DARKNESS: A CULTURAL HISTORY
By Nina Edwards
Reaktion Books. 288 pages. £25. ISBN 978-1-78023-982-8
Reviewed by Jim Burns
Darkness. We talk about dark thoughts, dark deeds, the dark at the
top of the stairs which might hide someone or something frightening.
“Dark shadows everywhere/misery and despair”, sang vocalist Earl
Coleman on a 1947 recording by Charlie Parker. There it is, the
association of “misery and despair” with the dark and the shadowy
side of our lives. There are songs and poems which extol the virtues
of the night, though I’m hard pressed to think of too many of them.
References to the dark seem to inevitably invoke unease and
uncertainty: “When the sun goes down and it gets dark/I saw an
animal in a park” wrote Robert Creeley, and for me it implies a
possibility of danger from the animal. “A dark bell brings the dark
down” is a line in a poem by Roy Fisher and there is something
ominous in its tone. The title of the poem is “The Hospital in
Winter”. We don’t usually associate winter and hospitals with light
and well-being.
Nina Edwards points out that “the language of dark and light is so
familiar a feature of our manner of speaking that it is easy to
overlook its significance”. And she adds that “we are primed to look
to the association of light for understanding and joy”. But darkness
“feeds the imagination”, and it can have a special visual beauty all
of its own. Think of paintings by the wonderful Atkinson Grimshaw.
True, some of them do hint at mysteries when they portray lonely
roads at night, or darkened houses half-hidden behind trees. But
others, especially those of scenes in Leeds and Liverpool, with
street lamps and the light cast from shop windows and restaurants
creating their own kind of pictorial magic, can be immensely
attractive. They can still point to hidden dangers in dark corners
and areas where the light can’t penetrate with any great
effectiveness . But the paintings largely present scenes that might
not raise any doubts in most of our eyes.
This may be because what we see isn’t real darkness, the kind where
it’s difficult to know where we are and what’s directly in front of
us Most of us live in towns and cities, and it's unlikely that we’ve
ever had any direct experience of perfect darkness, even within the
safety of our own bedrooms. There is almost always light of some
sort from one source or another. Moonllght penetrating a thin
curtain, street llghts. When I was a child growing up in a house
without lighting in any of the bedrooms, I’d sit near the window and
read by the light of a street lamp directly outside the window. When
I closed my book I easily fell asleep in the half-light of the
bedroom.
Darkness doesn’t necessarily hold any terrors for many people. It
can be quite comforting in some ways. There is a fine short-story by
Jerome Weidman called “My Father Sits in the Dark” in which the
narrator, coming down to the darkened kitchen for a drink, finds his
father sitting there. “Why do you sit in the dark”? the boy asks,
and his father says that it’s “restful” and he doesn’t think about
anything special, he just likes to sit in the dark. We could also
suggest that sleep is a kind of retreat into darkness that provides
us with relief from the worries of the everyday world. Freud gets a
look in here with his idea that “sleep is a narcissistic regression
into the mother’s womb”. And dreams are discussed. As someone who can
never remember what his dreams were about, I’m in no position to
offer any useful comments on the subject. Freud would have found me
a profound disappointment in more ways than one.
Still, for a lot of the time we do tend to think of darkness as
representing something inherent with danger. Crimes, particularly
those, like mugging or burglary, which may affect us on a personal
level, usually take place when it is dark. We know that we’re not
necessarily always safe during daylight, but when we go to bed we
carefully lock our doors at night and check that the burglar alarm
is on. There is a suspicion that anyone who is out at night without
a good reason might be up to no-good. When I was young and walking
back from a party or seeing a girl home it never surprised me when I
was stopped and questioned by the police. What was I doing hurrying
down darkened streets?
It may be that our inclination to associate darkness, shadows,
night-time, with the negative stems from cultural influences we grow
up with. As mentioned earlier, terms such as dark thoughts and dark
deeds are in common use. Books, plays, poems, all use the idea of
the dark to suggest the morbid, the threatening, and the mysterious.
