The Effect of Spatial Uncertainty as a Nervous Disorder

As someone who rarely reads a fictional book, I do hold a special spot for the Gothic Horror genre. Known specifically for its combination of superstitious elements, curses, madness, darkness, isolation, and emotionally charged, intense romances, the themes produce an alluring atmosphere unlike any other style. In Gothic Horror based stories, the gothic architecture becomes a character of its own, acting as a menacing force in the background of unfolding events. The seemingly safe, and permanent structure of architecture has the ability to change, shapeshifting alongside the fear-based perceptual map of a character. Expansive interior spaces become cold and filled with shadows, tired buildings begin dilapidating overnight, and a secluded exterior setting suddenly becomes isolating and detached from the real world, beyond its boundary wall. The experiential space of the gothic reflects the troubled psychological violence that plays out between characters, witnessing destruction of relationships as ‘writing on the wall.’

One novel that recalls the influence of this ominous force is a story called My Sweet Audrina, published by V. C. Andrews in 1982. The narrative focuses on the struggles of a young teen, desperately attempting to fill the shoes of ‘the first Audrina’ that died a violent death some years earlier, in the surrounding woods of the family’s property. The story is noteworthy for its intentional limitation of a young woman’s freedom to protect her from the dangers of the outside world, lurking beyond the confines of the families’ estate.

The fascinating story utilises spatial disorientation to effectively gaslight it’s main character into questioning linear time, through the deliberate manipulation of hours, days, months and years. Without Audrina’s knowledge, family members regularly change, destroy or redecorate with time-specific objects such as calendars, clocks, and date books; resulting in an inability to recognise a true reflection of the exterior world through reliable household clues. The purpose of this disorientation (though somewhat grounded in good intention initially,) discourages the heroine from ever trusting her instincts to understand the most intricate spatial map she has ever known – her home. The grand Victorian-era family house of Whitehall becomes an evasive space to only one family member, misrepresenting the spatial confines of predictable space.

A similar exploration of this spatial disorientation is seen in the character of Miss Havisham in Charles Dickens’ classic story Great Expectations. On her wedding day, Miss Havisham receives a letter from her fiancé ending their engagement, and completely distraught, she decides to stop time completely. All clocks are suspended at twenty minutes to nine, the wedding feast laid out on the dining table is abandoned, and the flower arrangements are left to rot. The space effectively becomes timeless. What we learn from this unsettling atmosphere immortalises one person’s pain through the arrangement of space, discharging its startling effect upon every visitor. To know the character of Miss Havisham is to experience her embarrassment firsthand, by existing within the confines of the decaying mansion of Satis House.

The story also explores the perspectives of this narrowed world of Miss Havisham’s home through a local boy Pip, and Miss Havisham’s ward Estelle. Both individuals must conform to the spatial rules of the environment by adjusting their expression to suit the injunctions that the timeless space dictates. Powerless to roam about freely, the young characters must be sympathetic and tolerant to the space, restricting and denying natural childhood impulses of free movement. This cruel confinement eventually hardens the soul of Estelle, recalling firsthand, the dynamic impact that the spatial limitations negatively affected her ability to feel warmth or genuine care for anyone.

In my personal life, I understand firsthand how influential this spatial uncertainty feels. Dealing with agoraphobia in the past, the protective boundary of walls, windows and doors, seemed flimsy and easily penetrable by anyone who dared an attempt at breaking in. From my perspective, I believed that because a door relied upon a lock strong enough to securely contain a defined area, it could not guarantee indefinite security of a space. If a lock (or similar protective barrier) should suddenly fail, the area of sanctuary would betray the safety and privacy of the occupant. Similarly, during a sudden illness when I was a teenager, I awoke after such time that days had transpired without my knowledge. At that point, I had to take the word of a visitor to readjust my spatial awareness until I was able to confirm this timeline for myself. I could not rely on spatial cues to provide my desired answers, restricting my ability to settle and relax with ease.

The simple idea of needing spatial cues to alert someone to changing time, reminds one of their vulnerability while confined within a controlled space. Adaptation to space is essential to feeling comfortable within any environment, and there are no rules to how this must occur. By upholding an agreed upon set of spatial rules for the benefit of all people involved, these powerful but often intimidating environments, can be limited to tall tales in gothic horror stories.