Here is narrative from a 1960 American novel. A character ascends a staircase to the mezzanine of a house to join another person there:
There comes to me in the ascent a brief annunciatory syllable in the throat stopped in the scrape of a chair as if, having signaled me and repented of it, it had then to pass itself off as but one of the small day noises of the house. Off the landing is a dark little mezzanine arranged as a room of furniture. It is a place one passes twenty times a day and no more thinks of entering than of entering a picture, nor even looking at, but having entered, enters with all the oddness of entering a picture, a tableau in depth wherein space [is] untenanted and wherefrom the view of the house, the hall and dining room below, seems at once privileged and strange. Kate is there in the shadows.
(“The Moviegoer,” Walker Percy)
The passage has a limbic resonance: allusive, sly, eccentric, cryptic, contortive, shaded. It unfamiliarizes the prosaic, imbues it with the surprise of something painted at a swoopish angle, out of kilter; privileged and strange, indeed, whatever that quite means.
(c) 2020 JMN