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PALGRAVE GOTHIC

Geography of
Horror
Spaces, Hauntings and the
American Imagination

Marko Lukić

Luke Roberts
 Palgrave Gothic

Series Editor
Clive Bloom
Middlesex University
London, UK
Dating back to the eighteenth century, the term ‘gothic’ began as a desig-
nation for an artistic movement when British antiquarians became dissatis-
fied with the taste for all things Italianate. By the twentieth century, the
Gothic was a worldwide phenomenon influencing global cinema and the
emergent film industries of Japan and Korea. Gothic influences are evident
throughout contemporary culture: in detective fiction, television pro-
grammes, Cosplay events, fashion catwalks, music styles, musical theatre,
ghostly tourism and video games, as well as being constantly reinvented
online. It is no longer an antiquarian pursuit but the longest lasting influ-
ence in popular culture, reworked and re-experienced by each new genera-
tion. This series offers readers the very best in new international research
and scholarship on the historical development, cultural meaning and
diversity of gothic culture. While covering Gothic origins dating back to
the eighteenth century, thePalgrave Gothic series also drives exciting new
discussions on dystopian, urban and Anthropocene gothic sensibilities
emerging in the twenty-first century. The Gothic shows no sign of
obsolescence.

More information about this series at

https://link.springer.com/bookseries/14698
 Marko Lukić

Geography of Horror
Spaces, Hauntings and the American Imagination
Marko Lukić
University of Zadar
Zadar, Croatia

ISSN 2634-6214     ISSN 2634-6222 (electronic)

Palgrave Gothic
ISBN 978-3-030-99324-5    ISBN 978-3-030-99325-2 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-99325-2

© The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2022

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of
translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on
microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval,
electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now
known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information
in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the
­publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to
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Cover illustration: SEAN GLADWELL / Getty Images

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The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
 The unknown is an abstraction; the known, a desert; but what
is half-­known, half-seen, is the perfect breeding ground
for desire and hallucination.
—Juan José Saer
The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.
—Stephen King
Dedicated to my parents and my little brother for their endless
support and love.
 Contents

1 Introduction  1

2 Mapping Horror 19

3 The Frontier 49

4 Domestic Horrors 89

5 Small Town Heterotopias125

6 Urban Nightmares159

Index187

ix
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction

The town kept its secrets, and the Marsten House brooded over it like a
ruined king.
—Stephen King, ‘Salem’s Lot

A possible entry point into the debate and analysis of the issue of space and
place as it relates to the imaginary geography of the American horror
genre can be achieved through an analytic deconstruction of Stephen
King’s novel ‘Salem’s Lot. The now classic story about a vampiric infesta-
tion of a small town in the state of Maine, published in 1975, had a signifi-
cant impact on horror imagination, but even more important, it solidified
and further promoted the relevance of space in the process of constructing
an engaging horror narrative. By furthering and reshaping the already
existing small-town horror tradition, inherited through authors such as
Howard Phillips Lovecraft, Ray Bradbury, Shirley Jackson, and many oth-
ers, King articulates a multilayered spatial-based narrative which, while
functioning as a setting for the monstrous prowling, opens itself to rich
geographical readings. Starting with Maine, the readers are first intro-
duced to a reimagining of the region/state now filled with coexisting real
and imagined locations and towns, a praxis already implemented by
Lovecraft and now embraced by King. This introduction to the “promised
land of mythical times”, as described by Maurice Lévy (1988, 35), is fol-
lowed by the reader’s exploration of the fictitious town of Jerusalem’s Lot,

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 1

Switzerland AG 2022
M. Lukić, Geography of Horror, Palgrave Gothic,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-99325-2_1
2 M. LUKIĆ

whose streets, shops, customs bear resemblance to an idealized Norman

Rockwell painting. In doing so, the reader senses the existence of a dark
and even morbid (spatial) underbelly characterized by continuous abuse
and violence. King’s hypothetical geographic painting is completed with
the introduction and acknowledgment of the Marsten house, a dark and
foreboding structure looming over the small town—a catalyst for many of
the occurrences within the novel. By mapping the region, the town, the
(haunted) house, King creates a detailed spatially defined and intercon-
nected universe that, when observed through the eyes of the main charac-
ter (Ben Mears), acts as a living (monstrous) entity, surpassing the
traditional “setting-based” perception of the horror loci. Consequently, if
the setting is no longer a setting and space becomes a metaphoric and
symbolically meaningful participant and contributor to a horror narrative
at hand, this newly discovered layer calls to be deciphered and dissected.
However, if one is to attempt a theoretical incursion into the meanings
and functions of space, specifically when this space is articulated within the
horror genre, a “simplified” and “consequential” approach, common in
most contemporary analysis, can often be unfulfilling and it lacks a poten-
tially deeper understanding of different spatially based problematics. For
example, the geographic painting presented by King in ‘Salem’s Lot can be
deconstructed through a racially based discourse, questioning the domi-
nant whiteness of the prototypical American small-town Main Street.
Another reading could venture into various feminist issues present or
absent in King’s representation of different domestic environments and
homes. Yet another approach could problematize the prototypical haunted
house and its historical background, as well as its subsequent interpreta-
tions. All of these theoretical approaches are legitimate, and they directly
contribute to the advancement of specific theoretical discourses (within
different fields), as well as to the understanding of the genre in general.
Furthermore, they directly contribute to the recognition, understanding,
and potential discovery of spaces as key elements for the genre, and as
something that surpasses the basic equivalence between space and setting.
Nevertheless, despite these contributions, a series of questions remain
unanswered. By once again using King’s novel as an example, and by
addressing any of the previously mentioned questions, the derived analysis
could shed light on many interesting social, cultural, and historical aspects
relating to space. What these analyses traditionally fail to do is to answer
questions about the actual spaces. In what way and why does King con-
struct an imaginary map of Maine or a non-existent town within it? What
 1 INTRODUCTION 3

is the role of the portrayed spaces within the presented narrative, or, even
more important, their role in relation to the particularities of the genre? Is
there a larger common denominator dictating the selection of certain
spaces over others when attempting to create a specific genre-bound nar-
rative? Is there a spatially based “theoretical key” that could be used to
unlock certain narratives? Can the articulation of certain spaces and their
subsequent functioning be observed as a sort of continuously evolving
archetype, used by authors not necessarily to express a particular attitude
or critique but instead to (spatially) contextualize specific inherent fears
and anxieties, which will then be subsequently further elaborated by the
storyline?
To answer these questions, in relation to the proposed example, but
also within a much broader horror genre context, it becomes necessary to
define an adequate theoretical framework, one that would consider the
geographical and topographical aspect of a particular narrative, while also
understanding and valuing its humanistic and artistic components. Such a
framework can be found within the context of human geography, which,
while being part of the larger discipline of geography, predominantly
focuses on the presence and activities of humans (Pitzl 2004, XXI). As
evidenced by a variety of geographic and non-geographic fields within the
studies offered by human geography, the connection between spaces and
humans becomes a very fluid anthropocentric discourse focused on the
interactivity between humans and their surroundings. This becomes even
more relevant and elaborate with the introduction of the space-place bina-
rity, with space denominating, as defined by Tim Cresswell (Place—A
Short Introduction), an abstract concept such as outer space or the spaces
in geometry, spaces with areas and volumes (8), or as seen by Yi-Fu Tuan
(Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience), as a concept akin to move-
ment (6). This definition is then expanded to include the idea of place that
is premised on the notion of pause (6), or more precisely, the moment
when the interrupted movement allows for a human inscription to occur.
This pause and the following inscription allow the creation of place—a
theoretical hybrid located between a geographic reality and the abstrac-
tion of human emotions. As such, the concept of place, through its hybrid-
ity and adaptability, becomes widely used and substantially structured
around human activities and interactions, while at the same time remain-
ing, as Cresswell puts it once again, a non-specialized “piece of academic
terminology” (2014, 1). The term, therefore, becomes prone to a variety
of interpretative possibilities, many of them directed toward a better
4 M. LUKIĆ

understanding of different interactive processes (social, cultural, eco-

nomic, etc.) occurring between humans and their surroundings.
The proposed human geography as a theoretical framework, together
with the understanding and reading of different spaces in relation to the
various proposed theories, especially those relating to the space-place
binary, allows to test the possibilities and methods of using this approach
to analyze and understand various narratives. This is especially true when
discussing the horror genre, whose multifaceted, evolving, and perpetually
challenging nature is traditionally approached following the already men-
tioned “cause and effect” method, which limits the analysis of spaces to
the reading of their symbolical/metaphoric value in relation to a particular
cultural, historical, or social issue. The situation escalates further when we
consider the number of different spaces the horror genre has to offer—the
spaces whose role, in most cases, is almost crucial for the storyline at hand.
How to analyze, for example, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, or its various cine-
matic interpretations, without addressing and contextualizing the role of
the castle or (depending on the version) London or some other metropo-
lis? What would be the focus of the analysis of Robert Eggers’s recent film,
The Witch (2015), if the issue of frontier space was neglected? The neces-
sity for an in-depth spatial analysis, together with the intention of reading
the addressed spaces through the prism of the paradigms offered by human
geography, calls for a more focused theoretical lynchpin between these
notions. A solution, and a key for connecting and deconstructing the spa-
tial dimension within the horror genre, can be found at the core of Yi-Fu
Tuan’s research about humans and space. In his seminal work, Space and
Place: The Perspective of Experience, Tuan goes over a series of different
concepts and ideas relating to the perception and construction of spaces.
Ranging from ideas about experiencing different spaces as personal, myth-
ical, or historical, as well as the idea of space and place in respect to archi-
tecture and even time, Tuan reveals the vast range and importance of the
concept of space in our everyday existence. However, even more impor-
tant is the emphasis he places on the human body as the centerpiece for
any and all types of spatial creations. As Tuan states, “…if we look for
fundamental principles of spatial organization, we find them in two kinds
of facts: the posture and structure of the human body, and the relations
(whether close or distant) between human beings” (2001, 34). He then
continues his argument by explaining that the human body is unique in
that it easily maintains the upright position, and as such it is ready to act,
and that by standing upright, “space opens up before him and is
 1 INTRODUCTION 5

immediately differentiable into front-back and right-left axes in confor-

mity with the structure of his body” (2001, 35). Space is therefore con-
structed in accordance to a “corporeal schema” (2001, 36).
This leads us to the question relating to the horror genre, where a simi-
lar anthropocentric argument could be made. Whether we start from its
gothic roots, with a classical damsel in distress attempting to escape the
clutches of a villain, or opt for the latest iteration of Hannibal Lecter and
his avant-garde understanding of the posthumous body aesthetics, an
anthropocentric discourse dictates the narrative. Regardless of the story-
line, the horrors presented to the audience are almost exclusively premised
on the peril of various characters. If this for some reason fails, and the
audience becomes “disenchanted” with the protagonists, the focus quickly
switches to the perpetrators and villains. In some extreme cases, when the
living or barely surviving bodies, for whatever reason, become unattract-
ive, the audience is allowed to experience the basic gruesome list of (un)
dead and/or tortured bodies. This surface analytical level, however, is not
the only one that can be addressed. A deeper and more engaging examina-
tion of various narratives will unearth different and more complex read-
ings and projections of the notion of the body. If a stratum of the genre
can be—and usually is—defined by a sheer number of endangered, menac-
ing, and prohibiting (if not even explicitly monstrous) bodies, then there
is an equally large and even more intricate one structured around different
metaphoric and symbolic perceptions of the human body. Here we find
various dream-based storylines, unconventional explorations of the genre,
or even tokens whose symbolical value within a particular narrative is pro-
jected in accordance with the story (or desire) at hand. Nevertheless,
despite the more innovative and possibly more artistic articulations, both
analytical levels project bodies that retain an interconnectivity and/or a
level of interdependence (symbolic, metaphoric, or actual) with the spaces
they operate within or from which they derive. An even deeper and deci-
sively more engaging level of observing, reading, and further perpetuating
the construct of the body within the genre can be found in the already
mentioned theoretical musings. Different humans, characters, and conse-
quently bodies, locked within a perilous situation, now become extrapo-
lated and deconstructed, once again in accordance with their behavioral
patterns, and in turn, in accordance with the spaces they are connected to.
As such, they become elements of a larger (metaphoric) body, serving the
argument at hand. Although these three levels are nothing more than a
tentative and extremely simplified overview of a specific aspect of the
6 M. LUKIĆ

genre, the derived conclusion focusing on the dominant presence of an

anthropocentric discourse cannot be ignored. The horror genre exists on
and around the (potentially) infringed human body. Simultaneously, this
anthropocentric backbone for the entire genre cannot be disconnected
from the previously addressed spatial dimension. The same bodies belong-
ing to any of the mentioned categories are located in or are a product of a
particular space. As such, they follow Tuan’s idea of a “corporeal schema”
which allows them to construct but also to experience the surrounding
space, to be subjugated by it, or, on a symbolic and metaphoric level, to be
representative of it. The horror genre recognizes the relevance and poten-
tial of this spatial bond and the derived interpretative value, making it an
integral segment of its narrative. It is precisely this anthropocentric nexus
that is the focus of the proposed research. Instead of approaching the spa-
tial turn from the perspective of a “consequential” analysis, where the role
of space tends to be observed as a setting of projected values and the
analysis often centers around the consequences of a certain geographical,
spatial, and cultural premises, the proposed text aims at refocusing the
discourse by exploring space itself. This understands acknowledging and
further elaborating some of the basic theoretical paradigms belonging to
the human geography tradition and superimposing them on a series of
horror genre cases. However, as far as the scope and the range of the
research are concerned, the selection of these cases will be specific. As
indicated by the title, the project’s main task will be the reading and analy-
sis of the American horror genre, where a particularly tangible absence of
an adequate elaboration of the relationship between the American horror
imagination and its spatial and geographic component is present. This
becomes even more relevant if we consider that American horror produc-
tion has over the years achieved absolute worldwide dominance. Although
the American horror genre describes an almost endless sequence of real or
fictitious spaces and locations, ranging between complete wilderness
(Abraham Panther’s “An Account of a Beautiful Young Lady” to the pre-
viously mentioned Robert Egger’s The Witch), abandoned cabins (Sam
Raimi’s Evil Dead), suburban homes (Wes Craven’s Nightmare on Elm
Street or John Carpenter’s Halloween), haunted hotels (Stephen King’s
The Shining), the streets of a city (James DeMonaco’s The Purge), and
eventually even sinister corridors of a monster-infested space ship (Ridley
Scott’s Alien), surprisingly little criticism has been directed toward the
analysis and understanding of spaces and places within these narratives.
Furthermore, the existing theoretical discourse remains restricted to only
 1 INTRODUCTION 7

a few areas focusing either on particular spatial-horror phenomena with

authors such as Barry Curtis (Dark Places—The Haunted House in Film),
Bernice M. Murphy (The Suburban Gothic in American Popular Culture),
Richard Martin (The Architecture of David Lynch), a generalized develop-
ment of a theoretical premise such as Anthony Vidler’s The Architectural
Uncanny: Essays in the Modern Unhomely, the overviewing selection of
essays by Robin Wood (American Nightmare—Essays on the Horror Film,
“An Introduction to the American Horror Film”, etc.), or the recently
published collection The Spaces and Places of Horror, edited by Francesco
Pascuzzi and Sandra Waters, studying a large variety of American and non-­
American space and horror-related topics. Covering the birth of the
American horror genre (nineteenth-century American Romanticism) and
its later evolutionary stages the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, this
analysis proposes a currently non-existent reading of the symbiotic coexis-
tence of space and the American horror imagination from the perspective
of human geography. Although this will be accomplished through the
study of a series of narratives within the genre where the role of space and
place functions as a key element for their successful articulation, it is not
intended to be a diachronic historical survey of all the different spaces that
can be encountered and explored within the American horror genre.
When considering the number of different spaces articulated over the cen-
turies and the number of theoretical concepts that could be used to ana-
lyze them, a comprehensive overview would be an almost impossible task.
Therefore, what this research aims at is not a description or a listing of
different spaces within the genre, but the development of different theo-
retical readings of a variety of (American) spaces that could, in turn, be
applied to a range of different space-based horror narratives.
With this in mind, the first chapter of the book will focus on outlining
the theoretical starting point, or, in other words, it will begin by offering
a larger theoretical framework within which American historical and cul-
tural experiences connect and interact in relation to their setting, or more
precisely, in relation to their spaces. Possible correlations will be theoreti-
cally approached by considering Edward Soja’s contribution to the field of
human geography, specifically his development of Henri Lefebvre’s spatial
analysis, which, within Soja’s reading, becomes articulated as the “trialec-
tics of spatiality”. What Soja analyzes, and what will be used as an analyti-
cal instrument, is the definition, mutual interconnectivity, and
interdependence between what he defines as Firstspace, Secondspace, and
Thirdspace. Each of these spatial paradigms corresponds to a particular
8 M. LUKIĆ

