He gingerly slid into the extravagantly polished, sapphire-hued RAV4, its breathtakingly radiant exterior practically shimmering beneath the glaring, unrelenting midday sun. Every inch of the lustrous paint job sparkled as though meticulously buffed by a dedicated artisan, while the meticulously maintained chrome accents glinted with a brazen, mirror-like gleam. The interior, swathed in supremely soft, opulently cushioned seating, beckoned him into a cocoon of decadent comfort, the meticulously stitched upholstery exuding a refined aura of understated luxury.
Beyond the driver’s door, the left rear tire revealed a slightly drooping, forlorn appearance, its deflated sidewall offering the barest hint of impending inconvenience. Although the polished alloy wheel, boasting an almost supernatural luster, flaunted his unwavering commitment to maintenance, the tire’s waning air pressure betrayed a quiet plea for a judicious refill.
As he turned his weary eyes to the smoothly contoured hood—sculpted with an almost architectural precision—his mood promptly soured. There, an audacious splotch of glaring white bird droppings clung obstinately to the gleaming surface, a jarring eyesore that undermined the RAV4’s immaculate elegance. The sun’s piercing rays, angled with uncanny exactitude, homed in on the offending blemish, creating a glaring spectacle that demanded his reluctant and slightly exasperated attention. It was as though the heavens themselves conspired to highlight this very moment of grime, magnifying his frustration and conjuring a silent vow for a thorough, restorative car-wash expedition.
It was a large, handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills; and in front a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned.
Once the touring party is inside the house, it is described, through the heroine's eyes,
The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine...
That's it. Here's how she describes Mr. Darcy himself:
Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report, which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year.
If you need your story to be longer, consider weaving in a sub-plot. But don't pad it with unnecessary description.
the question is:
Does this amount of detail matter to the plot line?
If so, keep going. If not, get rid of the extraneous details.
Writing is about knowing what matters to the plot line. Write your novel, your way first. Then read it backwards and watch for areas that need more detail, more information for the reader, rounds out the story line.
Fascinating.
Now tie it back.
Why does it mean so much to him? What is percolating under the surface that this spot would draw so much attention? Is it symbolic of someone in his life that doesn’t respect him or literally dumps on him, his work, his accomplishments?
In the same way Rosebud in Citizen Kane was a symbol of better times, or the whiteness of the whale was a symbol of death in Moby Dick, why does the character care?