"The house lives in darkness for one month a year, like everything in the universe, but the darkness spreads inexorably to devour all the light.
A writer is locked inside the house, in his world. Writing and the beloved woman spring, dreamlike and luminous, from a single place. The writer closes his eyes, loves and writes, closes his eyes to love, opens them to write, closes them to live his image of love. In the house, there also live a mother brutalised by pain, a silent slave girl, a host of cats appropriating the space and the humans that inhabit it.
The world outside the house is a country whose people live passively by established rules, a world of masters and slaves pulled along by inertia, purified by prisons, lulled by literature."
(Transcription by: http://www.transcript-review.org/en/issue/issue-13--croatia--slovenia--portugal/portugal-s-jose-luis-peixoto/a-synopsis-of-uma-casa-na-escuridao)