty. The usual dark green sofa and chairs stood along the usual pale green walls. It was the same old living room, I knew it well, nothing was out of place. And yet it was utterly, certainly, different. Inside its usual appearance, the living room was as changed as if it had gone mad.

Anne Carson