Liminal Spaces: A 21st Century Gothic
A Paranormal Investigation Through The Empty Spaces Of Internet Phenomena
Liminal, adjective
lim·i·nal ˈli-mə-nᵊl
1: of, relating to, or situated at a sensory threshold : barely perceptible or capable of eliciting a response
liminal visual stimuli
2: of, relating to, or being an intermediate state, phase, or condition : IN-BETWEEN, TRANSITIONAL
“… in the liminal state between life and death.”
—Deborah Jowitt
Gothic fiction is characterized by an environment of fear, the threat of supernatural events, and the intrusion of the past upon the present.[2][3] Gothic fiction is distinguished from other forms of scary or supernatural stories, such as fairy tales, by the specific theme of the present being haunted by the past
“People worked in these places, and now those people are gone, at least in the tiny viewpoint we get from a single photo. Just like how human beings designed and built these places, human beings also lived in them, and it’s undeniable that they weave a little bit of humanity into them. This might have been someone’s home, or favorite place to play as a child; and when they’re gone, it’s like you can feel a ghost remain, a kind of eeriness and sadness. These very ordinary places were once full of life, full of stories…”
- Solar Sands, “Liminal Spaces (Exploring an Altered Reality)” July 10th, 2020.
Asylum Lake Preserve is a public park located in Kalamazoo, Michigan, on the northeast corner of the intersection between Parkview Avenue and South Drake Road. It contains 217 acres of land, a 46-acre lake, and a smaller 10 acre lake. In 1887, the Michigan Asylum for the Insane purchased the land to build an experimental complex called a “Colony Farm.” By 1960, the Asylum (renamed Kalamazoo State Hospital) contained five cottages, a heating plant, a water tower, a pump house, and a tunnel system holding a large network of pipes.
By 1969, the experiment had phased out and the entire facility was abandoned. The complex was demolished in 1971, and the underground tunnels were sealed off and demolished in 1977.
In 1975, the state of Michigan had acquired the land with the legal restriction of solely using the land as a public park, and in 1998, the state and Western Michigan University1 established an endowment for the conservation and preservation of the Asylum Lake Preserve. Since then, the land has been used for recreational and research purposes, as ownership of Asylum Lake passed to WMU.
During my 2.5-year tenure2 in Kalamazoo, I lived in Parkview Hills, a large residential complex a half-mile away from Asylum Lake. The nature preserve became a significant part of my life, as I’d go there to run, to explore, or just to go somewhere if I needed time away from my dark, lonesome apartment. Depending on my laziness, I’d either drive or walk there, navigating the steep hills of the Kalamazoo Valley.
Traversing Asylum Lake is a strange, macabre experience. Great trees and grassy plains dominate the landscape, and the two lakes are serene, especially during the autumn. However, the natural wonder of the preserve is juxtaposed against the remnants of the old asylum. Broken foundations, rickety steel fences, and rusted debris are scattered across the land, shattered monuments to the troubled history of the lake. These tombstones of history create a ghostly feeling to the area, similar to the dread-vibe of a heavily populated cemetery. Citizens of Kalamazoo train their dogs, smoke their pot, take their wedding photos, and herd groups of children throughout the Lake. Children climb and jump upon the old foundations. A rusted fairy-circle of scrap metal provides an unnatural arena for blunt rotations. Hammocks cradling exhibitionist lovers dangle from the trees, refracting shadows amongst the sunlit ruins. These ancient hauntings observe all that transpires amongst the visiting souls, reminding the living of those who are no longer there.
To me, Asylum Lake is a space in constant transition. Along with the asylum-ghosts, there were periodic burns conducted by the city, rendering a great swath of the grasslands to be rent asunder into a wasteland of brown ashes. Along with the leaves’ seasonal changes, the people visiting the Lake would change as well, with children and families visiting in the hot summer months, and the straggling athletes and researchers in the wintertime.
This impression of the transitional nature of Asylum Lake was informed by my own life at the time. My aforementioned tenure in Kalamazoo was rife with difficulty, between being terminated from my first “real” job after college, the struggle of eternal job searches, and the advent of many breaking-points in my own mental health. It was during this time I reached the darkest time of my life, and it was during this time I began the long climb-out of my mind’s Tartarus-pit. These changes in my own external and internal life warped how I perceived the world, a corrective-lens bringing my perception into an altered focus.
All of these transitions, haunted by the ghosts of what came before, transform Asylum Lake into a liminal space.
A “liminal space” is an Internet-borne concept describing empty, abandoned, and eerie locations. The etymology of the term refers to a place in a state of transition, such as an empty shopping mall at 4 AM, or a playground devoid of children. A review conducted by researchers at Cardiff University linked liminal spaces to the concept of the “uncanny valley,” a term that refers to an in-exact resemblance of humanoids that evokes a feeling of unease. Interacting with liminal spaces online often consists of photography or videos of peculiar locations, with the viewers absorbing the portrayal of the spaces, commenting and reminiscing about the media, swapping stories and fantasies in the digital forums.
