It is fitting that a book like this simmers away on an architect's back burner for over a decade before emerging fully flavoured with the char of thousands of walks, the salt of hundreds of coffees, conversations, detours, near-accidents, musings and aggravations, as well as the smoke of world events, political movements, design trends and the shifting moods of one's life. For me, reading this book now is a kind of homage to Sorkin, who tragically died of coronavirus in the current pandemic, someone whose ideas about urban planning and social justice have fed my own.
A bricolage of of personal essay, manifesto, urban policy primer, and architectural treatise, the book is structured like the neigborhood it describes~ a stoop, a stairway, and a square lead to meandering passageways of history and memory, side streets with small gems of information, little pieces of personal memory shaded by political and philosophical bent.
As I'm sure Sorkin would agree, every New Yorker lives in their own New York. Sorkin's city is a contested space, and exists wherever its stakeholders~ its landowners and tenants and non rent-paying residents and communal organisations and policymakers ~can negotiate their terms of use and development, or lack of. If dispute and debate are the dance of the city, these people are the children fighting over the radio station: not everyone's tastes can have equal air time.
And to push this metaphor to it's breaking point, the proliferation of 'celebrity' waterfront property, Trump towers that twist zoning laws to house transient millionaires, top-down approaches to mixed-income housing, and new phenomenons such as the increased cost of living in environmentally 'at-risk' areas like seasides are all increasing the homogeneity and gentrification of historically industrial, working class areas. It feels like Sorkin's New York might be in the midst of its Last Waltz.
This narrowing of mixed uses and mixed demographics in cities pushes people to homogenize within cultures and demographics, even inside diverse cities- as an example, Sorkin points to the situation of the limited supply of space available in Manhattan and asks, "do we support Chinese real estate brokers who only lend to other Chinese" or "neighborhoods, like the ersatz "quarters" of Disneyland, maintained as phony representations of ecologies they do not support?" I hope not.
For as anyone who has been as unfortunate as my parents were to have to listen to the "It's a Small World After All" tune on repeat due to a stubborn child's obsession with that particular boat ride knows, what is magical for some is hellish for others. To visit Disneyland for a day is a treat, to live inside its candy-colored walls is a dystopian dream that would have Disney himself shuddering in his (fake news) cryogenic death chamber of tomorrow.