Told as a series of gazetteer entries written by Stewart Brayne, a prissy architectural historian touring a number of modernist buildings in Wessex in 1968, this story felt as though it were written just for me. I’m an avid reader of genuine architectural guides from this period, and Newman’s tone is spot on: part Ian Nairnish grumping about ‘cultural poverty’, part Pevsneresque lofty technical detailing. But within that sensible framework a darkly sinister narrative begins to emerge. On his way Brayne is seeking out nine buildings designed by Hungarian émigré Hälmar Pölzig, in a pattern pre-ordained by the architect. En route he lists the artists who produced work for each of these buildings, and after a while you begin to notice a pattern there too, in the dates of their deaths and the openings of the buildings. Soon he – and we – are rattled by “moving shadows that play thrilling tricks on the eyes” and “the dark sense that something of the building followed me down those dark medieval streets”. Like the rest of the collection the story is funny and genuinely chilling in places, stepping back from the obvious in the manner of Robert Aickman and letting your imagination do its worst.
First published in a limited edition pamphlet in 2020. Collected in Municipal Gothic, 2023
A Personal Anthology 