way of reading space, with Firstspace indicating what traditional human

geography perceives as space, meaning a measurable and clearly definable
concept; Secondspace being akin to the notion of a place, a conceived type
of space that is metaphorically vulnerable to the influences of creative
thoughts and imagination; and finally, Thirdspace which is defined as lived
space, functioning as a simultaneous amalgam of the previous spatial para-
digms but also a spatial entity on its own. With this in mind, the first
chapter will position the American realities of the time and its imagination
within Soja’s theoretical discourse. Such analytical approach, as it will be
argued, allows for the evidencing of a unique national discourse and the
articulation of a theoretical paradigm explaining the intrinsic connection
between the subconscious of a nation and its literary production. And
while the first part of the analysis will elaborate on the complexities of a
national space, the second segment of the chapter will further explore the
anthropocentric paradigm shared by human geography as well as the hor-
ror genre. By analyzing the human body as the key element in creating
and articulating space, the analysis will attempt to trace the multi-­discursive
role of the body in connecting space and the horror genre. To acquire a
better understanding of the genre, it becomes necessary to understand the
role and position of the body, while at the same time to understand the
body, it is necessary to consider the surrounding space. However, this con-
nection is not simple due to the human body’s previously mentioned
unique central position in different horror narratives. Within any given
analytical context, this allows for almost endless variations of both how a
particular body should be read and how that same body can in turn be
positioned within a theoretical/symbolical/geographical framework.
With this in mind, the first chapter will propose a reading of the body as a
multilayered space used within horror narratives, in general, only to be
later followed by a thematic narrowing to the American horror produc-
tion. By acknowledging the vast interpretative possibilities of both the
reading of the concept of the body and Soja’s Thirdspace, this first chapter
will then continue to explore both the ways and methods in which the
human body has traditionally been used as a metaphoric space of inscrip-
tion and a variety of other theoretical venues relating to the discourse of
spatiality. The analysis will once again reset and position itself at the bal-
ancing point between the previously mentioned realities of the new coun-
try and its flourishing imagination. Despite being described—or even
criticized—by James Fenimore Cooper as a place with “no annals for the
historian … no obscure fictions for the writers of romance” (1843, 108),
 1 INTRODUCTION 9

a creatively blank slate void of the historical background that characterized

the European imagination, America very rapidly developed a keen taste for
the unusual, violent, and macabre. Through a steady but decisive entwin-
ing of the violent Frontier experience, the Puritan legacy, slavery, and the
notion of political utopianism (Smith 2012, 163–165), which was any-
thing but utopian, the once required historical sedimentation was now
replaced by descriptions of current acts of violence and depravity. This
gothic sensibility, as Leslie A. Fiedler writes, served as a platform for the
projection of all of these national concerns (2008, XXII), with the stories
of gruesome torture and murders occurring either on the Frontier itself or
within the rapidly developing urban centers, being embellished and glori-
fied by the press, and widely disseminated among the craving public. While
Fiedler, to a certain degree, laments the position of the American imagina-
tion and subsequent fiction by describing it as a “bewilderingly and embar-
rassingly, a gothic fiction, nonrealistic and negative, sadist and
melodramatic—a literature of darkness and the grotesque in a land of light
and affirmation” (2008, XXIV), other authors more promptly accepted
the exploration of American sensationalist practices of the nineteenth cen-
tury. The research will therefore draw, among others, from David
S. Reynolds and his Beneath the American Renaissance: The Subversive
Imagination in the Age of Emerson and Melville, Matthew Wynn Sivils and
his exploration of the Indian captivity narratives, or Teresa A. Goddu and
her evidencing slavery as a “core cultural context for the Gothic” (2014,
71), all of whom problematize a specific aspect of American history and
reflect on the imagination of the nation. The readings and analysis of these
authors will furthermore allow to address the fascination with real-life vio-
lence and morbidity underscoring the American romantic movement, as
well as to develop and subsequently build on a particular narrative spatial
awareness initially presented in the works of authors such as Nathaniel
Hawthorne or Edgar Allan Poe. The symbolic and metaphoric use of
spaces and related themes, whatever they might be, detected here (in this
period and with these authors) influenced the development of different
spatial paradigms, which over time became a referential staple within the
American gothic and later horror storylines. Conclusively, although it will
not focus on any extensive in-depth analysis of particular cases, this chap-
ter will function as a catalyst necessary for a more comprehensive under-
standing of the different thematic and theoretical dynamics addressed in
the following chapters.
10 M. LUKIĆ

Following the introduction of the American romantic period as a his-

torical context within which a particular taste for the macabre developed,
the second chapter will expand upon this fascination by simultaneously
restricting it to a particular spatial aspect: the space of the Frontier. This,
however, does not mean that the idea of Frontier spaces is constrained to
a selected time frame; instead, as the analysis will argue, it continuously
develops and influences even the most recent narratives. As the historian
Richard Slotkin summarizes, the myth of the Frontier is one of the oldest
and most characteristic American myths, “expressed in a body of litera-
ture, folklore, ritual, historiography, and polemics produced over a period
of three centuries” (1998, 10). As such, it holds specific value within the
American experience, and, even more important, it also presents a spatial
construct deeply woven into the fabric of the American imagination. The
Frontier as a spatial construct, together with other space-based patterns
detected in the works of the authors discussed in this chapter, will be read,
articulated, and built upon using Yi-Fu Tuan’s findings as presented in
Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience and Landscapes of Fear. An
open space, as Tuan argues, “suggests the future and invites action” (2001,
54). However, space and freedom are a threat, or more precisely, “to be
open and free is to be exposed and vulnerable. Open space has no trodden
paths and signposts. It has no fixed pattern of established human meaning;
it is like a blank sheet on which meaning may be imposed” (54). This
binary understanding of the Frontier works both as a geographical reality
and an ideological construct, where the Frontier exists as an actual physical
divide between civilization and wilderness and at the same time serves as a
promise of wealth infused with the certainty of fear. With this (theoretical)
dichotomy in mind, the first segment of the chapter will start with several
authors belonging to the Romantic movement by following their process
of slowly relinquishing the European literary tradition (if not the influ-
ences), and their search for an authentic voice. It will further explore the
influence of the Frontier experience on their writing and the metaphoric
or real presence of actual Frontier (related) spaces. A key figure of this
early phase is Charles Brockden Brown and his novels Wieland and Edgar
Huntly. Wieland in particular will influence the further development of
the genre through its distinctively odd characters and, perhaps more
important, the first successful adaptation of the concept of the castle to the
American context in the form of a house. As opposed to the traditional
gothic castles and monasteries, this new type of setting allowed for the
development of a progressively intimate surrounding and, therefore,
 1 INTRODUCTION 11

narrative dynamics, further expanded by the fact that the readers were
now able to identify with the characters and their surroundings. This sense
of intimacy and domesticity is in turn emphasized by the spatial danger
articulated by the descriptions of a house isolated and perched on the very
brink of civilization. A similar approach to this spatial binarity can be
observed in the works of other Romantic writers, most prominently
Washington Irving and Nathaniel Hawthorne. While Irving adapted
European folklore by mixing it with American lore, by exploring the sinful
nature of the human heart, Hawthorne found his literary voice in what
was tentatively defined as Dark Romanticism. However, regardless of pos-
sible thematic differences, their narratives are for the most part constructed
in relation (real or metaphoric) to the Frontier. From Wieland, “The
Legend of the Sleepy Hollow”, “Young Goodman Brown”, to House of
the Seven Gables and many other storylines, these authors use and develop
space to evoke a specific emotional response. Whether it is a house with a
strange family history, a small town filled with devil-worshippers, or a sto-
ryline inspired by puritan heritage and/or Indian captivity narratives,
these plots remain premised on the use of (frontier) spaces—a pattern that
will eventually significantly influence contemporary horror genre. What
was foreshadowed by Brown or Hawthorne returned, now reinvented, in
the twentieth and twenty-first centuries with authors such as Wes Craven
(The Hills Have Eyes), Antonia Bird (Ravenous), Robert Eggers (The
Witch), S. Craig Zahler (Bone Tomahawk), Emma Tammi (The Wind), and
some others. As the proposed analysis will suggest, the transcendence of
Frontier spaces over time, and their continuing existence in contemporary
narratives, particularly those belonging to the horror genre, indicates not
only the perpetual existence of a type of national as well as bipolar trauma
but also the tendency to continuously revisit and re-articulate certain issue
within the genre, through the use of a particular spatial paradigm.
Building on the spatial directions proposed in the second chapter, the
third chapter will approach the concept of the house as the archetypal
locus in the contemporary American horror genre and its subsequent
(logical) extension into the suburban spatial paradigm. Defined and artic-
ulated by Brown and Hawthorne, the house positions itself as a space
offering an unprecedented level of intimacy. Hawthorne’s and Brown’s
initial premise of a new domestic space gave rise to numerous interpreta-
tions by authors such as E. A. Poe, H. P. Lovecraft, and others. However,
all of these authors further developed the initially proposed concept of
house domesticity (Poe with his spatial transference toward the mind of
12 M. LUKIĆ

his characters, as well as the urban setting/urban gothic; Lovecraft with

his imaginary geography and small-town horrors, etc.) and in doing so
neglected many of the key elements and narrative mechanisms character-
izing the early portrayals of domesticity—elements that will over time be
converted into staples of house-based horror narratives. Therefore, the
chapter will focus only on the “first phase” of spatial adaptation by outlin-
ing the main characteristics and novelties proposed by Brown and
Hawthorne while tracing the different adaptation processes of these fea-
tures within more contemporary narratives. This notion of domesticity-­
based horror, regardless of the narrative at hand, is characterized by
different characters who are either conditioned to interact and reckon
with each other or, due to an outside (violent) influence, find themselves
forced to unite and fight back. This interaction, heavily influenced by the
(metaphoric or real) spatial constraints, offers the readers/viewers the joy
of a voyeuristic insight into a series of horrific events and, at the same time
allows them, once again due to the familiarity of the space, to (safely)
identify with the characters and their fate. As a prerequisite for a successful
horror narrative articulation, the reading of the spatial component will be
based, once again, on a theoretical binarity. Following the initial analysis
of the house—and its enclosed domestic spaces—based on the reading of
Gaston Bachelard and his seminal work, Poetics of Space, the space will be
further explored as a philosophical paradigm, on the outside premised on
architectural symbolic and real particularities, while on the inside con-
structed around preserved memories and notions of safety. Bachelard
builds his argument, first and foremost, on the concept of special alveoli
containing compressed time (1994, 8), or, in simpler terms, on the sets of
memories that are triggered once a person revisits the familiar space of a
home. The positive (or negative) reaffirmation of belonging, and the over-
all anthropocentric discourse derived from it—from the idea of domestic-
ity and security to the imagining of real and abstract threats—make the
concept of a house an extremely prolific source of horror. Once an estab-
lished and ingrained system of values becomes threatened by an outside or
inside force, which in turn triggers a catalytic process of (re)surfacing of
suppressed social and cultural traumas. However, this classical, and to a
certain degree self-contained (de)construction of domestic spaces, can be
challenged and further developed by another spatial paradigm. One of the
main contemporary challenges which impose itself, and a trope that has
persisted within the horror genre for decades, is the idea of economic dis-
enfranchisement. Economic discourse, among other things, leads to the
 1 INTRODUCTION 13

decimation of the system of spatial values as defined by Bachelard. The

“spatial alveoli”, the spaces of domesticity, Yi-Fu Tuan’s notion of “place”
(in this case, a home) as a locus exposed to an emotional inscription,
become obsolete in the readings proposed, for example, by David Harvey.
In Harvey’s readings, Bachelardian interactions between space and place,
between movement and inscription are replaced by a kind of tension
between place and the mobility of capital. By perceiving capital as a mov-
ing category as opposed to place which is inherently fixed, Harvey expands
the idea of the production of space and place by exploring the influence of
economy within such production processes. In other words, Harvey
argues that it is in fact capital that defines the creation of place (rather than
the romanticized philosophical or emotional musing of an individual),
allowing for certain loci to prosper due to financial influx, while the places
that stop being the focus of potential investment “have to be devalued,
destroyed, and redeveloped while new places are created” (1996, 296).
The house, an American horror trope, as the analysis will argue, finds itself
precisely between these two theoretical paradigms—between the idealized
and emotionally romanticized Bachelardian reading and the stark reality of
Harvey’s departed capital.
Following this initial positioning and reading of the house, the pro-
posed analysis will expand its scope to a slightly larger concept of American
suburban space and its purpose of extending the initial sense of endan-
gered intimacy/safety of the house. By being firmly positioned within the
idea of the American dream, the notion of suburban space, now exposed
to the revealing violence of the horror genre, finds itself projecting a much
starker reality hidden beneath the veneer of the post-World War II spatial
utopia. By following the established theoretical patterns, the chapter will
explore the binary and complementary position of the house and its sub-
urban surroundings and, by doing so, address the outpouring issues relat-
ing once again to economic disenfranchisement, racism, misogynism, etc.,
as seen in a number of horror narratives. What was initially an enclosed
microcosmos of horror, as presented by film directors such as Stuart
Rosemberg (The Amityville Horror), James Wan (The Conjuring), Scott
Derrickson (Sinister), or Stanley Kubrick (The Shining), now becomes a
much larger social canvas whose symbolism and cultural intricacies perma-
nently mark the contemporary horror genre. The now-classic narratives of
the genre such as Wes Craven’s Nightmare on Elm Street and John
Carpenter’s Halloween, as well as the more contemporary and more
explicitly critical storylines such as Little Marvin’s Them, in their own
14 M. LUKIĆ

distinct way recognize the death of the American suburban project and the
advent of the actual nightmare hidden behind the dream.
With the idea of spatial progression and expansion in mind, the fourth
chapter will be dedicated to researching and analyzing yet another authen-
tic (spatial) concept—the American small-town horror. Articulated through
the previously addressed patterns proposed by authors such as Nathaniel
Hawthorne and Washington Irving, the notion of a small town as a poten-
tial site of unease or outright horror remains deeply ingrained in the
American imagination. Due to their uniquely influential contribution to
this spatial trope, two authors particularly stand out: Howard Philips
Lovecraft and Stephen King. Even though many different authors previ-
ously approached and used the setting of a small town (Bradbury, Jackson,
etc.), a more definitive version of this type of space could become an actual
staple within the genre only through the prism of the work presented by
these two authors. Although slightly vague in his descriptions, Lovecraft
devises an imaginary (regional) geography structured around the superpo-
sition of fantastic/horrific over regular spaces. Set in the “Promised Land
of mythical times” (Lévy 1988, 35), Lovecraft’s spaces offered a telling
amalgam of historically significant and recognizable locations (an imported
trademark of the European gothic tradition) and the notion of violence and
darkness hidden under the optimistic veneer of the New World experience.
By following, and to a certain extent imitating, this Lovecraftian notion of
spatial duality, King devises a narrative structure that will become most
recognizable within his small American town storylines. His vision of a
small American town, and its unavoidable (de)evolution into “Norman
Rockwell’s nightmare”, together with his extremely prolific career, resulted
in the creation of a canonical reading of small towns within the horror
genre and consequently led to countless imitations and tributes by other
authors. Once again, by following Lovecraft’s storytelling mechanisms,
King achieves a particular version of a haunted small town that relies on his
unique way of juxtaposing two different types of spaces. Much in the tradi-
tion of Nathaniel Hawthorne, King starts off by depicting a perfect com-
munity, which is then contrasted by the revelation of the existence of an
alternative reality, a different and darker space coexisting with the “nor-
mal” one. These spaces within King’s storylines have a twofold function.
While on the one hand they have the purpose of introducing the mon-
strous and therefore function as a contrasting setting to the initially pre-
sented peaceful community, the role of an opposing space soon turns into
one of a catalyst whose function is to instigate and expose the corrupt
 1 INTRODUCTION 15