Conrad wrote The Heart of
Darkness, and
Shakespeare has Macbeth saying, “Stars, hide your fires;/Let not
light see my black and deep desires”. Dirty deeds need to be carried
out in the dark by “night’s black agents”.
There is a whole genre of
But is darkness, with all its associations of night and shadows,
necessarily always to be suspected? Edwards asserts that “Darkness
can be thrilling. It can seem like everything is latent, without
borders, without limitations, and the entire universe thrown in. It
is full of scintillating potential for poets and playwrights,
musicians and visual artists. The dark has always been able to
entertain us”. I suppose obvious examples would be ghost stories,
which inevitably take place at night, often in buildings which are
badly-lit and full of shadows, and if there is a moon, it is likely
to be obscured by clouds at strategic moments. A sudden plunge into
near-total darkness is enough to un-nerve even the most courageous
of people. And send a shiver down the spine of the reader, even
though he or she may be sitting in a warm, well-lit room at the
time. As an avid reader of ghostly tales (The
Supernatural Omnibus. a classic collection edited by Montague
Summers, has been in my possession for many years) I still ensure
that the landing light is on before I venture upstairs. My
imagination, and whatever primeval fears have been aroused, combine
to make me wary of the dark. Edwards observes that “In the nineteenth century The Gothic Revival created an enthusiasm for an imagined dark medieval period, which was cast as a time of thrilling ghostly excitement”. Jane Austen nicely lampooned the taste for Gothic novels in Northanger Abbey, where the heroine, Catherine, her mind awash with The Mysteries of Udolpho, imagines all kinds of hidden passages and dark secrets when she is invited to stay with a family who live in an abbey. Personally, I always rather liked Bulwer-Lytton’s comment on the cult of the Gothic in his Pelham or Adventures of a Gentleman (1828): “There seems”, said I, “an unaccountable prepossession among all persons, to imagine that whatever seems gloomy must be profound, and whatever is cheerful must be shallow. They have put poor philosophy into deep mourning, and given her a coffin for a writing desk, and a skull for an inkstand”.
We go out at night to have a good time. Edwards discusses
Leaving aside the sexual aspect, there is a practical reason why
Vauxhall didn’t flourish in the day-time. Fireworks displays were a
feature of the entertainment, but when they were put on during the
daytime they were a flop. Obviously, fireworks needed the contrast
between their light and the night-time sky to bring out their full
effect.
Edwards ranges far and wide in all aspects of darkness. She writes
about how dress code over the years has dictated that men, if they
want to be taken seriously, inevitably wear dark suits: “Darkness
somehow lends a garment intrinsic
gravitas”. There are,
perhaps, valid reasons for suggesting that “In the recent past, as
now, dark clothing was often preferred because it was easier to
maintain”. But modern cleaning methods make it easier to get rid of
most stains. And yet, dark suits continue to be the standard garb of
many leading businessmen and politicians. Is it that if they wore
something lighter they might be viewed as frivolous, and it would be
supposed that their clothing reflected their character? And why
should it be seen as disrespectful if one wears light, even
colourful, clothing at a funeral? It’s surely the quality of the
emotion that counts, not the colour of one’s shirt? Many funerals
are attended by men in dark suits who cared little for the deceased.
They’re simply conforming to a convention by being there and
dressing appropriately.
A friend of mine used to walk dogs that were being trained to
accompany blind persons.
Darkness: A Cultural History
is a stimulating book with a wide range of examples drawn from
literature, art, music, philosophy, and other sources. Darkness is
an integral part of our lives in every sense of the word. Would we
like to live in a world of permanent light or of endless darkness?
It’s unlikely. We need the contrast to help us sleep, add variety to
our lives, and carry out all kinds of
functions. Think of the ways in which people could be
exploited in permanent light. Factory owners were quick to extend
the working day once artificial lighting was installed in their
premises. And now certain locations, such as airports, can operate
around the clock, thanks to artificial lighting. Not everyone finds
this beneficial.
The book has ample notes and a good bibliography.
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