The Thumbnail Book Reviews
by John Q McDonald --- 2 January 2020
edited by Peter Chadwick and Ben Weaver
with an introduction by John Grindrod
In recent years, there has been a popular revival of the aesthetic experience of the architecture of so-called Brutalism, an expression usually applied to buildings with massive forms of poured concrete, a chilly impressive heaviness. More recently, the revival of interest has experienced a backlash of its own, as weirder and less-worthy examples of concrete construction become more well known, thanks to the internet, and besmirch the reputations of the finer examples of Heroic architecture. Brutalism is widely misunderstood, and didn't initially even refer to specifically concrete structures but, more to the point, structures that expressed a brutal honesty in their materials and construction. In the post-war era, Brutalist concrete was also widely associated with structures constructed for social purposes: government buildings, public transportation, parking, and housing projects. In particular, bleak concrete housing became emblematic of the worst that Brutalism had to offer. And yet, some of the finer more carefully considered public housing in concrete remain significant architectural landmarks for their social democratic philosophy and community engagement. There aren't a lot of such examples, and some of those are targets for demolition, binned with those worst concrete monoliths of cheap government construction. Maybe this is all for the best. After all, average residents might not appreciate the higher aspirations of that architectural style. Folks, in general, just want familiarity and comfort. Those who benefit from public housing perhaps need that kind of comfort most of all. Still, when such a development is leveled, there are always residents, as well as architectural fans, who express their native love for these buildings.
Particularly in the post-war period of social housing initiatives in Great Britain, that nation experimented wildly with the New Town movement typified by some good and some bad examples of Brutalism. Notable is the megastructure of Cumbernauld. And then we have the sprawling development of Thamesmead, built upon an abandoned military test area on the Thames river east of London. Constructed in the mid-1960s and continuing to be developed even today, Thamesmead was meant as a ground-up construction of an entire new city of sixty thousand inhabitants living in largely public subsidized council housing. The land is a flood plain, and the necessity driven by that natural fact led to a particular kind of elevated construction, on which modular and cast-in-place concrete apartments and townhouses were raised one story above grade. This fed into the trends of the day, in which it was seen as an architectural virtue to separate pedestrian traffic from growing auto traffic by elevating walkways, paths and plazas above roads, streets and parking areas. So, Thamesmead's first buildings were exceedingly particular examples of public Brutalist construction.
These original structures are looked upon with some nostalgic affection today, though from day one Thamesmead was buffeted by outside forces that challenged its ability to achieve its program of a massive new public town. Stores and other businesses were slow to occupy commercial space. A proposed bridge across the Thames never materialized, making roads to Thamesmead dead-ends. Public transit was limited to rare buses; subway and commuter rail not quite reaching this new town. Funding limitations and questions of construction quality slowed down building and raised maintenance costs. Political winds shifted, and the notion of public council housing was assaulted by champions of conservative austerity. Management was challenged by the innovative program for the town, and shifted ever further from public to private interests. Rental and council housing proportions dropped as more and more privately purchased properties were either converted or constructed, particularly most recently. In the interim, due to social challenges such as crime and the influx of a diverse immigrant community, the structures also changed with the times. Elevated paths were demolished. At least one public plaza over a parking garage was also removed. Innovative Brutalist structures were demolished and replaced by lighter modern constructions (which one may argue are also less imaginitive or outright boring).
On the one hand, architects are guilty of attempting to mold social structures and human behavior with their innovative design programs. People often say they want certain kinds of new things in their housing, but often mean that they ultimately prefer very conventional suburban living. On the other hand, the notable failures and challenges of city-building such as this are too often used to dismiss the whole project, to characterize the experiment as just so much liberal do-gooder meddling and waste. Sadly, Thamesmead, while being an innovation in design and plan, is also a victim of decades of shifting political priorities, economic instability, and the weight of its philosophical intentions. Much of what remains is beloved. Tens of thousands of people now live in a much more varied landscape of townhouses and apartment blocks. Natural areas are better curated and maintained. Businesses are settling in at long last, and a corporate structure stands ready to modernise and expand Thamesmead given a resurgent global interest in urban and high-rise living.
All of this is at least touched-on in this brief overview of Thamesmead and its history. The book summarizes the construction and ongoing challenges the development faces. It is lavishly illustrated with images of the town's construction, what it is like today, and of its people. There are a few personal histories of long-term residents and some visions of what may lie in the future. Indeed, the intent of at least a portion of this book is for the operators of Thamesmead to advertise not only their affection for the town's history, but their vision for new development. While the town never did quite reach its almost idyllic ideals, the people in charge have quietly shifted away from its program of social housing and toward a more capitalist semi-urban residential development. The result is a mixed bag. Better construction and a more attentively-managed landscape are certainly good. But the economic reality that lies in Thamesmead's future may only serve to perpetuate rather than resolve the economic and social inequalities its designers once tried to address. Whether you think that housing should be left entirely up to market forces or you think that housing is a right guaranteed by the social contract, or some combination of the two, likely depends on the political angle from which you consider the problem.
The book is also a document of the fiftieth anniversary of Thamesmead. It gives its residents past and present a record of the social experiment in which they've been engaged. It gives the Brutalist tourist something to hold on to and peruse at home. And it gives us a glimpse of the higher goals of social housing that we once prioritized.
See Also: [Heroic edited by Mark Pasnik, Michael Kubo and Chris Grimley] [Megastructure by Reyner Banham]