nature of a small town. Over the years, in a similar vein as Lovecraft, King
developed a largerscale spatial binarity by creating and scattering several
fictitious towns around the state of Maine, thus suggesting that a normal,
everyday America potentially continues to coexist alongside something
much darker. As mentioned in the introduction, this duality of spaces, and
consequently duality of realities, can be observed through different meta-
phoric contexts developed as a consequence of particular spatial articula-
tion. However, in this case, the remaining spatial mechanism, the space-place
relations, is left somewhat unanswered. What this chapter will propose is
the use of Michel Foucault’s notion of heterotopian spaces as a potential
initial theoretical concept that could frame and explain the functioning of
space in both Lovecraft’s and King’s fiction. Presented by Foucault as a
rather open-ended theoretical construct, heterotopias function as parallel
realities, a “sort of simultaneously mythic and real contestation of the space
we live in” (1986, 24). Foucault elaborates this idea by defining a series of
principles through which he describes the possibilities of articulating and
positioning such spaces within various social and cultural contexts. What
stands as a common thread is the idea that, regardless of their positioning
or modus operandi, these spaces function as a spatial construct that opposes
regular space. By analyzing the various particularities of King’s and
Lovecraft’s geography, this chapter will present and build on Foucault’s
initial concept of heterotopian spaces as dark heterotopias—parallel spaces
whose primary function surpasses the opposing and containing qualities as
initially presented by Foucault that are now intent on subverting and pos-
sibly annihilating the dominant normal ones. This proposed notion of the
deconstruction of the American projected reality will be addressed in the
chapter through the analysis of a series of short stories by H. P. Lovecraft,
such as “The Shadow over Innsmouth”, “The Dunwitch Horror”, “The
Colour Out of Space”, etc., together with King’s novels ‘Salem’s Lot,
Needful Things, and It, which contribute to the mapping of the proposed
spaces as well as to the better understanding of the spatially based subver-
siveness of the American small town within the discussed genre.
The final segment of the research will once again evaluate the anthro-
pocentric experience, production, and perpetuation of space, while, once
again, correlating the American horror genre to a particular Foucauldian
discourse. The analysis, focusing on urban spaces and horror narratives
located within these surroundings, will initially define the features of urban
horror and its relevance in relation to contemporary social and cultural
issues. As the research will show, this relevance can once again be traced to
16 M. LUKIĆ

numerous literary American sources, where the notion of an urban sur-

rounding becoming an active element within a horror narrative gained
increased popularity during the nineteenth century. The proposed analysis
will start with the historical influence of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story
“The Man of the Crowd”, and the notion of city streets now reconceptu-
alized as a contemporary version of traditional gothic spaces (castles,
houses, etc.). Although simple in its structure, the story became the sub-
ject of numerous theoretical readings, problematizing everything from the
interpretations of the presented characters to Poe’s masterful control of
sensationalism. The chapter’s initial theoretical approach will therefore
develop around Poe’s characterization of the presented space and its
dynamics, mirroring, in such a way, the notion of the city “constructed by
people but yet unknowable to the individual” (Warwick 1998, 288). This
will be achieved by exploring the idea of the flâneur—in Charles
Baudelaire’s and Walter Benjamin’s interpretation—as a key figure for
understanding Poe’s story and as a theoretical instrument used to under-
stand nineteenth-century urban spaces. The notion of the flâneur directly
contributes to the evolution of the urban gothic and eventually horror
surroundings that are now accompanied by an increasing sense of fear and
anxiety constructed around the notion of a continuously perilous and
threatening space. Within contemporary horror narratives, the city, a
metropolis, or postmetropolis (as articulated by Edward Soja) is no longer
only a reflection of unknown threats (and as such a mirror image of tradi-
tional gothic genre mechanisms); instead, it becomes a complex system of
relations of power. Here, power sources emanate their influence over the
subjects, forcing them to confront and possibly defy a particular hege-
monic discourse. As the analysis will show, the mechanisms of urban hor-
ror genre are located within those moments, within those intersections
between the normative discourse trying to regulate, restrict, or coerce and
the (initially) subjugated individuals and groups. The theoretical frame-
work used for the reading of the spatial horror component within a city, or
more precisely for the understanding of the space-based horror narrative
mechanisms within such storylines, will be Michel Foucault’s discourses
on power, as well as Antonio Gramsci’s concept of a hegemonic discourse.
Among many different governmentality based paradigms presented by
Foucault, one particularly traces the anxieties expressed by urban horror
storylines. By following his elaboration of the idea of the
dispositive/apparatus as system(s) of power set in place by a controlling
entity, the analysis aims at singling out a series of critical narrative moments
 1 INTRODUCTION 17

used to describe the rigidity and artificiality of urban spaces and the pos-
sibility of opposition and subversion. The overlapping of the theoretical
construct of the dispositive/apparatus and urban horror allows an insight
into the tension between a strategic planning of hegemonic discourse, the
actualization of the necessary “tools”, and the anthropocentric experience
of such spaces. As Foucault argues, these “tools” have a “dominant strate-
gic function” (1980, 195), given that they transform urban spaces into
instruments used for the promotion and implementation of discipline.
The subsequent reaction to these measures, the experience, and further
articulation of new spaces within the given oppressive context become the
driving force behind narratives such as Alex Proyas’s Dark City, Ryûhei
Kitamura’s The Midnight Meat Train, George Romero’s Dawn of the
Dead, James DeMonaco’s The Purge franchise, as well as others. And while
each of these storylines will be and is characterized by (consequent) social
and cultural issues such as racial inequalities, economic disenfranchise-
ment, or, for example, the inability to fight back a capitalist discourse, the
source of the expressed horror remains actively anchored within a particu-
lar spatial dimension/narrative.
Conclusively, an attempt to offer a comprehensive mapping of the
American horror tradition remains a nearly impossible task. This is not due
to the sheer number of different storylines, narratives, platforms, and theo-
ries that could be accessed and used in the process, but much more due to
the traditional role of maps and mapping over the centuries. In his intro-
duction to Topophrenia—Place, Narrative, and the Spatial Imagination,
Robert T. Tally Jr., for example, elaborates that mapping in itself is “a
much-contested object or metaphor in critical theory and beyond … asso-
ciated with empire, social repression, and all manners of ideological pro-
grams geared toward manipulating the representations of space for this or
that group’s political benefit” (1). Simultaneously, mapping remains an
activity that needs to be indulged. Whether we subscribe to Yi-Fu Tuan’s
notion of topophilia, which presents “an affective bond between people
and place or setting” (1990, 4), or Tally’s term topophrenia indicating “a
constant and uneasy ‘placemindedness’” followed by the “need to map, or
at least to have access to a map” (2019, 1), the desire to spatially frame and
contextualize our surroundings remains unchanged. With all these consid-
erations, the mapping of the American dark imagination presented on these
pages will remain subjective, flawed by its inability to encompass every-
thing, and emboldened by the desire to uncover a paradigm able to spa-
tially frame and unlock the proposed geography of fear.
18 M. LUKIĆ

ReferenCes
Bachelard, Gaston. 1994. The Poetics of Space. Boston: Beacon Press.
Cooper, James Fenimore. 1843. Notions of the Americans: Picked Up by a Travelling
Bachelor. New York: Lea & Blanchard.
Cresswell, Tim. 2014. Place: An Introduction. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell.
Fiedler, Leslie A. 2008. Love and Death in the American Novel. Dallas: Dalkey
Archive Press.
Foucault, Michel. 1980. Power/Knowledge—Selected Interviews and Other Writings
1972–1977 by Michel Foucault. Edited by Gordon Colin. New York:
Pantheon Books.
———. 1986. Of Other Spaces. Translated by Jay Miskowiec. Diacritics 16
(1): 22–27.
Goddu, Teresa A. 2014. The African American Slave Narrative and the Gothic. In
A Companion to American Gothic, ed. Charles L. Crow, 71–83. Malden:
Wiley-Blackwell.
Harvey, David. 1996. Justice, Nature and the Geography of Difference. Cambridge:
Blackwell Publishers.
Lévy, Maurice. 1988. Lovecraft, A Study in the Fantastic. Detroit: Wayne State
University Press.
Pitzl, Gerald R. 2004. Encyclopedia of Human Geography. Westport: Greenwood
Publishing.
Slotkin, Richard. 1998. Gunfighter Nation: The Myth of the Frontier in Twentieth
Century America. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.
Smith, Allan Lloyd. 2012. Nineteenth-Century American Gothic. In A New
Companion to the Gothic, ed. David Punter, 163–175. Malden: Blackwell
Publishing Ltd.
Tally, Robert T., Jr. 2019. Topophrenia—Place, Narrative, and the Spatial
Imagination. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Tuan, Yi-Fu. 1990. Topophilia—A Study of Environmental Perception, Attitudes,
and Values. New York: Columbia University Press.
———. 2001. Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience. Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press.
Warwick, Alexandra. 1998. Urban Gothic. In The Handbook to Gothic Literature,
ed. Marie Mulvey-Roberts, 288–289. New York: New York University Press.
 CHAPTER 2

Mapping Horror

Nobody wants to be here and nobody wants to leave.

—Cormac McCarthy (The Road)

The Trialectics of Fear

The urge to map a certain space, to define an area, a region or some other
previously unexplored location, and to define its different parameters and
characteristics is an innate trait found at the core of human behavior.
Whether it is done from an empirical, strict, and goal-oriented stand-
point—as part of a straightforward geographical task, a fearful inscription
of meaning and value stemmed from the yet unknown and unexplored
space—or it is just a fanciful imaginary exploration of actual or fictitious
spaces, the necessity to create maps of particular surroundings (real or
not) remains a constant of human nature. This urge is echoed in countless
praxes, theoretical and practical analyses and musings, from the ancient
Babylonian Imago Mundi and the European Mappa Mundi, contempo-
rary readings of the role and function of space, to the obsessive mapping
of any and all newly discovered spaces, such as the virtual space of the
internet and the surface of Mars as seen through the lens of the latest
rover. Despite this overwhelming historical tendency to address and give
meaning to space, it is not until 1967, and the lecture titled “Of Other
Spaces” given by Michel Foucault, that an actual awareness of the impor-
tance of space emerged within, what will come to be, a transdisciplinary

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature 19

Switzerland AG 2022
M. Lukić, Geography of Horror, Palgrave Gothic,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-99325-2_2
20 M. LUKIĆ

context. Referring to history as an idea that dominated the nineteenth

century, Foucault proposes a different understanding of contemporaneity,
one based on the acknowledgment and experience of space: “The present
epoch will perhaps be above all the epoch of space. We are in the epoch of
simultaneity: we are in the epoch of juxtaposition, the epoch of the near
and far, of the side-by-side, of the dispersed. We are at a moment, I believe,
when our experience of the world is less that of a long life developing
through time than that of a network that connects points and intersects
with its own skein” (1986, 22). A more contemporary summarization of
this issue, as well as an obsession, can be found in the elaborations of
Robert T. Tally, where, by stating, “I map, therefore I am” (2019, 1), he
discusses mapping as something essential to our beings. Despite its osten-
sible simplicity, Tally’s statement, obviously followed by an extensive and
detailed study of mapping, space, and spatiality, successfully conveys the
human obsession with the need to define the surrounding unexplored
spaces. Furthermore, this need is only amplified by the connection between
these spaces and our own identity, where humans intertwine their own
identity with their surroundings through what could be defined as an
autoreferential loop. What begins with the locating of a body within a
particular space soon develops into a discourse premised on the interac-
tion between the body and the surrounding spaces. This is followed by
human intervention into space, with rippling effects on social and cultural
practices as well as norms. Therefore, the established loop becomes a con-
stant characterized, first and foremost, by the progressive fragmentation of
different narratives derived from this interaction. In turn, these continu-
ally evolving fragmentations, although almost innumerable, offer the pos-
sibility of theoretical contextualization and the creation and addressing of
different spatially based discourses.
The list of authors who were the first to recognize and draw attention
to the occurred spatial turn—such as Gaston Bachelard and The Poetics of
Space (1958), Henri Lefebvre and The Production of Space (1974), Michel
Foucault with a series of different publications where the spatial compo-
nent is being (in)directly used to explain old and new mechanisms of
power, Edward Soja and Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and Other
Real-and-Imagined Places (1996) together with the elaboration of the
concept of “trialectics of spatiality”, Doreen Massey and her key contribu-
tion to the understanding and acknowledgment of gendered
spaces/geography titled Space, Place, and Gender, etc.—rapidly expanded
to include a host of scholars concerned with the more profound cultural
 2 MAPPING HORROR 21

impact of this newly recognized theoretical praxis. With Bertrand Westphal

and his introduction of the term geocriticism as a tentative theoretical
spatial reading of (cultural) contemporaneity (La Géocritique: Réel, Fiction,
Espace, 2007), David Harvey and his numerous titles correlating global-
ization and the neoliberal discourse with spatial practices, Franco Moretti
and his ingenious mapping of literature (Atlas of the European Novel
1800–1900, 1999), the already mentioned Robert T. Tally and his exten-
sive contribution to the promotion and understanding of spatial literary
studies, as well many others, the spatial turn and its multifaceted conse-
quences have become an unavoidable tool when attempting to read many
of the real or fictitious cultural and social phenomena that surround us.
All of these authors, each in their own way and within their own field of
study, added to the notion of space and helped establish it as a valuable
instrument through which to challenge and further explore our currently
existing knowledge. By following their paradigms, and different theoreti-
cal argumentations, it becomes possible to “locate” and analyze a large
variety of discourses. One of these discourses, and the subject of this
research, is the possibility of spatial contextualization of the American hor-
ror genre. More precisely, the goal of this study is to understand and eval-
uate how the spatial turn, and the theories that stemmed out of it, helps
to better understand the genre. In order to do this, and to properly use
the very prolific and diverse field of human geography, one needs to adopt
a sequential approach to the subject. The starting point in this sequence of
analyses needs to initially be directed towards a socio-cultural understand-
ing of the new continent and the exploration of the connection between
human geography and the genre at hand. The new loci, the new continent
whose potential wealth was equaled only by the harshness of the daily
realities, did not initially provide a prolific context within which the gothic
genre could thrive. Traditionally structured around different historical ele-
ments, the tropes characterizing the British gothic narratives had to be
adapted to a land with no apparent history. In turn, this led a variety of
authors to start searching for alternative mechanisms for adapting the
genre to the American continent. A good beginning for the positioning of
this discourse can be found with Allan Lloyd Smith, who in his chapter
titled “Nineteenth-Century American Gothic” proposes four distinct top-
ics that shaped and marked the nineteenth-century American gothic imag-
ination (2012, 163–165). With the increased recognition of the role of
the frontier in the popular imagination, with the Puritan legacy as a pos-
sible historical point of reference, with the political life and the idea of a
22 M. LUKIĆ

