Actually, that's Laura Miller at Salon paraphrasing Trubek's point. She agrees--sort of. Responding to Trubek, she contends, however, that there can be value in viewing artists' homes—namely as a way to remember that they were just human:
I, for one, don't visit writers' houses in a religious frame of mind, expecting to encounter objects that have been transfigured into relics by their contact with a divine presence. My motivation is entirely the opposite; I want to be inoculated against any tendency toward idol worship via a reminder that even genius is a product of flesh and blood. For me, it's the mundanity that gives most writers' houses their charm. I don't much care if all the objects are authentic, especially if the originals were pretty generic and undistinguished to begin with. In a way, the humbler, the better -- and nothing is humbler than the interchangeable.