Literary works are especially pernicious when deployed as instrumentsof architectural criticism. So much so that even that most revered ofwriters, Leo Marx, is often taken to task for using the 19th century novel as a type of spatial critique.More recently, art historian W.J.T. Mitchell alluded to thespatialization of narrative as a new frontier in the annals of literarycriticism. And yet he claims that the spatialization of narrative hasbeen a consistent part of literary history: "{S}patial form is acrucial aspect of the experience and interpretation of literature inall ages and cultures. The burden of proof, in other words, is not ...to show that some works have spatial form but ... to provide an exampleof any work that does not" {1}That being said, it does notbring us any closer to understanding how a novel can help us betterunderstand issues relating to architecture and urbanism. While some may will still invoke the works of J.G. Ballard or Samuel R. Delanyas examples of writers who tackle buildings and cities as the object oftheir narrative, we still are at the initial conundrum that informsthis post: these, and other works are primarily representational innature. The authors of the Concrete Islands, Dhalgrens, and Make Room, Make Room`s of the world provide very little guidance as to how to operationalize their critique.Oneway to approach this problem is via the architectural metaphor. Thus,some critics will deploy the language of architecture critique toanalyze a narrative. The word "architectonic" is often use tounderstand a novel`s expansive length, or perhaps even its materiality.On the other hand, an author`s biographical facts are brought to bear:an early interest in architecture or urban planning is thus made animportant critical fulcrum on which arguments are carefully balanced.The works of the famously misanthropic fantasy novelist H.P. Lovecraftprovide an interesting and plausible take on this situation. And thisis the case not only because Lovecraft is one of those writers whosuccessfully deploys architectonics and materiality in service ofprofoundly architectural observations. This is so because Lovecraftlived a manic intellectual existence where an unabashed love forhistoric preservation was counterbalanced by a deep hatred for modernarchitecture.Timothy H. Evans, an American folklore scholar,has written about Lovecraft`s personal involvement in preservationissues in Providence and New York. This interest, he argues, is alsoreflected in Lovecraft`s writings. A decisive, malevolent undercurrentthus connects his xenophobia and his anti-modernist inclinations. Thisbecomes especially noticeable in Lovecraft`s science fictions. Evansthus writes:Lovecraft`s stories about extraterrestrialsalso rely heavily on architecture. A familiar sense of place, embodiedin Colonial New England architecture, was central to Lovecraft`s senseof security; hence, an actual Italian Catholic church may be an abodeof monsters, as it becomes in "The Haunter of the Dark" {1935}. But if"foreign" architecture is frightening, the ultimate embodiment of fearis non-human architecture, which has no relationship to familiar formsor aesthetics. Lovecraft criticized modern architecture for rejectingtradition and believed that a new architecture, to be livable, mustdraw on traditional symbols {a rather post-modern idea}; it followsthat architecture lacking in such symbols would be a terrifyingembodiment of cosmic alienage {...} Lengthy descriptions of non-humanarchitecture are used to create such an atmosphere in "The Call ofCthulu" {1926}, At The Mountains of Madness {1931}, and "The Shadow Out of Time" {1935} {2}Others have detected similar strains in Lovecraft`s work. The novelist John Banville, writing in a 2005 issue of Artforum,even notes when Lovecraft moved to New York in 1924 with his wife, he"found the city a great and, despite an initi
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