(problematic) utopianism, together with the looming presence of slavery,

the concern once expressed by James Fenimore Cooper about the land
with “no annals for the historian … no obscure fictions for the writers of
romance” (1843, 108) slowly started to dissipate. Because of its specific
geographical and symbolic function, the frontier now became the logical
replacement for the haunted European spaces while simultaneously—
through numerous Indian captivity narratives—acting as an immediate
source of evil. The evident racism was obviously not limited to Native
Americans, and it targeted anybody who was not white, creating in such a
way an abundance of monstrous “others”. The final element, the much-­
needed effect of historicism, was (re)discovered within the Puritan legacy.
Functioning as a historical point of reference, as well as context, the
Puritan experience, together with its continuous influence and hold over
the American society, provided the final proof that Gothicism, and all of
the unsavory narratives that characterize it, could actually be found at the
heart of the American experience, despite the proclaimed utopian nature
of the new continent.
The second question that poses itself while attempting to explore the
continuously developing American horror genre is the potential role and
position of human geography within this tumultuous and somewhat sub-
versive context. How can the theoretical framework offered by this disci-
pline be used to better understand the genre and its role within American
culture and its imagination? When considering the multitude of theoreti-
cal approaches and the countless narratives that were and still are pro-
duced within the genre, it becomes almost impossible to provide a uniquely
adequate answer or a self-explanatory theoretical paradigm. However, a
hypothetical premise can be defined that can work as a possible nexus
between the theoretical spatial praxis and the key necessities of the genre.
In such a way, the instruments used by human geography to understand
space and spatial practices could be applied to a concept without which the
horror genre cannot exist.
The idea of such a (re)contextualization of the genre within a particular
spatial paradigm unavoidably necessitates a geocritical1 reading, or more

1
The term geocriticism is used as it was initially proposed and elaborated by Bertrand
Westphal in his seminal text La Géocritique: Réel, Fiction, Espace. As Robert T. Tally writes in
the introduction to his translation of Westphal’s work: “Geocriticism allows us to emphasize
the ways that literature interacts with the world, but also to explore how all ways of dealing
with the world are somewhat literary” (Westphal 2011, X).
 2 MAPPING HORROR 23

precisely it necessitates a detailed exploration of the interaction between a

targeted geographical and a literary narrative. Considering the previously
mentioned historical and cultural premises of the new continent and its
influence on the repositioning of the genre, a fitting and logical theoretical
framework can be found in the work of Edward Soja. Among numerous
ideas relating to a better philosophical and actual physical reading of con-
temporary spaces, Soja’s concept of “thirdspaces” stands out as an almost
ideal instrument to observe the mentioned interactivity. Published under
the title Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and Other Real and Imagined
Places (1996), Soja’s analysis builds on the work done by the French theo-
rist Henri Lefebvre. Although Lefebvre identifies and problematizes a
series of different spaces—offering a host of evolving definitions and inter-
pretations2—it is with Soja that a slightly more focused spatial classifica-
tion occurs. Soja elaborates on Lefebvre’s initial notions of spatial
practice—the “materialized, socially produced, empirical space” (Soja
1996, 66); the representations of space—being a conceived space and
“storehouse of epistemological power” (1996, 67); and spaces of represen-
tation—perceived as “directly lived” spaces (1996, 67), and consequently
renames them as Firstspace, Secondspace, and Thirdspace.
The newly established/developed spatial trialectics somewhat decreased
the inherently vague and continuously evolving understanding of the dif-
ferent spaces as proposed by Lefebrve and presented a functional develop-
ment of the traditionally accepted space-place binarity. The notion of
Firstspace coincides with what traditional human geography perceives as
space—a measurable and clearly definable concept. This is, as Soja describes
it, a “materialized, socially produced empirical space”, a “perceived space,
directly sensible and open, within limits, to accurate measurement and
description” (1996, 66).
Secondspace, in turn, correlates with the concept of place, a conceived
space or the “primary space of utopian thought and vision, of the semioti-
cian or decoder, and of the purely creative imagination of some artists and
poets” (1996, 66). Following this, according to Soja, the binarity needs to
be expanded by acknowledging the existence of a connecting third spatial
context—a Thirdspace. By developing Lefebrve’s idea of a space of repre-
sentation, which is different from the previous two spatial paradigms,
while simultaneously stemming out of them, Soja introduces the idea of a
lived space—“[c]ombining the real and the imagined, things and thought

2
An issue Soja noted himself in his attempts to further Lefebvre’s research (1996, 66).
24 M. LUKIĆ

on equal terms, or at least not privileging one over the other a priori, these
lived spaces of representation are thus the terrain for the generation of
‘counterspaces’, spaces of resistance to the dominant order arising pre-
cisely from their subordinate, peripheral or marginalized position”
(1996, 68).
In other words, Soja identifies a type of space that allows for the articu-
lation of an alternative discourse structured around the continuous inter-
action between the real and the imaginary, the perceived and the conceived
space. Such an interaction, resulting in recognition of a “lived space”,
breaks down the initial binarity and in doing so articulates and opens the
possibility of a truly transdisciplinary analysis and reading of a particular
social and cultural phenomenon. Soja continues by describing the rele-
vance and effectiveness of such spatially based paradigm through the con-
struction of two diagrams. The first, named Trialectics of Being, argues for
an interconnectivity between Spatiality, Historicality, and Sociality (1996,
71), which, when in balance, allows for the creation of “three ontological
fields of knowledge formation from what for so long has only been one
(Historicality-Sociality)” (1996, 72). The introduction and reinforcement
of Spatiality ensures a defense against “any form of binary reductionism or
totalization” (1996, 72). This becomes clearer and further expanded with
the second proposed diagram where Soja elaborates on the Trialectics of
Spatiality structured around the correlation between the conceived, per-
ceived, and lived spatiality. Once again, if the balance is to be observed
between the different components of the trialectics, or, as Soja puts it,
between the different epistemologies, the produced Thirdspace will give
rise to a limitless discourse that will continue to be reinvigorated and con-
structed by the first two spatial constructs, all the while creating new criti-
cal paradigms. The neatly proposed diagrams and philosophical
argumentations of the breaking down of previously established spatial
binarities and patterns are, however, in no way conclusive. By following
the analytical discourse previously established by Lefebvre, Soja embraces
the endlessness and, as he puts it, “critical and inquisitive nomadism” by
leaving the discussion of Thirdspace “radically open” (1996, 82). In doing
so, he devises a spatially based theoretical and analytical instrument whose
inconclusiveness allows for a continuous adaptation and application.
The idea of the Trialectics of Spatiality, and the notion of Thirdspace in
itself, can be useful to spatially contextualize, and therefore better under-
stand, the position and function of the horror genre within the American
(non)literary tradition. This can be accomplished by revisiting the
 2 MAPPING HORROR 25

previously mentioned themes that dominated the early American gothic

imagination. The perception, reading, and understanding of issues such
the frontier, Puritan heritage, race, or political utopianism are traditionally
approached—as Soja suggests—through the prism of the binary reduc-
tionism. This reductionism, however, is not exclusively premised on the
idea of reading a particular theme within a simplified space-place/Firstspace-­
Secondspace dichotomy. Although a valid theoretical study of a particular
problem could be based on the said dichotomy, the analysis of the connec-
tion between the horror genre and the American imagination requires a
broader recontextualization. More precisely, in order to adequately elabo-
rate the applicability of Soja’s Trialectics in the process of understanding
the nation-genre symbiosis, it becomes necessary to apply the proposed
spatial discourse on the larger concept of the newly born nation.
By acknowledging this broader context, an image of a country slowly
emerges divided between the already mentioned socially constructed
Firstspace—a product of “human activity, behavior and experience” (Soja
1996, 66), and the theoretically conceived Secondspace. Various themes
and influences consequently (and traditionally) find themselves positioned
within these two theoretical paradigms. For example, while on the one
hand the issue of the Frontier was treated as a geographical certainty, a
clear and mappable dividing line between civilization and the yet to be
defined wilderness, a symbolical understanding, and projection, of this
particular space simultaneously developed within the national subcon-
sciousness. The initial map, or a similarly empirical understanding of the
frontier space, was now expanded within a narrative about the possibilities
of wealth as well as untold perils laying on the other side of the (now)
fictional dividing line. Both readings of this American phenomena remain
legitimate in their own right given that they can be easily placed into the
established Firstspace and Secondspace epistemologies, or in simpler
terms, the traditional space-place binarity. However, despite their great
analytical potential, both discourses perpetuate a reductionist approach to
the subject conditioned by their epistemological nature. What is absent
from these discourses is what Soja defines as lived space or Thirdspace, or,
more precisely, the ability to explore and articulate the various connecting
points between the two experienced spatial realities. A similar argument
can be made regarding the rest of the influential themes. The issue of race,
and the accompanying racism, which initially was built on the narrative of
the frontier, led to the establishment and further elaboration of a new
category of monstrousness attached to the Native Americans. This notion
26 M. LUKIĆ

of the “monster as cultural other”, as proposed by Jeffrey Andrew

Weinstock (2014, 42), soon extended to the unfortunate enslaved Africans
brought to the new continent by force. Although the approach to the dif-
ferent sources of “monstrousness” varied—with the Native Americans
occasionally romanticized as “noble savages”—the dominant discourse
was directed toward the identification of a monstrous “other” by means of
racial oppression. Within such discourse a new spatial dimension starts to
emerge, ranging between myth and reality, between storytelling and the
racially biased social interventions and actions, whereby the Firstspace is
articulated through the construction of not only a racially divided society
but also a society that thrives on the concept of the “monstrous other”.
The “concrete materiality of spatial forms” (Soja 1996, 10) characteristic
of the Firstspace becomes articulated in the ostracized real-life perception
of the non-white segment of the population. This is almost simultaneously
mirrored in the development of what could be read as the Secondspace,
with the creation of a series of fantastic and horrific narratives stressing and
further elaborating the fear-based decisions that conditioned the creation
of the Firstspace. The particular nature of a race-based discourse, together
with the inherited European bias, and the unprecedented dependency on
slavery, create a mutually supportive relationship between the two episte-
mologies, with the Secondspace continuously building upon the violent
realities.
This is shadowed closely by the discourse of political utopianism, which
finds itself fragmented between the idealized perpetuation, as well as phys-
ical and social embodiment, of a narrative of success, deeply embedded
within the national identity and its mythology, and the continuously
remerging traumas caused by what Jean Baudrillard defines as the “crisis
of an achieved Utopia” (1988, 77). Both spatial realities continue to exist
with the utopian paradigm becoming articulated through “justice, plenty,
rule of law, wealth, freedom” (Baudrillard 1988, 77), while the Secondspace
finds itself located within the multitude of politically critical (non)fictional
discourses. This fragmented narrative, just like the narratives evolving
around the racial discourse, reconnects itself (from the perspective of spa-
tial theory) only within a context of Thirdspace where the questioning of
the issues of duration and permanence, as pointed out once again by
Baudrillard (1988, 77), is confronted by a national belief system. Through
these connecting points between two epistemologies, made possible
through the introduction of Soja’s notion of Thirdspace, an analytical
 2 MAPPING HORROR 27

discourse can be developed, offering the possibility of an in-depth critical

deconstruction of particular phenomena.
Yet another centerpiece of the early American imagination—the Puritan
tradition and legacy—can also be identified within the mentioned reduc-
tional binarity. Structured on the idea of a necessity of (additional) reli-
gious reformation, Puritanism presented itself as a pact with God, whose
implementation within the context of the new continent had long-lasting
effects. Authors such as William Bradford with his Of Plimouth Plantation
(printed in 1856), or John Winthrop with his journal published under the
title The History of New England from 1630 to 1649, recounted both the
harshness of religious persecution and the challenges of the new conti-
nent. However, what is even more important, as described by Richard
Ruland and Malcolm Bradbury in From Puritanism to Postmodernism—A
History of American Literature, is the creation of a particular religious and
moral narrative within the settlements. Ranging between Bradford’s ideas
of the “actions of God’s Chosen People, sent on a divine errand into the
wilderness” and Winthrop’s declaration that the Puritans were called to
erect “‘a city upon a Hill’—a city that would stand as lesson and beacon to
the entire world” (1991, 10–11), the proposed dogma was soon reverber-
ating within the efforts to build a new society. The now established moral
standards, self-perception, and subsequent expectations became the new
national norm and an integral part of the national identity, culminating
and becoming formalized in the myth of American exceptionalism,3 aca-
demically created and acclaimed during the twentieth century. By coexist-
ing and eventually merging with the national political thought, the Puritan
legacy forced itself in the almost exact theoretical binarity as political uto-
pianism. Once again, functioning almost as a norm for social construction
and planning—its initial radicalism being articulated in the horrid Salem
witch trials in the 1690s—the ideological aspect of Puritanism material-
ized a clearly defined (Firstspace) society. Simultaneously, the attempted
social engineering mirrored itself in literature with many authors using

3
The term “American exceptionalism” was not originally a product of American academia.
It was in fact introduced by Joseph Stalin in 1929 when he used the phrase “the heresy of
American Exceptionalism” in relation to the argument within his own party stating that
America was “‘unique’ because it lacked the social and historical conditions that led to
Europe’s economic collapse” (Pease 2007, 108). The term used by Stalin was re-­appropriated
in the 1930s by the founders of American studies with the intent to explain and fortify the
idea of a “destiny”-driven uniqueness of the United States in relation to the rest of the world
(Pease 2007, 108).
28 M. LUKIĆ

religious fervor as an inspiration to explore human nature and the darker

aspects of the “city upon a hill”. This subsequently led to the creation of
imaginary and projected representation of space that can once again be
located within Soja’s theoretical notion of Secondspace.
However, the proposed binarities, although revealing in their capacity
to categorize different phenomena and indicate a possible spatial theoreti-
cal reading, necessitate the third component. By considering the third
spatial paradigm, Soja’s Thirdspace, an insight into the interactivity of
various themes and their actual role within the American social and cul-
tural formative period becomes possible. More precisely, the notion of
“lived” space, or spatial “thirding” (Soja 1996, 11), introduced as a theo-
retical argument, allows for the opening of metaphoric and actual space
within which it becomes possible to actively observe a multitude of differ-
ent influences which, at their core, are all interconnected and contributing
to the singular narrative. Through the introduction of the premise of a
“third space” as a multi-discursive tool to be used for reading and under-
standing the role and position of the horror genre within the American
society it becomes possible to isolate diverse connecting points between
the different epistemologies. The racial theme, for example, thus stops
being purely a question of the native population attempting to rebel
against the colonizing forces, or a simple emotionally charged and entic-
ing “Indian captivity narrative” focused primarily on describing the tor-
ture and violent death of the unfortunate victims, and becomes a
developing social and cultural discourse expanding beyond its initial inter-
pretative qualities. In a similar vein, it becomes possible to shed a different
light on the far-reaching influence of the Puritan heritage and explore how
certain elements of this tradition found their place both in the political
self-perception of the new nation and in folklore and (popular) culture.
However, the actual value of the proposed spatial reading of the early
American reality and imagination can be identified outside the selected
themes’ particular scope. By outlining the patterns that emerge from the
application of Soja’s trialectics, it becomes increasingly evident that the
American formative period is almost exclusively structured around a per-
petuation and fictionalization of violence. The idea of violence and its
influence on American (Romantic) literature has been extensively
researched in the works of authors such as Leslie A. Fiedler or David
S. Reynolds, and many others. The analysis based on the application of
human geography and a variety of theoretical premises stemming out of it
goes beyond a simplified historical overview and allows for a different
 2 MAPPING HORROR 29

contextualization of a particular literary or otherwise artistic endeavor.

