Architecture As A Mirror
Architecture. A series that builds. Today, a sliver of my novel, featuring architecture as a mirror of the soul. Start here to follow the blocks from the beginning. Thanks for clicking the Cootchie.
Buildings sometimes look like people. Confronted with an ancient abbey, I met my clone, casually dropped along the back of a spurned town in England. Toothy ghosts radiated from the intact nave that remained, a visible manifestation of the possibility of the whole juxtaposed beside outlines of crumbling arches, ground down columns and punctured walls. An unbroken edifice mirroring a broken soul. I saw my reflection in its soaring interruptions of grey stone. It whispered I know you. You and I are one. I thought I could leave my shredded heart on the other side of the Atlantic, but even England prodded me with wretched memories.
I unlatched a squeaking, lichen-covered iron gate and walked to the front of the abbey, trying once more to forget, replaying my reasons for being in England. My chest constricted in time with waves of unwanted images. Tears burned the back of my throat.
Don’t cry, Amy. Not again. Focus on seeing what’s in front of you. We can witness the future if we only choose to look.
With a constitutional sigh, I scanned the unbroken wall of rock, seeking an opening. Toward the back corner, a low doorway made an enticing indention in the contour of stone. A shaft of weak light seeped through a crack at the edge of the substantial wood. The door was ajar. Without thinking, I pushed it open. A rush of cold, musty air tousled my hair, a faint hello breathing through the strands. Hearing its music, I swayed my head and studied my feet tapping on the worn stone floor of the interior of the abbey.
It was a mirror image of the rubble outside, only unmarred. Functional. Momentous wooden chairs were scattered like abandoned sentinels around the room. Light reflected from their seats of crushed red velvet. My clattering footsteps followed the broadcast of beams. At the back of the church, I craned my neck to assay the ethereal stained glass altar window, its reds, blues and yellows twinkling in the slanting sunshine, sending vibrant prisms of color into the otherwise dim, cavernous space.
Like rushing technicolor, I remembered.
Croyland Abbey. Crowland, Lincolnshire, United Kingdom.
Memory of old castles? Memory of a past life, Memory of a future not lived?
memory of being abandoned at the Altar?
Sad, melancholy, tears…
All wrong, Lou.
reworked climatic scene from your book! Cool.
It’s not a climactic scene. This one happens pretty early in the book now. You won’t recognize it by the time you read it again.
This is a heart-wrenching post to me today. I hurt for you sweetie. But so glad that you can back from over the pond.
Marie, no need to hurt for me. Hurt for the character. This is fiction. It never happened to me, though I did use the abbey in the photograph as a metaphor in my novel. This post came from my novel.
So beautiful. I could feel myself opening the gate and walking with you. When I was in Ireland there were so many times that when I saw the castles (and the ruins) tears would spring to my eyes and my feet rushed forward so I could touch the stone buildings where, for some strange reason, I felt comfort and conflict at the same time.
This does happen to people in real life, doesn’t it?
What I love about this scene… is how this photograph matched the image you painted in my mind.
Yay! Pre-editor will call that progress.
I hope.
Beautiful flow, Andra. Cold stone . . . warm heart?
We’ll see how it plays out.
Cold nose, warm f…. tthhhpppttt.
I loved the way Amy had the hope of healing when she saw the unmarred mirror image inside the Abbey. I felt like the turning point came when she felt the breath of air as she opened the door, like maybe in her deepest heart, she still had something whole of her own.
I’m glad that came across in the piece, Jessie.
the building that is me. such an interesting concept
now i’ll be looking for mine
Sidey, I don’t know if I can name the building that is me. This one fit this character, but I’d have a much harder time naming mine.
These places have been here for a thousand years and more: every time I visit somewhere like this I am left wondering if past lives happen, and whether one brushed this place; or indeed, whether the ancient language of a cathedral was created to clutch a piece of our spirit and hang on for life and death and eternity.
These places always feel alive to me, like so much energy is concentrated there from the sheer number of faces who’ve passed through it over time. There’s an ancient bridge near this one that’s really compelling. No water there anymore, but the intersection of the bridge still stands.
