Every house, if it is lucky, contains one room that cannot be justified. Not a bedroom, not a kitchen, not a study in the productive sense — but a room that exists simply to be sat in. The Victorians understood this. They called it the parlour, the drawing room, the morning room. We have largely abolished it, and we are the poorer for the loss.
The unnecessary room is not wasted space. It is, in fact, the most necessary space in the house — the room where nothing is required of you. Where you may read or not read, think or not think, drink or simply hold a glass and watch the fire. Its value is precisely its purposelessness.
Holmes's sitting room at Baker Street was, in this sense, the ideal. It was a working space, yes — but also a thinking space, a receiving space, a space for the violin at two in the morning and the chemical experiments that alarmed Mrs Hudson. It was a room that accommodated the full range of a person. We have largely stopped building rooms like that. We build open-plan spaces instead, which are efficient and sociable and entirely unsuited to being alone in.
The unnecessary room requires, above all, a chair. Not a sofa — a sofa implies company, conversation, the performance of relaxation. A chair is singular. It is yours. It faces the fire, or the window, or the wall, according to your temperament. It holds the shape of you over time. A good chair, in a good room, is one of the few objects that improves with use.
If you have such a room, or such a chair, you will know what I mean. If you do not, I recommend the acquisition of one with some urgency. The world will not slow down to accommodate you. You must build, within it, a small space that does.
— The Editors