More precisely, a further exploration of Soja’s trialectic thinking reveals an
innate interconnectivity between the various elements/concepts. The pre-
viously mentioned relationship between historicality, sociality and spatial-
ity, as well as the derived understanding of spatiality achieved through the
interaction of perceived, conceived, and lived spaces, is in fact premised on
mutual interdependence.
As Soja explained: “The three moments of the ontological trialectic
thus contain each other; they cannot successfully be understood in isola-
tion or epistemologically privileged separately” (1996, 72). What this
means is that once the trialectic paradigm is superimposed over, for exam-
ple, Leslie Fiedler’s reading of American Gothicism or David S. Reynolds’
historical and phenomenological researching of the subversives of the
American Renaissance, a chain of theoretical occurrences takes place.
When gothic and gothic-related literature is being acknowledged as the
core of the early American literary efforts, and as such belonging to the
conceived segment of the theoretical paradigm, what follows is the estab-
lishing of the spaces of representation. Within this Thirdspace, the interac-
tion between different epistemologies takes place, allowing for their
analysis and, due to the previously mentioned interdependence, their
identification (imaginary or real). This interaction/identification, in turn,
completes the circle and allows the continuation and consequent creation
of perceived spaces. However, since the conceived space is constructed
from people that “identify what is lived and what is perceived with what is
conceived” (Soja 1996, 67), it can be concluded that both conceived and
perceived spaces necessary share an innate horror-based trait. A similar
theoretical elaboration and a final argument could be made about the his-
torical outline of the American experience presented by Reynolds. By
exploring the social phenomena of the attraction of wider population to
various sensationalist practices of the period, the conceived space easily
connects and contributes to the development of a particularly violent per-
ceived space, only to be re-elaborated once again into a space of
representation.
It is through the formation, recognition, and analysis of these spaces of
representation, as well as the acknowledgment of the entire process as
defined by Soja, that a much more profound recognition of the depth of
violence and its contemporaneous transference into a series of gothic/
horror narratives can take place. More precisely, the mapping of the recog-
nized connection and interaction between the various spaces transcends a
30 M. LUKIĆ

(traditional) analysis of a creative process and its mirroring of particular

artistic tendencies within a historical period. Instead, the active role of a
real and imaginary violent paradigm in creating a national (sub)conscious-
ness is recognized.

Bodies in Space
Edward Soja’s reading of space, in all its complexity, does not, however,
function as a universal theoretical model for the understanding of the
American horror genre. Although it positions the discourse within the
historical and sociological framework of a nation, a more profound analy-
sis requires a variety of theoretical approaches. While the idea of multiple
theoretical readings will be developed and presented in the following
chapters, the contribution of yet another author, in addition to Edward
Soja, needs to be presented in order to adequately elaborate the position
of the horror genre in relation to the American identity and the correlat-
ing creative processes. Soja’s idea of a continuously perpetuating and
developing space and meaning, and the addressed use of such an approach
for the metaphoric mapping of the American horror genre, can be
expanded by the theoretical intervention into human geography done by
Yi-Fu Tuan. While Soja’s preoccupation lies within the realm of philo-
sophical tracing of spatial interactions and productions, Tuan explores the
fundamentals of space production, structuring his analysis around the
(biological) connection between the human body and its surroundings. In
his two key studies, Topophilia—A Study of Environmental Perception,
Attitudes, and Values and Space and Place—The Perspective of Experience,
Tuan progressively constructs an anthropocentric argument by pointing
out the connecting points between humans and their bodies and the
imperative nature and influence of the biological sensory system in the
process of constructing space. As explained by Tuan, the proposed anthro-
pocentric praxis is not limited to spatial production; instead, through the
use of a variety of narrative forms, it actively participates in the creation of
a cultural discourse.
The first step in the process of understanding the relationship between
the body and spatiality starts with the meticulous analysis of the senses and
the ways in which humans experience the surrounding spaces. A chapter
from Topophilia, adequately titled “Common Traits in Perception: The
Senses”, opens with Tuan’s description of the different predispositions of
the human body and their functionality in the process of interacting with
 2 MAPPING HORROR 31

space. Starting with vision, the hands, and the ability to learn through
tactile experience, hearing, smell, etc., Tuan constructs a simplified but
effective argument for the theoretical collocation of the body in relation to
human geography. The body, by simultaneously using all of its senses, is
capable of perceiving an immense quantity of information (Tuan 1990,
10). Tuan then goes on to explore human behavioral patterns through the
analysis of psychological responses, ethnocentrism, culture, and various
environments, ranging from nature itself, the development of cities, and
even the experience of American suburbia. Unfortunately, even though
the analysis offers many interesting points about the human body’s poten-
tial and its practical and theoretical application the process of better under-
standing human geography and spatiality, its theoretical contribution
remains limited by the time of its publication. In 1974, when Topophilia
was first published, Tuan’s argument about the human body’s relevance
for the spatial discourse was innovative for the time. Consequently, the
breaking of new ground meant that his analysis functioned more as an
introduction and an overview of possible interactions rather than an in-­
depth theoretical reading of the proposed problem. However, this is rem-
edied in 1977 when Tuan revisits the subject in his Space and Place—The
Perspective of Experience. Here Tuan properly contextualizes a series of
anthropocentric premises through an elaboration of the space-place binar-
ity. Starting with the idea of experience, he once again traces the connec-
tions between the sensory aspects of the body and the different real and
perceived spatial concepts and brings forth/stresses/puts emphasis on the
idea that “biology conditions our perceptual world” (2001, 20). Process
of the creation of space and collocate the human body within a spatial
context. Tuan in turn expands this idea by attempting to define the per-
ceptive and constructive process of the creation of space and by collocat-
ing the human body within a spatial context. The process of collocation
then starts with the notion of the human body being a “lived body” and
space being a “humanly constructed space” (2001, 35). Tuan explains:

Among mammals the human body is unique in that it easily maintains an

upright position. Upright, man is ready to act. Space opens out before him
and is immediately differentiable into front-back and right-left axes in con-
formity with the structure of his body. Vertical-horizontal, top-bottom,
front-back and right-left are positions and coordinates of the body that are
extrapolated onto space. (2001, 35)
32 M. LUKIĆ

And goes on:

What does it mean to be lost? I follow a path into the forest, stray from the
path, and all of a sudden feel completely disoriented. Space is still organized
in conformity with the sides of my body. There are the regions to my front
and back, to my right and left, but they are not geared to external reference
points and hence are quite useless. Front and back regions suddenly feel
arbitrary, since I have no better reason to go forward than to go back. Let a
flickering light appear behind a distant clump of trees. I remain lost in the
sense that I still do not know where I am in the forest, but space has dra-
matically regained its structure. The flickering light has established a goal.
As I move toward that goal, front and back, right and left, have resumed
their meaning: I stride forward, am glad to have left dark space behind, and
make sure that I do not veer to the right or left. The human being, by his
mere presence, imposes a schema on space. (2001, 36)

Therefore, the proposed corporeal schema dictates the spatial percep-

tion and construction, but it does not stop with that. Through a series of
experience-based processes, the anthropocentric paradigm imposes itself
through a variety of symbolical, metaphorical, and real cultural and social
articulations. Starting with the front and back differentiation of space (in
relation to the body), the meaning expands well beyond its basic initial
conception. Tuan argues that frontal space, by being visible, is necessarily
illuminated, while back space, even in daylight, remains dark simply
because it cannot be seen (2001, 40). This is further expanded with the
concept of the frontal space being identified with the future, while back
space stands for the past (2001, 40). The polarity mirrors itself in the cul-
tural reading of the human body. As Tuan suggests, the human face com-
mands respect and expresses dignity, causing lesser beings to lower their
eyes. Consequently, the back space is profane, and the location where—
hidden in the shadows—lesser beings dwell (2001, 40). A similar polarity
can be observed in the division between the left and right sides of the
body. Tuan explains that almost all known cultures prefer the right side to
the left, with the right symbolizing sacred power, goodness, and legiti-
macy, while the left functions as its antithesis by standing for the profane,
impure, ambivalent, maleficent, and something to be dreaded (2001, 43).
Furthermore, this spatial projection of the body eventually finds its articu-
lation in the physical construction of space where buildings and homes are
built in accordance with the ingrained meaning of frontal and back spaces,
while in terms of vertical division upper spaces carry more significance
 2 MAPPING HORROR 33

than the lower ones. Therefore, frontal spaces and entrances are used only
by some, together with upper sections of a building, while the hidden
lower and back spaces are used by others (2001, 41). A similar division is
observed in the construction of homes, where the spatial organization of
an apartment immediately presents the guests with a very visible and pub-
licly accessible living room and/or dining room, while bedrooms, and
other private spaces, remain out of sight (2001, 41). The construction of
ancient cities followed the same pattern. The frontal side and surrounding
walls would traditionally be excessive in size and appearance, with impos-
ing entrances used for a variety of purposes, while the rest of the surround-
ing walls would retain their protecting function while being less visually
prominent (2001, 41–42).4
Another key contribution to understanding the role, perception, and
evolution of space within human geography can be observed in Tuan’s
presentation and elaboration of the space and place binarity. Similar to the
anthropocentric argument, the notion of a theoretical, and possibly practi-
cal, distinction between the idea of space and its potential development
into a place came about during the 1970s and the early formative phase of
the spatial turn discourse. After introducing the term topophilia to define
the “affective bond between people and place and setting” (1990, 4),
Tuan goes on to elaborate the meaning and distinction between space and
place. He first establishes the mutual interdependency between the two
ideas by describing and summarizing the simple yet complex transforma-
tion and the necessary elements involved in the process. He states:

What begins as undifferentiated space becomes place as we get to know it

better and endow it with value … The ideas “space” and “place” require
each other for definition. From the security and stability of place, we are
aware of the openness, freedom, and threat of space, and vice versa.
Furthermore, if we think of space as that which allows movement, then
place is pause; each pause in movement makes it possible for location to be
transformed into place. (2001, 6)

Space functions as an emotionally blank concept, or as Tuan puts it, as

something that can be equated with continuous movement and conse-
quently the inability to inscribe meaning. The moment one pauses and

4
It is interesting to note Tuan’s comment that modern cities have no planned front and
back, with the possible frontal side, or entrance, marked only by highways leading toward it
(2001, 42).
34 M. LUKIĆ

observes a particular space, an emotional inscription occurs transforming

it into a place. More precisely, the abstract quality of the idea of space
becomes replaced by a specific emotional experience expressed through
the notion of place. The argument then continues with the theoretical
outlining of the perception of these two concepts. While space, although
being a theoretically abstract notion, exists through what Tuan calls “expe-
riential perspective”, or, more precisely, through “the experience of kines-
thesia, sight, and touch” (2001, 12), and is therefore susceptible to a
certain physical and reality-based boundaries, the idea of place encom-
passes and defies all fixed limitations. In Tuan’s understanding, a place can
be “as small as the corner of the room or as large as the earth itself”, mak-
ing it in turn obvious that “most definitions of place are quite arbitrary”
(1979, 421). The idea of the arbitrary nature of places expanded rapidly
through the work of a number of authors, each challenging or exploring
different aspects of the relationship and mutual perpetuation of space and
place, or the polyvalent nature of place itself, a site whose endless possibili-
ties offered an equally endless number of interpretations. Edward Relph
and his Place and Placelessness (1976), in which he echoes Tuan by discuss-
ing the problem of place as a concept that we simultaneously use but are
also emotionally connected to, and David Seamon, whose analysis in
Geography of the Lifeworld: Movement, Rest, and Encounter (1979) focused
on expanding the understanding of the role of the body in relation to
space, were soon followed by more progressive researchers. In Feminism
and Geography: The Limits of Geographical Knowledge (1993), Gillian
Rose proposed an alternative reading of domestic spaces and criticized the
patriarchal understanding of home as proposed by authors such as Gaston
Bachelard,5 Tuan, and other early (human) geographers. At the same time,
David Harvey, in a series of different readings, focused on the neoliberal
discourse and globalization, discussing/debating the role of place in rela-
tion to notions such as capital and its threatening mobility. The idea of
place becomes even more abstract through the readings of Marc Augé,
and his introduction of the concept of non-places (Non-Places: Introduction
to an Anthropology of Supermodernity (1995)), where a place is now char-
acterized by mobility itself and as such becomes “essentially the space of

5
Although it predates Tuan’s research, Gaston Bachelard’s The Poetics of Space (1958) suc-
cessfully articulates some place-based qualities relating to the concept of home. However, his
argumentations were later on challenged through the readings of authors such as Gillian
Rose, Doreen Massey, bell hooks, and others.
 2 MAPPING HORROR 35

travelers” (Cresswell 2014, 46), or through the attempt to localize and

understand the role of place in the age of the internet as presented by
Nigel Thrift who declared that place was now “compromised” and “per-
manently in a state of enunciation, between addresses, always deferred”
(1994, 212).

Locating the Myths

Although all of these discourses have interpretative value, and some of
them will be used in later chapters to address certain narrative, spatial, and
genre-bound specificities, their primary function in the analysis of the
early developing phases of the genre is that of an indicator of the fluidity
and theoretical diversity of the concept of place. However, most of these
early readings undertaken within the spatial theoretical framework can be
limited to the above-mentioned paradigms elaborated by Soja and Tuan.
Soja’s idea of the trialectics of space makes up a (spatial) system that per-
petuates itself into a continuous completion while simultaneously reaf-
firming the horrific nature of life during the formative years of the
American nation. A revisiting of the previously mentioned four themes, as
proposed by Allan Lloyd Smith, which influenced the early American
gothic creativity—the Puritan heritage, the frontier, racism, and political
utopianism—and the application of Soja’s trialectics—this time within the
larger context of a national discourse, instead of the theoretical explora-
tion of each individual theme—allows for a rather detailed mapping and
insight into the socio-cultural landscape of American romanticism. The
merging of the proposed theoretical reading with these problematic
themes results in the evidencing of a system binarity structured between
the utopian political discourse, strongly infused with the Puritan philo-
sophical thought, and the violent heritage perpetuated through the inter-
activity of the frontier experience and racism issues. While on the one
hand, as previously mentioned, the political paradigm perpetuates the
immaculate image of the (white) settlers, and later nation, righteously
inspired by God to build the fabled “City Upon a Hill”, the realities of a
conquering and developing nation, steeped between the confrontation
with the native population, and the dependency on slavery, create a radi-
cally opposite narrative. Once again, Soja’s argument lends itself to a bet-
ter contextualization, and possibly understanding, of different readings of
both the period and the genre, as well as the tensions between various
ideologically and real-life-based issues. Smith’s thematically separated
36 M. LUKIĆ

ideas of the frontier and slavery can now be merged and observed as a
series of narratives premised on a traditional Gothic idea of otherness. The
frontier, and the derived subgenre of Frontier Gothic, presents at its core
an obsession with Indian captivity narratives. Developed as a real and fic-
tionalized interpretation of the frontier experience, as their name suggests,
the captivity narratives focused mainly on the stories of individuals or
groups who managed to survive being captured by the Native Americans.
These stories, almost exclusively portraying white characters of European
origin, were characterized by extremely violent imagery, with victims very
often being tortured, mutilated, or killed. As Matthew Wynn Sivils, among
other authors, shows, the captivity narratives were typically published
either as part of a larger work or as a stand-alone publication, a pamphlet,
or broadsheet, which allowed them to become a bestselling American
publication at the time (2014, 84–85). Sivils also points out one of the key
elements connecting the discussed Puritan heritage and the frontier expe-
rience: the tendency of Puritan dogma to further shape the experience and
perception of the unexplored wilderness and its inhabitants. He describes
how “Puritan narratives further developed the genre by refining its motifs
and by building upon the portrayal of the American wilderness as a hellish
labyrinth populated with demonic Indians” (2014, 87). The threatening
nature of this demonic infestation is additionally emphasized by the fact
that a large number of victims were women, a circumstance that opened
the imagination toward notions such as the “threat of rape, or—even
worse according to Puritan beliefs—of intermarriage with a member of a
tribe that had adopted Catholicism” (2014, 88). The result of such dog-
matic approach and subsequent rhetoric is the creation of a progressively
negative representation of the frontier region and the wilderness that char-
acterized it, as well as its inhabitants, the mythologized beastlike “wild
Indians” whose devilish nature opposed everything that was supposedly
good and righteous. David S. Reynolds, in his extensive analysis of the
social and cultural aspects of American romanticism titled Beneath the
American Renaissance, further elaborates on the cultural role and func-
tioning of these types of narratives. By categorizing them as Dark
Adventures,6 Reynolds addresses the publication trends of the period

