In his excellent Georgian Gothic: Medievalist Architecture, Furniture and Interiors 1730–1840, Peter Lindfield aims to rehabilitate Georgian Gothic by rescuing it from the condescension and criticism of the nineteenth-century Gothic Revival and taking it seriously as an expression of the taste of its times—one that evolved and developed alongside and in dialog with other aesthetic and architectural genres. There is plenty on the idea of good and bad taste, but these are the opinions of contemporaries rather than judgments made by the author. Indeed, it is one of the great strengths of his book that Lindfield does not seek to take sides; instead he lays out the challenges and opportunities faced by those wishing to deploy gothic designs in eighteenth-century England, and he explores in detail some of the historic houses that were the product of these endeavors.

In the opening chapter Lindfield sets the tone with an assessment of the changing ways in which eighteenth-century architects sought to understand Gothic architecture. In contrast with classicism, which could draw on Vitruvius and others, Gothicism lacked an organizing framework or set of principles. Coupled with the widespread nature of medieval buildings across the country, this allowed the development of a wide variety of approaches to and interpretations of Gothic. Having outlined this context in the opening chapter, Lindfield then offers a broadly chronological approach, tracing the development of the Gothic from Batty Langley to AWN Pugin via luminaries such as William Kent, Thomas Chippendale, Robert Adam and James Wyatt, but also lesser-known individuals, including Henry Keene, William Porden, and Lewis Cottingham.

Lindfield begins his narrative in the 1730s, with early attempts to incorporate gothic designs into a classical architectural framework. This involved adding decorative elements plucked from medieval buildings to designs that otherwise were rigidly classical: quatrefoils and ogee arches were thus found alongside ionic columns and entablature both in plans for buildings and illustrations for books. There was no notion that this classical gothic was in any way authentic, yet it was both widespread and formed an important foundation on which subsequent manifestations of gothic architecture were constructed. Indeed, the various manifestations of what we know as Rococo Gothic—a term often used dismissively, but which Lindfield uses as a more neutral description—were closely linked to these early experiments both in its several forms and its free use of medieval devices. These became part of the mainstream of design in the 1740s and 1750s through the pattern books issued by Chippendale and others, so that “gothic” furniture was found in houses up and down the country. Mostly, it was placed in essentially classical architectural settings, but occasionally there were more thoroughgoing gothic schemes, as at Croft Castle, Alscot Park, and, of course, Strawberry Hill. These formed early attempts to create a more “authentic” gothic that came to the fore in the later decades of the eighteenth century. At that time, both patrons and architects became more critically aware of the shortcomings of earlier forms of gothic architecture. Walpole was especially vocal on this, as with many other issues, but there were other proponents, including Dickie Bateman and Sir Roger Newdigate, both of whom Gothicized their houses with increasingly regard for historical authenticity.

Antiquarian interest in the medieval grew alongside a taste for the gothic both as a part of romanticism and, more specifically, as a literary genre of its own—trends that Lindfield quantifies in terms of the publication of scholarly papers, illustrations, and novels. Paradoxically, though, this was a time that gothic fell from favor in terms of architecture and design, despite its incorporation into the newly dominant neoclassicism. Like earlier hybrids, this neoclassical gothic was sometimes lambasted by critics, yet spread widely through the work of Adam brothers and the furniture of Gillows, both of whom are discussed in detail. Only in the early nineteenth century, Lindfield argues, do we see the emergence of full-blown gothic in places like Fonthill Abbey and Eaton Hall. These were purpose built rather than remodelings of earlier structures; they had historical credentials (such as Fonthill's links with Batalha in Portugal) and they represented huge investments on the part of their owners. For some architects, including William Porden at Eaton Hall, the cost and complexity of gothic design made it exclusive: a statement of wealth and cultural capital. Only in the 1830s and 1840s were arguments about national identity brought to the fore, most notably in the so-called Battle of the Styles surrounding the rebuilding of the Houses of Parliament after 1834.

What Lindfield offers, then, is a fascinating account of the fluctuating fortunes of the Gothic as an architectural style as it moved from decorative detail to defining the nation. It is an account that rightly eschews a narrative of linear progress (things are more complex than that); in focusing on the detail of particular houses and particular people, we get a much clearer idea of what gothic meant to Georgians and what it offered them both aesthetically and symbolically. Yet it is very much a supply-side story, told in terms of architect and designers rather than owners and patrons. We read about Walpole, Newdigate and Bateman as aristocrats with an interest in—even a passion for—the gothic; but we do not learn much about why they were so taken with the gothic, often at times when it was deeply unfashionable. And in most cases, the owners slip past us with scarcely a mention: what did gothic mean for the Earl of Grosvenor, who spent nearly £100,000 on rebuilding Eaton Hall, or the Prince Regent who laid out perhaps nine times that sum at Windsor Castle? Maybe these are questions for another book. As it stands, Lindfield offers the reader a fascinating and erudite analysis of the complex character and shifting understandings of gothic architecture in a period too readily dismissed by the giants of the Gothic Revival.