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by Henry Grabar

As cities grow taller, light has become a precious commodity. Is it time for it to be regulated like one?

What would you pay for more natural light in your apartment? $10,000 per sunlit window, in TriBeCa? A 15 percent surcharge for an apartment that faced south, in London? An annual levy of 60 pounds for 20 windows, as the English monarchy demanded during a 150-year period beginning in 1696, under the so-called Window Tax?

Would you support a municipal effort to install a giant mirror to reflect winter sunshine into the town square? The Norwegian mountain town of Rjukan spent $800,000 to do just that. In Islamic Cairo, researchers have developed a sheet of corrugated plastic that can double the amount of light that trickles into the narrow alleyways.

The importance of light to great architecture is no secret. But in cities, where natural light is instrumental to urban design and property values, sunlight is a fickle friend. It can account for the prices of apartments, the popularity of parks, and even influence commercial rents on big avenues. Its holistic properties are obvious, but its economic benefits no less important, including the effect of solar radiation on heating costs and the burgeoning potential for urban solar panel use. But sunlight can be taken away in an instant, from a backyard, a kitchen window or a treasured park, with neither notice nor consequence.

As American cities grow taller and denser — and most everyone agrees that they must — natural light becomes a more precious commodity. Does that mean it should be regulated like one? Or would preserving current sun patterns — so-called “solar rights” — grind real estate development to a halt? Put simply: Should Americans, in their homes and in their cities, have a right to light?

Planners, lawyers and homeowners have been arguing about this for two millennia. The Greeks incorporated the sun in their city planning; the Roman emperor Justinian ensured that no neighbor could block light “previously enjoyed for heat, light or sundial operation.” In desert climes, the same consideration was incorporated into city planning with even greater verve, for opposite results. In the Mozabite enclave of Ghardaia, Algeria, streets wind and curve so that the Saharan sun cannot penetrate.

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