6
In his analysis, Reynolds proposes a classification of the Romantic literary production. He
separates the antebellum adventure fiction into Romantic Adventure fiction, subdivided into
Moral Adventure and Dark Adventure, and Subversive fiction, more directly influenced by
current political discourses (2011, 183).
 2 MAPPING HORROR 37

marked by the development of mass press, but, what is even more relevant,
he also explains their popularity. While tracing the roots of the Dark
Adventures back to British Gothic fiction and European Dark Romanticism,
he states that the (sub)genre changed when it took on “distinctly American
characteristics when reinterpreted by authors who wished to find literary
correlatives for the horrific or turbulent aspects of perceived reality in the
new republic” (2011, 190). However, in its transference into literature,
the perceived reality was not conceptualized as a warning or a critique of
the violence characterizing the new republic. What was instead offered to
the public was a possibility to enjoy a continuous series of adventures
structured around an excess of exploitative imagery depicting, among
other themes, Indians indulging in a variety of horrific ordeals such as
torture, maiming, cannibalism, etc. One of the most influential captivity
narratives, as Sivils suggests, was the tale of Hannah Dustan, published by
Cotton Mather. The story, which took place in 1697, recounts a raid on
the town of Haverhill, Massachusetts, in which the members of the
Abenaki tribe captured the main protagonist (Hannah), her week-old
infant, her nursemaid, together with several other people (2014, 88).
Soon after the capture, as Sivils describes, the Abenaki murdered the infant
by smashing his head against a tree, executed a number of other people,
all of which served as the promise of further torment as soon as they
return to the Abenaki settlement. Hannah, afraid of additional torture,
decides to attempt an escape, and with the help of the nursemaid and a
young boy, she gets hold of some hatchets and successfully slays ten mem-
bers of the tribe. However, not all of them were Abenaki warriors, and
Hannah and her companions ended up killing two men, two women, and
six children. As Sivils describes, this was followed by one final act of vio-
lence: “Dustan, in a surprising act of vengeance and capitalism, scalped
each of the corpses and slipped out of the camp, back to Massachusetts
where she claimed a bounty of fifty pounds per scalp” (2014, 88).
Another similar plot can be found in a story somewhat elaborately titled
A Surprising Account of the Discovery of a Lady Who Was Taken by the
Indians in the Year 1777, and After Making her Escape, She Retired to a
Lonely Cave, Where She Lived Nine Years. Written as a fictional account of
a captivity experience, the story takes shape of a letter from a certain
Abraham Panther to an unknown friend, and it recounts the unfortunate
tale of a young lady Panther encountered while living in a cave on one of
his hunting expeditions into the wilderness. As it is soon discovered, the
young woman escaped her home with a man who was deemed unsuitable
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desiderandolo, lo avrebbe cercato? — E pure questo era necessario
e doveroso: necessario per la sua pace e per il suo avvenire;
doveroso verso la giovinetta, che poteva illudersi su le sue intenzioni
e soffrire immeritatamente per la sua debolezza.
Ma se la nonna o l’abitudine o la sorte lo avessero ricondotto presso
di lei? Se si fosse trovato un’altra volta solo con lei in uno di quei
momenti di tristezza e d’abbandono, in cui non si risponde dei proprii
atti e delle proprie parole? Se la catena fosse ribadita un giorno,
inaspettatamente, con una frase, con un gesto, in sèguito a un
movimento repentino e concorde delle due anime già pronte a
fondersi? Ciò non era fuori della possibilità: il cammino degli uomini
non è quasi mai segnato dai grandi fatti, preparati di lunga mano e
pazientemente voluti; ma dai piccoli episodii imprevisti, dalle
circostanze sempre mutevoli, dalle risoluzioni subitanee e
inconsiderate, che impongon poi serie responsabilità e provocano,
come dirette conseguenze, gli avvenimenti più gravi e decisivi della
vita!
In tal caso, egli da un momento all’altro si sarebbe trovato di fronte a
un fatto compiuto, all’irreparabile, all’oscuro problema dell’amor
casto, della passione corrisposta e insodisfatta, al bivio spinoso della
conquista estrema o dell’estrema rinuncia!
Lentamente, trascinato dall’ardore dell’imaginazione, egli si diede a
esaminare questa possibilità, come già si fosse avverata; a
sviscerare con sottile analisi il problema, per ricercarne tra le varie
soluzioni quella che sola avrebbe salvato insieme il suo Ideale e la
tranquillità della sua coscienza. Pensava: «Io potrei sempre fuggirla,
anche più tardi, anche quando fosse sopravvenuto un accordo
esplicito tra noi: la partenza dalla villa mi separerebbe
necessariamente da lei, e il tempo e la lontananza sanerebbero poi
ogni ferita. Ma, secondando in questo modo gli eventi, non
commetterei un’azione obliqua e sleale? Non mi farei complice d’un
inganno consapevolmente, volontariamente, colpevolmente?»
Aurelio si rammentò di quell’Altro, del primo adoratore di Flavia, il
quale aveva agito precisamente così ed egli aveva con tanta
severità giudicato; ed ebbe un moto di rivolta morale contro sè
stesso, contro il suo pensiero che s’era per un istante compiaciuto
nella certezza d’una comoda liberazione. «Ah, no, no! Io questo non
farò mai! Non mi sottrarrò mai per paura o per calcolo alle
responsabilità assunte! Io sono diverso, sostanzialmente diverso da
codesta gente borghese, che pecca per debolezza e si rinfranca per
viltà. Altro sangue scorre nelle mie vene; e altra legge presiede alla
mia condotta. Se un giorno per disgrazia dovessi trovarmi legato a
Flavia da una promessa, da una semplice confessione d’amore,
saprei senza dubbio sopportarne con dignità qualunque
conseguenza... Ma qual conseguenza? «Flavia era zitella, in quella
età nella quale tutte le speranze e tutte le forze della donna tendono
a toglierla dalla casa paterna per creare una casa propria, per
ottenere da un nuovo stato l’indipendenza di sè stessa e la direzione
d’una famiglia. Ogni intesa sentimentale con lei presupponeva
dunque una conclusione unica e necessaria; egli, confidandole il suo
amore, si sarebbe moralmente obbligato a darle il suo nome, a
chiamarla compagna della sua vita, a consacrarle intero il suo
avvenire; egli, salvo casi imprevedibili, avrebbe dovuto sposarla!
«Sposarla?!» egli esclamò stupefatto dal suono stesso della parola,
levandosi d’un tratto a sedere. Ed ebbe una specie di sussulto intimo
istintivo, simile a quello che si prova talvolta quando, camminando
distratti per le vie, ci sembra d’udire improvvisamente il rullo
minaccioso d’un carro dietro le spalle e ci si avvede poi, rivolgendoci
spauriti, che il carro passa senza nostro pericolo dall’opposto lato
della strada. Aurelio sorrise sùbito del suo stupore ingiustificato e del
suo atto repentino: la sola enunciazione della cosa gli parve così
enorme e quasi così assurda che assunse, nel suo spirito calmo e
sereno, aspetto ridicolo.
«Che cosa buffa, la vita!» egli si disse, sogghignando e scotendo il
capo: «Sposarla?! In verità, basterebbe quest’unica prospettiva a
tenermi recluso nella mia camera per un anno intero!»
Il suo pensiero, abituato alle gravi meditazioni, parve sdegnare
l’argomento che non era a bastanza serio e positivo; si distrasse per
qualche istante nella contemplazione delle cose remote, del lento
declinare dei colli dalla parte d’Arona, dove il lago sembrava
allargarsi infinitamente come un mare morto. Il vento cessava: le
barche calavano le vele a una a una, malinconicamente, e
prendevan da lontano l’apparenza d’insetti bizzarri che
camminassero a passi faticosi sul piano delle acque. Il piroscafo,
ingrandito dalla vicinanza, entrava fischiando nella baja di Laveno.
Di nuovo però, dopo la percezione della pace circostante, Aurelio,
(proprio come chi abbia temuto un pericolo anche imaginario), fu
tratto a mano a mano, senza volerlo, a costruire compiutamente
quella vaga possibilità e a considerarla con riflessione, quasi fosse
già sul punto d’effettuarsi. — Chi era dunque costei? Egli la
conosceva da poco tempo e poco la conosceva: era per lui
un’estranea, un’ignota piombata d’improvviso nella sua esistenza
per impadronirsi d’una parte del suo essere, per contendergli la
libertà del suo tempo, forse per troncare il filo del suo destino. Nelle
ore che aveva vissute con lei, ella gli era bene apparsa sotto le
forme esteriori più lusinghevoli, ma nulla gli aveva rivelato dell’anima
sua, de’ suoi gusti, de’ suoi istinti, de’ suoi desiderii, della sua intima
essenza. Era ella buona? era sincera? era pura? Non celava forse,
sotto la dolcezza del sembiante e l’innocenza degli sguardi, la
vergogna o la smania insodisfatta d’un fallo, la maligna curiosità
della donna indifferente o la terribile leggerezza della donna vana,
desiosa di lusso, di piaceri, di licenza? Aveva veramente amato
quell’Altro? Cedeva ora di nuovo alla passione, o la fingeva per
giuoco e per vanità? Era dunque capace d’amare, di sacrificarsi, di
comprendere e d’offrirsi? — Egli non sapeva nulla, nulla! E quel
lembo stesso del suo passato, che gli aveva voluto scoprire, lasciava
l’adito a mille supposizioni diverse, non rendeva se non più oscuro e
inquietante il mistero della sua bellezza.
E la sua famiglia? Era essa degna d’imparentarsi con lui? I Boris
erano d’infima origine: insòrti solo da pochi anni dal torbido gregge
degli umili, essi erano giunti rapidamente all’agiatezza e forse omai
all’opulenza per le vie tortuose della speculazione e dell’intrigo. Il
padre Boris, che portava il titolo d’ingegnere senza esercitarne la
professione, era notissimo in Milano come amministratore d’alcune
grandi famiglie e come iniziatore di parecchie imprese più o meno
fortunate. Coinvolto nei più gravi disastri finanziarii, che avevano
scosso negli ultimi tempi la metropoli lombarda, egli n’era sempre
uscito senz’onta e senza danno, acquistando anzi, a traverso le
stesse disavventure della sua instancabile avidità, reputazione e
stima sempre maggiori. Ora al sommo della possanza, egli ambiva a
divenire un uomo pubblico, a conquistare un posto autorevole, a
insediarsi comodamente al Comune tra i degni rappresentanti del
Popolo che lavora e che soffre. Attivo, astuto, intraprendente, egli
poteva dirsi il tipo perfetto della nuova classe dominatrice, che sa
sfruttare con esperta mano il giovine albero della libertà; egli era
veramente l’incarnazione della odierna borghesia trionfante, sorretta
da un egoismo feroce, capace di qualunque simulazione,
prosternata fino a terra d’innanzi all’altare dell’Oro.
Per un uomo simile, il matrimonio dell’unica figliuola con un nobile
d’illustri origini, sarebbe stato certo il coronamento d’un gran sogno,
il trionfo più insigne di sua vita. Con ogni probabilità, in quel giorno,
avrebbe in fine aperto i forzieri gelosi, dov’era andato accumulando il
frutto della sua perspicacia, e dai lastrici, pazientemente battuti
anche negli anni della fortuna, si sarebbe compiaciuto di veder
trascorrere in cocchio per le vie popolose la contessa sua figlia,
rifulgente di beltà e d’orgoglio. — Ma poteva egli, Aurelio Imberido,
accettare un contratto di quel genere? Poteva vendere il suo nome
alla vacua ambizione d’un plebeo arricchito? Ed era certo che Flavia
lo avrebbe sposato per lui e non per la vanità, comune a tutte le
femmine, di divenire la moglie d’un nobile?
Aurelio pensò alla rovina economica e sociale di tante magnifiche
schiatte, private nell’ultimo secolo d’ogni potestà, scomparse
lentamente nelle tenebre per lasciare il posto ai nuovi venuti; pensò
alla sua stessa famiglia, già un poco corrotta nel sangue, piombata
nell’indigenza, forse vicina a scomparire per sempre con lui dalla
faccia della terra. E per un istante l’idea d’un figliuolo, d’un erede,
d’un continuatore occupò tutta la sua mente; fece tacere in lui ogni
scrupolo morale, ogni timore, ogni objezione dell’amor proprio. Non
aveva egli un dovere da adempiere verso i suoi maggiori, che gli
avevan trasmesso un nome glorioso e un’impronta profonda di
superiorità? Non era egli in obbligo di conservare quel nome e
quell’impronta alle generazioni venture? E perchè dunque non
avrebbe seguito l’esempio di tanti suoi pari, i quali, spogliati dei loro
averi e delle loro attribuzioni, s’erano risollevati, accettando
un’alleanza di sangue con quegli stessi che li avevano sopraffatti?
«Ah, no, no!» egli gridò d’un tratto, in una ribellione di tutta la sua
coscienza. Quei suoi pari egli aveva sempre disapprovati; li aveva
anche condannati ne’ suoi scritti come i più acerrimi nemici della
tradizione aristocratica; poichè, portando un nome superbo, lo
avevano esautorato e avvilito, mercanteggiandolo, cedendolo su la
piazza al maggiore offerente. I figli di costoro, se pure potevan
chiamarsi per forma i legittimi discendenti di stirpi illustri, avevan
però nelle loro vene un sangue spurio, eran bastardi creati da un
connubio ineguale, espulsi da un alvo plebeo, cresciuti in un
ambiente corrotto. La nobiltà non aveva più alcuna ragion d’essere,
se non cercava di mantenersi immune dal contagio borghese, se
non sapeva conservarsi estranea e indifferente al trionfo fittizio dei
finanzieri e dei bottegai. Questi eran riusciti a usurparne le
ricchezze? la nobiltà, per riconquistarle innanzi tempo, non doveva,
no, cedere ad essi il più sicuro de’ suoi privilegi: quello del nome e
del sangue.
Così l’Imberido aveva crudamente asserito in uno degli ultimi articoli
pubblicati su la Rivista, che tante discussioni e tante critiche aveva
sollevate tra i suoi stessi ammiratori. Ora, che valore avrebbero poi
avuto la sua parola e il suo apostolato, quand’egli avesse in tal guisa
trasgredito alle sue massime sociali? E con che severità l’atto
contradittorio sarebbe stato giudicato, non solo dagli avversarii, ma
dai medesimi suoi amici? Certo, tutto il suo piano sarebbe d’un colpo
crollato sotto il peso della diffidenza e del ridicolo, e le macerie
avrebbero sepolto per sempre il suo decoro e la sua ambizione.
Sarebbe in sèguito bastata la ricchezza a compensarlo di tanta
perdita? E avrebbe egli potuto sopportare un’esistenza da parassita
gaudente nella casa d’un estraneo? Ahimè, egli non avrebbe durato
un mese in una condizione simile: con il suo orgoglio e con la sua
ombrosità, in ogni sguardo della moglie o del suocero avrebbe letto
un tacito rinfacciamento, un’affermazione di padronanza su di lui,
un’intenzione di sindacato su le sue azioni, assolutamente
intollerabili. Egli, per sottrarsi alla tortura umiliante dei sospetti e dei
rimproveri, sarebbe andato ben presto alla ricerca d’un guadagno,
d’una qualunque occupazione proficua, del più umile degli impieghi.
E così la sua vita si sarebbe consumata inutilmente in opere ingrate
e ingloriose, al contatto di gente diversa da lui, tra i rimpianti
implacabili d’un bel sogno volontariamente distrutto.
«No!» egli esclamò, concludendo quel sèguito serrato di
considerazioni. «Io non mi credo degno d’una tal sorte! Io non mi
voglio trovare nella necessità morale di sacrificarmi! Suprema jattura
sarebbe per me s’io sposassi Flavia: io debbo dunque fin d’ora
evitarla, fuggirla, dimenticarla.»
La sua mente era stanca; la luce intensa del pomeriggio, che
s’insinuava a poco a poco tra i fusti sottili, aveva appesantite le sue
palpebre. Il giovine chiuse gli occhi, s’abbandonò con un moto lento,
supino su l’erba, sostenendosi il capo con le due mani intrecciate
dietro l’occipite.
Una gran calma si faceva dentro di lui: il suo pensiero, affaticato dal
lungo dibattito, ottuso dalla canicola, parve distendersi mollemente,
come il suo corpo, in un’inerzia sonnolenta. Qualche imagine vaga e
indistinta si rifletté per un attimo su lo sfondo rossastro delle
palpebre abbassate, si modificò, si trasformò, disparve. D’un tratto il
sembiante di Flavia, sorridente e con gli sguardi luminosi, si disegnò
ben chiaro nello spazio fantastico, e diede una sùbita accelerazione
ai palpiti del cuore. Alcune parole risonarono disperse nel silenzio
del suo cervello, come proferite all’orecchio di lui da una ben nota
voce femminea: «Ho amato e non amerò più.....» Poi, sùbito: «È
vero: gli assomiglia negli occhi, nella bocca, specialmente quando
parla e ride...» In fine: «L’avevo mal giudicato. Ella in vece è un
uomo di cuore, di molto cuore.....»
Egli si scosse con un movimento brusco di tutto il corpo, aperse gli
occhi, li fissò, abbacinati e come ciechi, d’innanzi a sè, sul
paesaggio inondato dal sole.
Il più piccolo romore non rompeva il sonno della natura: non un
soffio di vento, non un murmure d’acque, non una voce, non un
latrato, non un’eco di lavoro lontano.
Istintivamente, offesi dal chiarore, i suoi sguardi s’abbassarono
verso il suolo: a pochi passi da lui, su una zolla nuda tra i ciuffi arsi
dell’erbe, giaceva riverso il corpo esanime d’una grossa lucertola
con il capo schiacciato. La minuscola spoglia, abbandonata dal
destino in quel luogo deserto, attrasse l’attenzione del giovine. Egli
pensò, osservandola, alla fragilità di tutti gli organismi viventi,
all’inutilità d’ogni esistenza, al potere formidabile della Morte, che
nessuno risparmia, che ogni essere indifferentemente colpisce.
Contava egli nell’armonia dell’universo più di quella semplice
creatura inconscia, che il piede d’un fanciullo era bastato ad
arrestare d’un tratto nel suo cammino e a distruggere? Aveva egli
una sorte diversa dalla sua?
Una profonda mestizia l’invase. Egli sentì il tempo fluire
irreparabilmente, le cose disperdersi nella vanità dello spazio, le
ambizioni e i desiderii perire. Egli sentì che la vita è triste, e che oltre
la vita son tristi anche le speranze.
E una voce ammonitrice gli disse:
«Guardati dalla Chimera! Il tuo sogno è fastidioso, è stupido, è vano.
Affrèttati, giovine, a godere quello che la realità ti offre, prima che le
tenebre ti circondino.»
E la stessa voce sùbito dopo soggiunse:
«È vero che la vita è breve, e i suoi piaceri son caduchi e velenosi.
Perché dunque vivere di realità e non d’illusioni? Un giorno tutto sarà
nulla: che importerà allora se tu avrai goduto o avrai solamente
sognato?»
 VIII.
Una festa.

