In front of the red wall, books are stacked floor to ceiling. Their volumes include well-known authors whose works have gone undiscovered for decades. Those who spurned publishers who didn’t want their work to go out of fashion. Writers who wrote not for living, but for art.
There are no paintings on the walls, because the walls and partitions are themselves the decor: they have been hung with painted wallpaper, providing a severe purple light which frightens the non-users out of their wits.