Most photography of liminal spaces share a few common traits. Firstly, the area is devoid of any human or animal life, although plants do make the occasional appearance. Secondly, the photography is often grainy, displaying the distortion found in older cameras. Thirdly, the area in question is a somewhat communal space, such as a shopping mall, neighborhood, grassy fields, pools, childcare rooms. These areas are designed to hold a great number of people; when these areas are empty, they transform into a liminal space.
Discussions centered around liminal spaces often discuss their dreamlike qualities. Even if the grand majority of people viewing a picture of a liminal space have physically been in that location before, most of these viewers begin reminiscing about similar places that they’ve been to. In short, they see the ghosts of their past selves haunting these digital pictures.
This ghostly aspect of liminal spaces creates its own unique gothic archetype. Aspects of gothic literature are present within the modern interaction with liminal spaces; both involve a heavy emphasis on place and setting, both contain a penchant for the supernatural. Gothic literature emphasizes the present being haunted by the past, and that is exactly the central locus upon which the concept of a liminal space is built. As previously mentioned, the discourse surrounding liminal spaces centers on the past, the reminiscence of childhood, youth, and extinct styles taking center-stage.
The story of Asylum Lake demonstrates this idea of liminal spaces being their own form of gothic, as the preserve contains separate readings as a liminal space and as a gothic locale. Crumbling foundations, heaps of scrap metal, broken fences - all these signifiers point to a painful history, one that the Lake will never escape or shake off, a past which haunts any traveler within the preserve. These inescapable ghosts create their own gothic within Asylum Lake, the supernatural nature of the past electrifying the air, the weight of history oppressing the natural life within.
At the same time, Asylum Lake has its own reading as a liminal space, the aforementioned signifiers demonstrating that which is no longer here, the catalyst of memory contained within the rust-and-stone ruins, the periodic burns conducted on the grasslands, the stoner spray-paint territory-markers on the trees, the scrapes of old hammocks amongst the tree bark. Walking through Asylum Lake is a constant reminder of the world we left behind, a world in which institutions called The Michigan Asylum for the Insane could thrive in their brutal “caregiving.” The Lake is eternally in a space of liminality, as the immortal ruins of the old asylum continue to connect the nature preserve to its dark history, refusing to allow the Lake to fully cease its transition into a homey public park, not a dark reminder in sight.
Asylum Lake, through its haunted landscape, fuses the locus of liminal spaces with the gothic traditions, creating a twenty-first century gothic of liminality.
The Lake is not alone in its liminal-gothic qualities within the state of Michigan. Downtown Kalamazoo is a zombie, the necromancy of gentrified food-and-retail outlets animating the corpses of old train depots. In areas such as Flint and Kalamazoo, the horrible past of the improper disposal of toxic materials poisons the drinking water, the specter of inhumane industry punishing the living descendants. Endless abandoned warehouses and factories line the outskirts of Detroit, the modern highways chaining the long-dead cadaver of Michigan’s automobile-empire to the present moment’s mortuary table. Vestigial rejects of old factories and warehouses are demolished, and the tombstones of sleek apartments and microbreweries are planted upon the ancient foundation. Wide, open spaces dominate the landscape of Michigan, either left by failed agriculture or the destruction of old industrial complexes.
Michigan, as a whole, is its own liminal-gothic, the ghosts of what came before signified by the countless industrial ruins.
I was born and raised within this context, my life forming within the mold of Michigan’s liminal-gothic atmosphere. As Michigan is locked in a constant state of transition, I also experienced a constant set of changes, as my physical and mental arenas shifted throughout the years. Just as Michigan is haunted by its industrial past of scrap metal and crumbling foundations, I was also haunted by my own mental health; as Michigan poisons its residents with the specters of industry, I am poisoned by my own depression and anxiety. Now that I live in New York City, the influence of Michigan’s gothic-liminality upon my formative years became more clear. The hustle-bustle of NYC life contrasts greatly with the too-quiet emptiness of Michigan’s industrial cemeteries.
We are products of our nature and nurture, our DNA blueprint and arena of upbringing shaping us in ways we cannot control. As we sit in our present of gig-economies and Internet grift-warfare, rose-tinted memories of our past haunt us, reminding us of what we left behind to have our present state of being. Liminal spaces, and the gothic that they create, represent the empty shell that the past leaves, an abyss that we can stare into, and it stares back at us, cold and absolute, possessing us with the demons of memory.
Author’s Note: Hello, all! Thank you for reading and supporting my work. I am currently playing catch-up with my posting schedule, with normal service hopefully resuming next Tuesday. Thank you all for your patience and support, and I look forward to bringing you all new written works, both nonfiction and fiction, to your emails and eyeballs.
- Sweet Daddy D <3
Western Michigan University is a public research university in Kalamazoo, Michigan. The university’s campus blends seamlessly within the city of Kalamazoo, and it is a major player in the working and political lives of the citizens.
I had moved to Kalamazoo after my undergraduate degree, as I had found a professional job working as an HR Generalist-Recruiter at a local company there. The years that followed were some of the most difficult of my life, rife with mental illness and a rotating-door of jobs.
Wow. This was fantastic. This article encapsulates my feelings towards Asylum Lake and many locations I've visited in Michigan. Just fantastic. Probably one of my favorite articles on this substack. Incredible job.