Da tre lunghi dì Aurelio Imberido non si faceva più vedere dalle

vicine. Chiuso nella sua camera quasi tutta la giornata, egli lavorava
con gran lena, si sprofondava nelle più gravi letture, dominava così i
suoi desiderii fino a illudersi d’essersene interamente liberato. Ogni
sera poi, sùbito dopo il pranzo, usciva dal palazzo prima che le Boris
avessero occupato il rialto, si dilungava in prolisse passeggiate
meditative su i colli circostanti, e, approfittando del plenilunio, non
rientrava in casa che a notte inoltrata, quando era ben sicuro di non
più incontrarle.
Il quarto giorno (era di domenica) donna Marta, che aveva già dato
qualche segno manifesto di mal umore, apparve inaspettatamente
su la soglia della sua stanza, mentr’egli stava a tavolino scrivendo, e
gli disse con accento imperioso che non ammetteva contradizioni:
— Scusa se ti disturbo. Bada che questa sera siamo invitati in casa
Boris. Non si può mancare, perché l’invito ci viene dall’ingegnere
medesimo e si tratta d’una festa di famiglia: del compleanno di
Flavia. Alle sei precise tròvati abbasso: io ti aspetterò.
Gittato uno sguardo dominatore sul nipote, richiuse con uno strappo
brusco l’uscio e disparve.
Quando donna Marta al braccio d’Aurelio entrò nella sala dei Boris,
la conversazione vi ferveva animatissima. Il luogo era quasi oscuro:
dalle anguste finestre penetrava un chiaror pallido che lasciava in
ombra la maggior parte del vano; in quell’ombra irriconoscibili eran
sedute diverse persone, che all’apparire dei due invitati si alzarono,
interrompendo i loro discorsi.
L’ingegnere si fece incontro a essi, facendo un profondo inchino
cerimonioso e un gesto largo con le mani come per abbracciarli:
— Signora contessa, quale onore.... Signor conte, son ben lieto di
rivederla in casa mia...
Porse mollemente la destra alla vecchia signora e ad Aurelio che,
stringendola, provò di nuovo a quel contatto languido e passivo un
senso di ripugnanza, invincibile. Poi chiamò a sè gli altri invitati, e
fece le presentazioni.
— Donna Marta Imberido, il conte Imberido, suo nipote; l’avvocato
Maurizio Siena, il mio giovine amico Giorgio Ugenti.
Aurelio sorrise ironicamente, abbassando il capo d’avanti a due
giovinotti quasi imberbi, uno altissimo e sottile, l’altro basso e
tarchiato, che s’affrettarono a stringer la mano a sua nonna e a lui,
senza un atto di sussiego o di deferenza, con grande semplicità,
come tra camerati.
Donna Marta sedette sul divano insieme con Luisa; i quattro uomini
si fermarono a discorrere in mezzo della sala. L’Ugenti, il più alto,
biondo, con due esigui baffi su una bocca freschissima e un gran
naso cartilaginoso e arcuato in mezzo alla faccia oblunga, parlava
del gran caldo in città, delle sue occupazioni faticose, del desiderio,
per lui ineffettuabile, di passare una quindicina di giorni libero e
tranquillo alla campagna. L’altro, un tipo ebraico dall’espressione
penetrante e sarcastica, nerissimo d’occhi e di capelli e olivastro di
carnagione, asseriva in vece, sogghignando, che la città non è mai
così piacevole come in estate, quando la società elegante l’ha
disertata e le notti brevi son tepide come giorni di primavera senza la
noja del sole. Incerto tra i due, l’ingegnere ascoltava entrambi con
visibile compiacenza, e approvava a tratti indifferentemente or l’uno
or l’altro con un cenno rapido del capo, con un’interjezione
ammirativa, con qualche breve osservazione in cui si ripetevan sotto
forma diversa le stesse cose dette prima da’ suoi interlocutori.
Mentre i tre discorrevano, Aurelio, muto nel crocchio, considerava
con attenzione il padre Boris, che rivolto verso la finestra era in
piena luce. Il suo viso rugoso dai lineamenti grossolani, dalle labbra
sottili, dalle mascelle robuste, dalla fronte stretta, limitata da una
folta capigliatura setolosa, sarebbe parso quello d’un contadino, se
non fosse stato corretto da due fedine diplomatiche, a pena un po’
brizzolate alle estremità. Alto, ossuto, muscoloso, quell’uomo, non
ostante la potenza della sua complessione, aveva nei gesti, nelle
attitudini, nel suono della voce, sopra tutto negli sguardi, una
espressione così mite, umile o paurosa, che a poco a poco d’avanti
agli occhi dell’osservatore perdeva ogni apparenza di forza e di
salute. Sopra tutto i suoi sguardi eran degni di studio e d’attenzione
— pallidi sguardi obliqui e pietosi, che si volgevano in torno
pateticamente come per rassicurare, per confortare, per ammansare
un nemico o per procurarsi un complice; pallidi sguardi indulgenti,
che sembravan dire a chiunque si dirigevano: «Tranquillizzati: io non
ti voglio rovinare; io ti desidero amico; io non ti tradirò mai, se per
caso conoscerò un tuo fallo segreto; noi siamo fatti per intenderci e
per ajutarci a vicenda.» Il giovine, a ogni incontro de’ suoi con quegli
sguardi ambigui, sentiva crescer dentro l’ostilità sorda che nudriva
contro il Boris, come una specie d’antipatia di razza che glie ne
rendeva intollerabile perfino la vicinanza.
Una porta s’aperse. La signora Teresa entrò, dicendo a voce alta:
— Signori, la zuppa è in tavola.
Portava un abito pomposo da teatro, di tinta viva, quasi scollacciato,
tutto adorno di trine preziose, scintillante di vetri e d’ori. Flavia, in
una veste bianca semplicissima, la seguiva recando nella mano una
lucerna.
Si scambiarono saluti e augurii; l’ingegnere presentò agli Imberido
una sua sorella, esile e smunta, ch’era entrata nella stanza,
inosservata, dietro la signorina Boris; poi tutti, confusamente, si
diressero verso la sala da pranzo, conversando, ridendo, annusando
il buon odore che si propagava in torno dalla cucina contigua.
Aurelio veniva ultimo al fianco di Luisa. Questa, a un tratto, si
appoggiò fortemente al suo braccio e gli disse piano all’orecchio,
indicandogli l’ebreo che li precedeva:
— Vede? è un pretendente alla mano di Flavia! Chi sa che stasera
non si combini qualche cosa in famiglia!
Diede in una risatina acutissima, guardò bene il giovine negli occhi,
e lo lasciò bruscamente senz’altro aggiungere, correndo innanzi alla
conquista del suo posto.
La mensa, ben rischiarata dalle sedici fiamme di due alti candelabri
di bronzo, aveva un aspetto di gran lusso. L’argenteria copiosa e
massiccia, il vasellame miniato in oro, la finezza della biancheria
cifrata e frangiata, parlavano in vero della ricchezza degli ospiti, ma
rivelavano altresì, nella loro lucente e inestetica novità, la
recentissima fortuna di questi e il loro gusto volgare nel prediligere i
prodotti dell’industria moderna alle creazioni dell’arte. Nessuna cosa
memore, nessun oggetto singolare rompeva su quella tavola
oblunga la monotona uniformità di quegli utensili comuni, segnati da
un marchio esatto, fusi in cavi inesauribili o copiati da mani
mercenarie, simili in tutto a mille altri utensili offerti nelle vetrine delle
botteghe all’anonima richiesta dei passanti.
Sedettero intorno alla mensa l’ingegnere, tra donna Marta e Flavia,
poi in ordine l’avvocato Siena, la signora Teresa, Aurelio, Luisa,
l’Ugenti e in fine la sorella del Boris. Aurelio aveva quasi di fronte
Flavia e il pretendente, che lo guardava sotto le lenti da miope con
un’ostinazione pressochè offensiva.
Le conversazioni non tardarono a esser riprese con grande vivacità.
L’Ugenti, espansivo e ciarliero, aveva prima tenuti allegri i
commensali con i racconti delle sue prodezze infantili, che lo avevan
reso uno tra i più temuti e i più battuti fanciulli terribili; ora il Siena,
per contrasto, li annoiava tutti, narrando con pedanteria curialesca e
con una certa solennità di gesti e di parole il caso d’un giovinetto
perverso, che egli aveva in quell’anno difeso d’avanti al tribunale per
ferimento volontario d’un coetaneo e che, assolto per merito suo, era
stato poi rinchiuso in una casa di correzione. La sua voce tra
gutturale e nasale, regolata da una cantilena continua, a ogni
minima interruzione s’elevava bruscamente di tono e squillava come
per dominare un tumulto.
Udendolo, osservandolo, Aurelio pensava: «Flavia lo potrà amare?
potrà esser felice con un uomo simile?» E le parole maligne di Luisa
gli tornavano alla mente, riempiendogli l’animo di rancore e di
desolazione. Pensava: «È possibile ch’ella accetti? È possibile che
ella non sappia distinguere? ch’ella sia affatto indifferente tra me e
lui? che almeno, ricordandosi di me, non abbia un’esitazione prima
d’acconsentire?» Guardava ora la giovinetta, che pareva
attentissima al discorso dell’ebreo. Nulla sul suo viso che indicasse il
più tenue turbamento sentimentale, un passaggio di memorie, un
assalto di rimpianti, uno sforzo della volontà per nascondere agli
estranei l’intima sua inquietudine. Ella, che aveva riso con
spontanea gajezza ai racconti dell’Ugenti, ascoltava adesso seria
seria la cantilena prolissa e tediosa dell’altro, senza un moto
d’impazienza, senza mai rivolgere uno sguardo fuggevole a lui che
fissandola lo chiedeva.
Aurelio pensò, vedendo accanto a lei il Boris: «Ella è la figlia di
quell’uomo basso e volgare. Qual maraviglia se ne ha ereditato gli
istinti e le ambizioni? Il pretendente deve esser ricco, avaro e
laborioso: ecco tre ragioni formidabili per non rifiutarlo.» Egli
considerò a più riprese, alternativamente, il padre e la figliuola,
cercandone le rassomiglianze. In verità costui, non ostante la rozza
semplicità del sembiante, poteva ben dirsi la maschera deforme di
lei: aveva la medesima fronte angusta, lo stesso color grigio degli
occhi, un’analoga struttura del capo; perfino la bocca grande e quasi
sdentata rammentava quella bellissima della erede nel colorito
acceso della pelle, nel sorriso, specialmente in una certa piega
amara, che si formava nei momenti d’attenzione a un angolo delle
labbra. Erano entrambi dello stesso sangue, discesi per linea diretta
l’una dall’altro, frutti successivi d’un medesimo albero, le cui radici
s’affondavano in un terreno incolto e malnoto; dovevan dunque agire
entrambi sotto identici impulsi, correre verso una mèta comune,
desiderare un unico destino!
«Ma perchè m’occupo tanto di lei?» egli si domandò d’un tratto.
«Che mi fa s’ella sposa quell’ebreo pedante a preferenza d’un
qualunque altro? Io, certo, non la sposerò mai. Dunque?» Cercò di
sottrarsi in qualche modo al pensiero molesto che lo perseguitava, di
cancellare dalla memoria la confidenza insidiosa della bionda. Volse
perciò in giro uno sguardo indagatore ai suoi commensali: notò che
l’ingegnere e sua sorella portavan spesso il coltello alla bocca, se ne
servivano per scalcare il pesce, non indugiavano per semplicità a
metter le dita sul piatto; anche notò che la sorella in distrazione
s’asciugava talvolta le labbra e il mento col lembo della tovaglia.
S’accorse, osservando bene il giovine Ugenti, che questo teneva
appeso alla catena dell’orologio un distintivo a lui ben noto, la
medaglietta d’argento con l’effigie di Carlo Marx, l’apostolo del
Socialismo. S’accorse che il Siena aveva le unghie lunghe, adunche,
non ben polite. Un senso istintivo di molestia, d’insofferenza, quasi di
soffocazione, quel senso che assale spesso nelle strette d’una
calca, si diffuse rapidamente nel suo essere, parve salirgli alla gola e
stringerla a forza, rendendogli impossibile di trangugiare un sol
boccone di più. Egli si sentiva male tra quella gente diversa da lui; si
sentiva assolutamente isolato, poichè anche sua nonna, in
quell’ambiente ch’era già stato il suo, s’era a poco a poco
dimenticata delle abitudini apprese, s’era confusa con gli altri e
discorreva ora animatissimamente con la sorella del Boris, come si
discorre soltanto con una sua simile.
La signora Teresa si volse a lui e gli disse per la decima volta:
— Perchè non mangia? Perchè non beve?
Egli rispose:
— Grazie, ne ho a bastanza. Io mangio sempre poco....
— Ma se non ha mangiato niente! Via, conte, si faccia coraggio!....
Prenda ancora qualche cosa, almeno per farmi piacere.
E gli afferrò il piatto, glie lo riempì di nuovo fino all’orlo.
Il pranzo era interminabile. L’ingegnere, un po’ acceso dalle
abondanti libazioni, proponeva ora una gita in compagnia sul
Motterone per una delle domeniche successive; e il Siena, sempre
freddo e solenne, si scusava di non poter parteciparvi in causa delle
sue occupazioni, salvo che non la si rimandasse almeno di due
settimane.
— Ah, — gridò d’un tratto l’Ugenti; — non vorrei poi che coincidesse
proprio col giorno delle elezioni, perchè in tal caso dovrei mancar io,
e ne sarei desolatissimo.
— E che ti fa se ci sono le elezioni? — chiese ridendo il Boris.
— Caro ingegnere, la disciplina del partito esige la mia presenza. Se
ciascuno s’astenesse per una causa o per un’altra fidandosi del voto
dei correligionari, nessuno naturalmente voterebbe, e gli avversarii, i
cari borghesi, trionferebbero in eterno. Nel caso presente poi si tratta
d’una grande battaglia; e la vittoria sarà certo strepitosa per noi
socialisti purchè si vada tutti compatti alle urne.
Il Boris rise del suo riso blando, pieno d’indulgenza, e disse
scotendo il capo:
— E quando bene avrete vinto?....
— Avremo un deputato di più al Parlamento: saremo su la via di
diventar maggioranza e di imporre le nostre leggi anche a chi non le
vuole.
— Lei crede? — chiese l’Imberido con sottile ironia.
— Fermamente, — rispose serio e convinto il giovine, volgendosi a
lui senza rancore. — Noi siamo i trionfatori del domani, poiché la