Spectacular piece – if this is a taste tester I can’t wait for the gourmet meal
Linda, I’ve got a lot of writing to do to get there. But, I WILL get there.
I’ve only heard a murmur of recognition, or felt a connection with, a place; never, that I can recall, from a building.
However, I could see this place, hear the squeaking gate, smell the musty rush of air, feel the history and relate to Amy and her mostly unspoken history conveyed here.
Glad to hear it. Good to know I’m on the right track.
I was married at Croyland Abbey on a very sunny day in July, the service was held in the ruined nave just through that large arch, I was surrounded by love, my family and friends on a bed of grass with roses all around. With such a start surely nothing could go wrong!
David and I celebrated our marriage (my second) in a civil ceremony but we chose a very special day (14th of February)
You almost have an anniversary!! How’s he doing with his RAF retirement?
Is it strange to see a site you know well be turned into fiction?
Oh, now I want to read more! This is perfectly detailed and wonderful as usual
I’m glad people want more. Now, I’ve got to spend about 10 weeks smithing it all to get it to this level.
I think it will be fun.
I very much enjoyed the weaving of this adventure. I dug the Barcelona structure, but I’m with you on this one. A concrete building is one thing, but, this metaphor of ???what??? seems not to frame the landscape, but muck it up (‘muck’, found under “underused architectural terminology”) ~
oh boo…sorry, something happened and this comment went under wrong post…please refer to most the excellent Beatles song post for this one!
Angela, no problem. I knew you would want to comment on the Thing. One of the problems with pictures is they cannot convey the totality of the landscape. In this case, the Thing blended pretty well.
I tend not to run ahead and predict when I read…I like to wait for a story to slowly unfurl. Beautifully written, Andra, and I simply took it in, luxuriating in the very descriptive passages. The scene is wonderfully set…I look forward to what you might still share! Debra
Debra, I may put other snippets up here as I edit. We’ll see. It’s nice to get reactions.
I always enjoy your posts, but I really liked seeing the difference between the voices in this extract from your novel and your other posts. I admire your versatility.
This is a developing voice for me. If I want to be slotted in upmarket literary, this is how I’ve got to craft it. Still feels sort of clunky to me, but I’ve got a lot of work to do. Should feel comfortable by the end.
I think you just have to trust yourself more. People know when they read something that is unconvincing because the author’s voice lacks authority. I never once felt you lacked authority or authenticity in this.
No obsessing. No obsessing. I know, Heather.
Just let it flow. That’s what my pre-editor and my husband both tell me, and I respect them both very much, so they MUST be right. 
Thanks for coming back and giving that feedback. I’m so close to this that it’s really hard to objectively see anything.
No worries. Sometimes when I’m working on a painting I’ll become fixated on a particular detail that I think is wrong. I’ll change it a little, then some more, and more and more until I’ve made it a lot worse and wish I’d stuck with how it was earlier in the process because it really wasn’t that bad after all! Just remember that you don’t want to be like me and you’ll be OK.
The one sensible thing I do do is to take photos at regular intervals so I can see what it looks like “through fresh eyes”. It sounds like you’re already doing that with your pre-editor and your husband, so I’m sure all three of you are right. You just have to follow your instincts. 
Intriguing! I’ll be interested in seeing what other snippets you post.
If anything seems to work, I’ll probably put them up as I go.
Oh, beautiful that. I love the metaphor and the delicacy of your description.
It’s a bit much, but I’m working on it.
I do love the metaphor, too.
I love old, derelict buildings. I also like the ones that are still functioning too… the things they have been witness to for the countless years they have stood fascinates me. I would love to, maybe just once (but hopefully more), to be able to touch one of the stones and catch a glimpse of part of what has gone before – not everything, that would be too much, but the odd clear snippet or two. I suppose when I find my clone, as Amy did, it may just happen. Nice post, Andra!
Thanks, Tom. I knew you would get this one. I always stand in these spaces and feel like, if I could just pivot a degree here or there, I would see SOMETHING that happened before. Never happens, though, except in my overwrought imagination.
ACM, is this the picture you mentioned before that you wanted me to look at?
No. It was in the post “I See Dead People Architecture.”
http://andrawatkins.com/2012/02/10/i-see-dead-people-architecture/