But the words “underground architecture” often tend to repel the people who hear them. Having been exposed too many times to the depressing look of our subways and highway tunnels, or to leaky basements and cold, damp caves, people tend to view the real advantages of this new architecture with great skepticism. Most people will agree that such land-wasters as parking lots could go below ground. And many will even concede that some of our freeways, shopping centers —even our factories and offices —belong there too (in addition to railroad yards, refineries, and museums). But the thought of living underground in a windowless, artificial environment is to them the ultimate perversion of man’s role on earth.
Man, they say, was meant to live in the sun and air, to be involved in the seasons, to know night and day. Fortunately, most advocates of this new architecture heartily agree.
When architects propose windowless, wholly underground buildings, they are not planning housing.
Wonderful underground houses have been designed that always open onto sunny, sunken courtyards or project from the sides of hills in order that their rooms can be adequately day-lighted. Such underground buildings will be perfectly dry, and by natural methods will tend to keep the humidity level in the healthful forty to fifty percent range.
Whether or not underground architecture will ever be applied to the downtown areas of our large cities, the fact remains that it has definite application everywhere else. It offers hope that the great, blighted areas around our cities and along our highways may someday become green and beautiful again.
But underground architecture is no cure-all. It is only one way—one legitimate way —of bowing to the great life cycle we’re so quickly destroying. Though it has been endorsed by many ecologists and landscape architects, the idea has drawn fire from some who misunderstand it, who fear that it will result in a kind of non-architecture. Regardless, the idea is gaining in popularity each day as more and more people begin to wonder about the blight they see all around them.
Until now, man has always gone underground only for selfish reasons —security, bomb-proofing, or the novelty of dialing his own lighting and “weather” effects. If he continues to build for such reasons he may well create underground structures as ugly and as destructive as those above ground, but if he can find a new respect for the miracle of life—for all of the myraid life forms to which he is related-he may produce an architecture that his descendants will treasure …
Edith returned when he was barely halfway through, but took a chair and remained silent, sipping her beer.
He looked up finally and gestured with the pamphlet. “I don’t know. I suppose it makes sense. It just comes as a surprise. How many houses are there like this in Hopewell?”
“Several hundred, I would imagine.”
“But where are your stores, your community buildings, your car pool? Or bars, restaurants? And don’t you have any sports facilities in a town this big? Swimming pool, tennis courts?”
“They’re all underground too, built into the hillsides, sunk below the surface. To the extent possible, we try to avoid any view of man’s work. This is the manner in which most people live in America now. In small communities, in areas of beauty, but where modern agriculture isn’t very practical. Oh, we have fruit orchards here and there, and the machines come out at night and tend them and harvest them in season; but basically this is residential area.”
He shook his head. “I’ll have another drink. A stiffer one this time,” he said, coming to his feet.
Chapter Nine
The Year 2, New Calendar
It is manifest that a doubling of the world’s population in a generation has monstrously distorted traditional patterns. It is manifest that technology is at the bottom of it, specifically modern medicine. All Humanity is affected… The goal of the birth control movement is a balanced society where man and his environment are in reasonable equilibrium, where children are wanted and cared for… if a given society desires… modern medicine and a low death rate, it must limit its birth rate.
Edith showed him the house in detail and Julian was properly impressed.
He asked, “Down here, away from the elements, how long would you expect a house like this to last?”
The question had evidently never occurred to her. “Why, I would think forever, given no serious earthquakes—or something unlikely such as being hit by a good-sized meteor. And always assuming, of course, that social change doesn’t bring us to a new politico-economic system that involves the stupidity of wars.”
“Knock on wood,” her guest muttered.
She said, “You know, in my archaeological studies the other day I was reading about some excavations in Mesopotamia, near Ur. They found a tomb constructed and furnished like a house. Everything was still perfect; in that dry climate not a thing had deteriorated. The walls were made of adobe brick, and so were the floors. The floors had been treated with ox blood and milk, evidently over and over again, so that they were as hard as linoleum, and they had retained their beautiful deep red sheen down through the thousands of years. It seems that underground houses, made with natural materials, can last forever.”
“Natural materials?”
“Actually, building materials have come a long way in the past third of a century. Beginning with spin-offs from the space program experiments, our scientists and technicians took off in all directions. For instance, the glass in this house is shatterproof, bullet-proof, and all but indestructible. I’m not up on the subject, but you can investigate it when we get back to the university, if you wish. Let’s eat, Jule. I’m starved.”
They went into the dining room. Julian said, “You name it. I have yet to have a dish in this era that wasn’t delicious.”
“How about a mixed grill of liver, kidney, and heart?”
“Sounds good.”
Edith dialed and while they waited she said, “Now, cooking is something I know a little about, since mother is such a buff. It’s become a fine art. In the past, almost everyone had food prejudices, often inherited from their parents since most cooking was done in the home. ‘I’m a meat and potatoes man,’ was a proud boast, when it should have been something to be ashamed of. There was precious little variety in most restaurant menus. From coast to coast you would find practically identical fare, and there was a sandwich stand on just about every corner. Now we teach the young people to be gourmets from earliest childhood.”
Julian laughed ruefully. “I too have my food prejudices. I could never stand either spinach or squash!”
The center of the table dropped, to return with their meal. Edith had ordered salad, vegetables, and a bottle of claret to go with the grill.
He shook his head. “I can’t get used to the idea of this meat being factory raised.”
“It makes sense,” she said. “Raising beef, pork, even chickens in the old manner was terribly inefficient, and practically impossible to automate very much. Take a country like India. In your day, they had hundreds of millions of cows. Can you imagine how much food had to go into each of them each year? And most of the Indians wouldn’t even eat beef for religious reasons. Humans starved, while cattle ate half the agricultural products of the country.”