nostra idea va guadagnando, ogni dì più, terreno e potenza.
— Dica meglio: la loro retorica, perché l’idea è piuttosto astrusa e
complicata e non si presta troppo ad adattarsi nelle teste ottuse in
cui la si vorrebbe trapiantare. Ma ammettiamo pure che sia l’Idea
che trionfi, ammettiamo pure che i socialisti si conquistino tutti i
cinquecento seggi del Parlamento; io nego sempre che i loro sogni
febbrili possano per questo semplice fatto divenire realtà, come nego
che l’êra della felicità universale abbia a essere mercè loro
inaugurata.
— E perché, di grazia? — domandò l’Ugenti sempre con grande
cortesia.
— Perché l’avvento del Socialismo non esige soltanto una riforma
economica e sociale, già un poco fantastica com’è quella che si
propone; ma sopra tutto una riforma delle anime e delle coscienze.
Esige un’umanità diversa dalla nostra, rinnovata dalle fondamenta;
esige l’abolizione assoluta di tutti gli istinti e i sentimenti che
animano o muovono gli uomini sul nostro povero pianeta. Questo,
almeno che io sappia, non si può ottenere né con la ragione né con
la forza: e non lo si otterrà, mi creda, nemmeno con una legge votata
all’unanimità dal suo Parlamento di socialisti.
L’Ugenti che, mentre Aurelio parlava, continuava a scrollare il capo
in atto di diniego, s’alzò bruscamente in piedi per rispondere con
maggior forza a’ suoi argomenti. Il Siena però, attento e impassibile
al suo posto, lo prevenne.
— Io non sono socialista, — egli disse con la sua voce nasale, con il
suo accento cattedratico — o almeno non sono collettivista nel
senso etimologico della parola. L’abolizione della proprietà privata è,
secondo me, una riforma ineffettuabile. Ma, ciò non ostante, mi
guardo bene dal giudicare il Socialismo con la severità sdegnosa e
con l’antipatia manifesta con cui il signor Imberido lo condanna. Lo
spettacolo delle sofferenze umane, delle ingiustizie sociali non mi
può lasciare inerte, estraneo, indifferente a osservarle o a
giustificarle. Io considero quindi le nuove teorie come il risultato
ancora imperfetto d’una ricerca nobile e generosa per alleviare le
une e per rimediare alle altre. Sotto questo aspetto, bisogna
riconoscerlo, il Socialismo è un’idea altamente rispettabile, che
merita l’appoggio di tutti i buoni e il soccorso di tutti gli intelligenti.
L’Ugenti, ch’era rimasto ritto in piedi, approvò romorosamente; il
Boris stesso annuì col capo, sorridendo; Flavia, che aveva fatto
cenni palesi d’assentimento a ogni pausa dell’avvocato, battè in fine
le mani e gridò con trasporto, guardando per la prima volta negli
occhi l’Imberido:
— È vero! È vero!
Allora un’esasperazione subitanea prese Aurelio. L’antipatia fisica,
che provava contro l’avvocato pedante, il pensiero geloso che Flavia
fosse per appartenergli, il rancore, che avevan mosso in lui quelle
approvazioni concordi e specialmente l’esclamazione entusiastica
della giovinetta, lo fecero sussultare su la sedia e atteggiare il viso a
un’espressione amara di disprezzo e di sarcasmo. Egli disse con la
voce aspra e altezzosa:
— Questa è appunto la parte retorica del Socialismo, alla quale
accennavo pocanzi e che costituisce tutto il suo fascino e tutta la sua
virtù. Ma la retorica è sempre stata retorica; e con le vuote
promesse, con le false lusinghe, con le descrizioni fantastiche d’un
meccanismo sociale imperfettibile, non si ha, no, il diritto di mettere a
soqquadro il mondo intero, d’aizzare le masse brute alla ribellione, di
preparare al prossimo avvenire giorni criminosi di stragi, di rapine e
di vandalismi....
L’Ugenti fece l’atto d’interromperlo.
— I socialisti — egli continuò risoluto — con qualche proposta
generica, che basta un ragionamento infantile a dimostrare
insensata, s’atteggiano evangelicamente a redentori della umanità, e
chiamano in tanto alla riscossa gli ignoranti e i barbari, adulandoli,
solleticandone gli appetiti, rinfocolandone le ambizioni. Ora, sanno
essi se al momento critico questa gente, come sarà padrona del
campo, non li abbandonerà sghignazzando ai loro sogni malati?
Possono essi garentire dell’onestà, della buona fede, dell’obedienza
illuminata dei loro numerosi gregarii? E sono in fine sicuri di poter
costruire, sopra una rivoluzione dei più torbidi elementi sociali, quel
monumento di giustizia, d’equità, di benessere, del quale non son
peranco riusciti a tracciare un piano convincente nei loro libri e nelle
loro discussioni teoriche? Caro signore, — egli soggiunse,
volgendosi con un moto brusco all’avvocato, — di fronte al disastro,
che ne minaccia, io intendo in vece che tutti i buoni e tutti gli
intelligenti s’accordino tra loro per combattere questi rètori pericolosi
con ogni arma, con ogni possibile repressione.
Il socialista e l’avvocato proruppero insieme in una protesta
veemente — il primo balzando di nuovo in piedi, sollevando le
lunghe braccia alte sul lungo corpo sottile; l’altro agitandosi
convulsamente su la sedia, torturandosi con la mano gli esigui baffi
neri.
— Le persecuzioni non ci fanno paura! — urlava l’Ugenti
stentoreamente. — Ben vengano le persecuzioni! Esse hanno
sempre spianato la via alle idee nuove; le violenze e gli abusi di
potere non fanno se non inasprire l’opinione pubblica contro le classi
dominanti e affrettare i moti rivoluzionarii. Un anno di dispotismo val
quanto mezzo secolo guadagnato per il trionfo della nostra causa....
— La libertà di pensiero non può essere conculcata in un regime
democratico, — declamava Maurizio Siena, alzando la voce per
dominare quella dell’Ugenti; — essa è una conquista intangibile del
nostro secolo di scienza e di progresso. Gli uomini d’ordine hanno il
sacro dovere di rispettarla....
Parlavano insieme, e le loro parole giungevano confuse all’orecchio
dell’Imberido. Flavia e Luisa, che su le prime avevano protestato,
ridevano ora allegramente del tumulto improvviso. Soltanto il Boris,
sempre tranquillo e sorridente, affermava in silenzio col capo,
ammiccando però con gli occhi stretti e come riconoscenti a colui
che aveva proclamato forte lo sterminio dei disturbatori.
— Basta! — gridò d’un tratto la signora Teresa; e, per richiamar
l’attenzione, percosse ripetutamente con la lama del coltello il suo
bicchiere.
— Basta con la politica! — fece eco donna Marta, che a più riprese
aveva rimproverato il nipote con gli sguardi.
— Voi ci stordite.... Parliamo d’altro, per carità! Si stava concertando
una bella passeggiata in compagnia sul Motterone. Quando la si fa,
dunque? Con le vostre chiacchiere non si verrà mai a una
conclusione!
I due giovini, che gridavano insieme, s’interruppero a mezzo d’una
frase, si guardarono in torno come stupefatti di trovarsi presenti a un
convito ospitale, e scoppiarono insieme a ridere, scusandosi con le
donne per la loro vivacità inopportuna. L’Imberido aggiunse le sue
scuse a quelle de’ suoi avversarii; e la conversazione fu ripresa
senz’altro sul tema meno eccitante dell’escursione in montagna.
Questa fu stabilita per domenica quindici «tempo ed elezioni
permettendo», secondo la espressione finale dell’ingegnere.
— Mi raccomando a lei, — mormorò Luisa all’orecchio d’Aurelio; —
faccia venire anche il signor Zaldini. È così simpatico!
La discussione calorosa aveva lasciato l’Imberido in quello stato
d’accasciamento e quasi di desolazione, in cui egli sempre cadeva
sotto l’urto d’un’opinione altrui, altrettanto salda e inflessibile quanto
la sua. Mentre gli altri, già immemori di tutto, ciarlavano e ridevano
spensieratamente, egli riandava ancora, incerto e umiliato, il corso
della disputa inutile; e una folla di buoni argomenti taciuti, di nuove
risposte efficaci, sorgeva spontanea nel suo pensiero a offuscare le
cose che aveva dette, a dimostrargli l’imperizia della sua dialettica e
l’imprudenza delle sue affermazioni. Perché non aveva saputo
rimaner muto e impassibile alle frasi del giovine socialista? E perché,
anche affrontando una discussione, non aveva riflettuto, non aveva
considerato il valore e la qualità de’ suoi ascoltatori, non aveva
pesato bene le sue parole, prima di ribattere? — In vece egli s’era
lasciato miseramente trascinare dall’impeto de’ suoi sentimenti;
aveva parlato con rancore e non con serenità spassionata; aveva
fatto, di fronte a quegli estranei, la figura meschina d’un retrogrado
rabbioso o d’un volgare nemico della Luce!
Sopra tutto in causa di Flavia egli si rammaricava d’aver discorso in
tal modo. Nel fondo del suo spirito, un poco annebbiato dai vapori
del vino bevuto in copia, incominciava omai a trepidare un senso di
malinconia tenera e obliosa, quel bisogno d’abbandonarsi, di
perdonare, di fraternizzare che assale irresistibile all’inizio di
un’ebrietà. Guardando ora la fanciulla, Aurelio la trovava, nella
semplicità della sua bianca veste virginale, sovranamente
incantevole; un soffio di vaghe memorie gli passava a traverso la
mente angustiata, inclinandola insensibilmente a benevolenza verso
di lei, riaccendendo a mano a mano il fuoco assopito della sua
simpatia. Ed egli, inconsapevole, si stupiva d’aver potuto contrariare
la bella creatura che gli splendeva d’innanzi, e si rimproverava il suo
contegno pertinacemente ostile e scortese, e deplorava il suo
indocile orgoglio che ogni dì più scavava un abisso incolmabile tra le
loro due vite. — Ma non era egli dunque che la gittava
deliberatamente tra le braccia del rivale? Non la voleva egli così,
estranea e nemica, divisa sempre da lui da un ostacolo immane?
Non era preferibile per il suo scopo quel dissidio aperto e sincero a
un’intesa lentamente insidiosa, a una domestichezza con lei che
avrebbe potuto generare la catastrofe temuta? — Oh, un suo
sguardo lusinghevole! Egli, certo, avrebbe in quel momento
sacrificato il suo sogno più caro per uno sguardo lusinghevole di lei,
che fosse venuto a traverso la mensa a ricercarlo!
Frattanto intorno a lui l’animazione aumentava. La fine del pranzo
generoso rendeva loquaci e ilari gli altri commensali, li accomunava
in un unico sentimento di benessere, di confidenza, d’espansiva
cordialità. Parlavan tutti insieme, e il frastuono delle voci alte e delle
risate rimbombava sotto la vòlta profonda: l’ingegnere, con gli occhi
sfavillanti e il naso purpureo, raccontava a donna Marta un aneddoto
procace, che pareva scandalizzasse l’anima candida della sorella
zitellona, in atto di turarsi le orecchie con le mani; il Siena, acceso in
viso, discorreva vivacemente con Flavia e la signora Boris,
prorompendo a tratti in ghigni gutturali, che lo facevan torcere e
rannicchiarsi su la sedia come all’impressione d’un solletico ostinato;
l’Ugenti in vece era divenuto patetico e nebuloso, e declamava chino
verso la bionda un’ardente poesia di passione, sottolineandone i
passaggi più teneri con certi sguardi estasiati, tremuli nel vuoto,
battendo con le lunghe braccia aperte il ritmo dei versi sonanti.
Le bottiglie del vino di Sciampagna, recate per i brindisi, suscitarono
un’acclamazione entusiastica, un grido unanime d’esultanza.
Sembrò quasi che un vento di frenesia passasse d’improvviso nella
sala da pranzo, esagitando le fiamme delle candele, scotendo le
sedie e gli oggetti sparsi in disordine su la tavola. Le fanciulle e
donna Marta applaudirono; Maurizio e Giorgio si levarono d’un balzo
in piedi, per disputarsi con comico accanimento l’onore di stapparle.
Come i calici furon tutti ricolmi del dolce vino propiziatorio, l’Ugenti
con un atto risoluto impugnò il suo bicchiere, lo sollevò alto sopra il
capo e incominciò a parlare.
Il fumo delle sigarette si dilatava omai su le teste, striando l’aria di
tenui strati azzurrognoli, continuamente mobili. L’afa nella stanza
chiusa si faceva sempre più sensibile e opprimente; un odore acre di
vivande e di vini saliva a ondate dalla mensa, intollerabile. Il giovine
socialista, la fronte imperlata di sudore, proseguiva il suo discorso
con una foga enfatica di gesti e d’accenti, esaltando le virtù e le
attitudini della donna, illustrandone l’alta missione morale,
profetizzandole un avvenire glorioso in una società meno egoistica e
più giusta della presente. E gli altri, d’un tratto ammutoliti, lo
guardavano attoniti, stupefatti, senz’ascoltarlo, nell’attesa impaziente
d’una conclusione.
Quand’egli s’interruppe a mezzo d’un periodo per riprender fiato, un
applauso formidabile risonò sotto la vòlta e i calici simultaneamente
s’alzarono per brindare. Il Siena, nell’immenso strepito, urlò con tutte
le forze de’ suoi polmoni:
— Evviva dunque la signorina Flavia! Alla sua salute, alla sua
felicità, all’esaudimento delle sue speranze!
Gli evviva echeggiarono, mentre i calici s’incrociavano, battevan
forte l’un contro l’altro, tintinnando.
Flavia abbandonò prima il suo posto, s’avvicinò a suo padre, poi a
sua madre, e, strettoli tra le braccia, li baciò ripetutamente sul viso,
assai commossa: aveva gli occhi lucidi, un rossor vivo cosparso su
le guance delicate. Così accesa e come trasfigurata, stretta nella
semplice veste bianca, ella emanava dalla persona un fascino
irresistibile, l’incanto sublime della Vergine, quell’acuto profumo di
poesia e di candore, che infiamma l’imaginazione, inebria i sensi e
abolisce ogni volontà. Aurelio, il quale muto e immobile
l’accompagnava con gli sguardi, si sentiva languire d’ammirazione e
di desiderio. Non mai gli era parsa così leggiadra e così nobile di