“Sally and Clarissa live in a perfect replica of an upper-class West Village apartment; you imagine somebody’s assistant striding through with a clipboard: French leather armchairs, check; bookshelves studded with small treasures acquired abroad, check. Even the eccentricities—the flea-market mirror frame covered in seashells, the scaly old South American chest painted with leering mermaids—feel calculated, as if the art director had looked it all over and said, ‘It isn’t convincing enough yet, we need more things to tell us who these people really are’” (127).
This passage looks at how Clarissa and Sally are a stereotypical New York couple, living in an apartment that is decorated as though it is a set for a television show or a movie. To outsiders, this is how their apartment appears—void of any emotion and creativity. It makes the readers question whether Sally and Clarissa have any originality or if they are just dreary women leading monotonous lives.