Reality, and Other Stories by John Lanchester

Author:John Lanchester [John Lanchester]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780571363025
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2020-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

The thing was, though, that the tasks never started. The housemates talked and talked and thought out loud and ran alternative scenarios about what might be going to happen to them, but none of it did. They were all wondering when it was going to start. Perhaps the problem was that they were too self-aware, too aware of the setup; perhaps the problem was precisely that they were talking about it so much? It could be that there was a taboo on asking these questions out loud; it was making them seem too needy, too conscious of the audience. In short, maybe they were doing something wrong. It was vital to think about the viewers all the time. It was also vital not to seem to be thinking about them. To Iona this was an interesting conundrum for the first day or two, but it became gradually more oppressive. She was having to work hard at it and could tell that the others were too. She had a theory, one she hadn’t shared with the others yet: that this was a new kind of show, one where there was no interaction with the producers or the viewers, no games or tasks or challenges or external organisation, no structure. They wouldn’t be told what to do. They would just be evicted, expelled, one at a time. It could start at any point. They were waiting for it to start, but perhaps it had already started. Just a theory, but it could be true, and if it was true, Iona had figured it out, but was pretty sure the others hadn’t.

The pool was OK, because you could just lie there, or dive in when it got too hot. Her room was OK, a sanctuary, the only place in the villa where she felt she could just be herself, by herself. Though that of course wasn’t entirely true; they were being watched, and the moments when you were on your own could reveal a lot about who you were. You had to be particularly careful about the amount of time you spent primping and floofing. You didn’t want to underdo it so badly you looked like you’d been dragged through a hedge, but on the other hand you didn’t want to be caught seeming vain, taking too much trouble, pouting and striking poses. But nobody changed their minds about someone because that person was sitting alone in their room. You needed to get out there. So Iona did get out there.

It was the kitchen and dining room that were difficult. The issue she had noticed on the very first morning, about the acoustics, was more and more prominent. It was the flat hard reflective surfaces that caused the trouble.

Iona’s father had been a poker player in his youth (a very good one, according to him), and he had once said that the best way of telling whether someone was speaking the truth was to listen not to what they were saying, or even to the tone of their voice, but to the echo of their voice.

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