On page 100, Lucille turns on the light.
It's no secret that Sylvie likes to sit in the dark, even eat in the dark. Ruth even mentions that during the summer, they would only eat after the sun had set, after the windows "went stark blue" (p 86). I didn't really understand that they were eating in the pitch dark, no lights except for what little crept through the windows. This became quite apparent after the scene in which Lucille turns on the light.

"...she stood up and pulled the chain of the overhead light. The window went black and the cluttered kitchen leaped, so it seemed, into being, as remote from what had gone before as this world from the primal darkness."

I knew that Sylvie had a bit of trouble with housekeeping, in the literal sense. Ruth mentions that Sylvie would go on sporadic cleaning sprees: scrubbing the door and half the kitchen ceiling, soaking towels in diluted bleach for weeks, opening all the windows and doors (and then forgetting to close them) to air out the house, etc. (85). However, the state of the house really, ahem, comes to light quite literally soon after.

It seems to be dinner as normal, sitting at the dark table, smelling the bacon cooking, listening to Sylvie butter and stack bread. However, these sensory descriptions aren't what Lucille and Ruth are seeing, but what they're hearing and smelling, sensing. Suddenly, in the midst of sitting in the dark before dinner, Lucille, seemingly in a slight panic, pulls the chain and floods the room in light. What Ruth describes next is the scene that's stuck with me throughout the whole book. As the room is suddenly flooded in light, the girls abruptly realise that they're eating from "plates that came in detergent boxes," there are "heaps of pots and dishes," "the paint was chipped and marred," the curtains are half burned, and there's soot all over the walls and ceiling. Ruth describes the sudden flood of light as "[startling] and uncomfortable." (100-101).

This scene was so startling and unnerving to me for many reasons. One being that this is probably the normal atmosphere for the household in general. In the daytime, the mismatched, grungy kitchen is probably seen everyday, but glanced over and not looked at closely. But in the midst of a tensely quiet evening, right before another dinner in the dark, the sudden image of the decrepit kitchen is quite startling and disturbing. What are the conditions that Ruth and Lucille are living in under the care of Lucille? is the rest of their lives as grimy and loosely-run as the startling image of the kitchen, suddenly and uncomfortably brought to light?

I've been a fan of Sylvie throughout the whole book. I like her progression as a character, how she lives a loose, transient lifestyle, etc. However, whenever I think about this scene, which is quite a bit, I begin to feel uneasy. The state of the kitchen does make me uncomfortable, especially since it was revealed so suddenly. It leaves me to question Sylvie and her abilities to look after the girls. This scene has planted a small seed of doubt about Sylvie and her credibility, and I can't get it out of my head.