What is it with authors and the liminal? I’ve been trying to pin it down. As a child, I found
empty stairwells, subway stations, abandoned houses, and underpasses irresistible. In literature and life, a bordered or bound space that is vacant or does not contain what it’s supposed to gives me tingles of delight—the empty field surrounde…
What is it with authors and the liminal? I’ve been trying to pin it down. As a child, I found
empty stairwells, subway stations, abandoned houses, and underpasses irresistible. In literature and life, a bordered or bound space that is vacant or does not contain what it’s supposed to gives me tingles of delight—the empty field surrounded by an oleander hedge in The Haunting of Hill House, for example. In general, the liminal is described as frightening or uncanny. For my research, I’ve been following the Liminal Spaces Reddit. There, the liminal is almost universally described as creepy. But to me, the in-between is soothing, like glimpsing beyond the veil and into eternity. Space emptied of humanity has mysterious power. Perhaps these places are dreams come to life; writers like them because the imagination is their workshop and frontier. What do you all think?
My step-Dad demolished buildings for a living. Mom and I would go in and see what was salvageable— we called it being “Scrappies.” Going into all these old buildings to explore and remove found items— was terrifying and fun. Once, I wandered into a basement of a giant Victorian mansion in Pennsylvania, alone— everyone else was outside— the stairs all collapsed under me, I fell, hitting my head on the basement wall and twisting my ankle. I had my flashlight—- I screamed because I saw something in a white dress that looked as if it was coming my way— turned out to be an old wedding dress hanging— a good friend in fashion and burlesque now has it— but, I kept screaming for at least 45 min for help— took awhile to climb back out with help, after I snagged some goodies. I also, continuously, throughout my life in abandoned homes getting ready to be torn down, would come across canned foods. They were echos trapped in jars… I just recently started canning last year, I feel like a mad-scientist as I look at all my jarred harvests. Mwwwhuauauaaah!
My guess is that writers look for places that suggest a narrative. Or they create them. In our old back yard I'd built so many high stone walls and tumbled-down arches that whenever a new person came to visit they'd asked, "What used to be here!?" I'd shrug.
What is it with authors and the liminal? I’ve been trying to pin it down. As a child, I found
empty stairwells, subway stations, abandoned houses, and underpasses irresistible. In literature and life, a bordered or bound space that is vacant or does not contain what it’s supposed to gives me tingles of delight—the empty field surrounded by an oleander hedge in The Haunting of Hill House, for example. In general, the liminal is described as frightening or uncanny. For my research, I’ve been following the Liminal Spaces Reddit. There, the liminal is almost universally described as creepy. But to me, the in-between is soothing, like glimpsing beyond the veil and into eternity. Space emptied of humanity has mysterious power. Perhaps these places are dreams come to life; writers like them because the imagination is their workshop and frontier. What do you all think?
My step-Dad demolished buildings for a living. Mom and I would go in and see what was salvageable— we called it being “Scrappies.” Going into all these old buildings to explore and remove found items— was terrifying and fun. Once, I wandered into a basement of a giant Victorian mansion in Pennsylvania, alone— everyone else was outside— the stairs all collapsed under me, I fell, hitting my head on the basement wall and twisting my ankle. I had my flashlight—- I screamed because I saw something in a white dress that looked as if it was coming my way— turned out to be an old wedding dress hanging— a good friend in fashion and burlesque now has it— but, I kept screaming for at least 45 min for help— took awhile to climb back out with help, after I snagged some goodies. I also, continuously, throughout my life in abandoned homes getting ready to be torn down, would come across canned foods. They were echos trapped in jars… I just recently started canning last year, I feel like a mad-scientist as I look at all my jarred harvests. Mwwwhuauauaaah!
Yay! A sister in Mwwwhuauauaaah!
♥️♥️👋🏼👋🏼👋🏼♥️♥️
Wow! Same here. I have a magnetic pull to these liminal spaces for as long as I can remember!
My guess is that writers look for places that suggest a narrative. Or they create them. In our old back yard I'd built so many high stone walls and tumbled-down arches that whenever a new person came to visit they'd asked, "What used to be here!?" I'd shrug.