Raw Concrete: The Beauty of Brutalism

by Barnabas Calder

AN OBSERVER BOOK OF THE YEARBeginning in a tiny hermitage on the remote north Scottish coast, and ending up backstage at the National Theatre, Raw Concrete embarks on a wide-ranging journey through Britain over the past sixty years, stopping to examine how eight extraordinary buildings were made - from commission to construction - why they have been so vilified, and why they are beginning to be loved.

Genres: Architecture, Nonfiction, Art, History

Kindle Edition

First published August 28, 2016

Reviews

[Luis Cabrita · Rating 5 out of 5]

I must admit that I bought this book as a joke: as most people who are completely ignorant of architecture, my critique of brutalism was always along the lines of “this building is ugly” or “how can anyone remotely sane approve such an act of national vandalism by allowing nonsense like this to be built?”. After reading this book however I have to confess, my opinion on the matter remains exactly the same: these buildings are ugly insane acts of national vandalism.

Nevertheless, one is forced to admire the sheer forcefulness with which Mr. Calder defends the indefensible. My instinctive respect for the courage of non-conformity far outweighs my aesthetic displeasure at the buildings which the author dares characterize as beautiful. It is almost a testament to the power of education in shaping our thoughts: much like law schools take perfectly decent high school students and turns them into moral illiterates capable of finding innumerable extenuating circumstances for wife-beating; so too I suspect, one needs to be educated in architecture to be able to enjoy the sorts of buildings described in this book. Mr. Calder’s despair at regular people who are incapable of even liking the sort of building he loves resembles Plato’s complains of the inability of the regular Athenian citizens to even pretend to care about philosophical questions. And it is precisely this despair in the face of disgust and indifference that I find admirable.

Add to this the fact that the book is wonderfully written, and you have something that is absolutely worth reading. Stylistically, the book goes to such length in defence of concrete that one sometimes questions whether this is the greatest example of an unreliable narrator in non-fiction since Jonathan Swift. Examples of this literary brilliance includes:

“The gutter beams, for example, are not merely a functional structural component; they seem to take on the numinous solidity of Aztec sculpture.”

Or my absolute favourite paragraph in the book:

“Standing beneath one of the towers I would feel that strange release which comes with being dwarfed by natural or man-made immenseness; what some feel on contemplating the immensity of the universe, others of us get from the more aesthetically perceptible immensity of the Barbican. It can be paradoxically comforting to be given a direct aesthetic experience of one’s own smallness and the corresponding triviality of one’s worries and ambitions.”

I must admit that it is beyond my powers of imagination to even conceptualize a fellow human being having these feelings of cosmic awe towards what is in effect a Khrushchyovka for overpaid bankers. After reading this paragraph I seriously question for about six minutes whether Swift actually believed that Irish people were a nutritious alternative to bread – one has to admit that it is at least as plausible as having a quasi-religious feeling towards the Barbican.

In the end I really enjoyed the book. I wasn’t convincing, but non-fiction does not have to be convincing to be good. Mr. Calder’s opinions and tastes are perfectly valid for someone who has had the misfortune to have undergone years of studying architecture. As a political scientist I have been trained for years to be thoroughly convinced that opinion pools are useful so I understand Mr. Calder’s predicament. And after decades of western governments trying their absolute best to answer the question “how many years without building affordable housing can we last before a social revolution sweeps over the country?”; it is good to remind ourselves that despite being aesthetically repugnant, British brutalism was at least trying.

5 out 5.

[Sven K · Rating 5 out of 5]

Amazing book. Never read a book about architecture before but this author manages to get me very excited. The book has humor, social history and great information about brutalism. A lot of potential for a personal BOTY

[Keen Reader · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 Stars!

I have developed quite a fondness for these books on post war British architecture, with an emphasis on Brutalism. There are many fine and engaging writers out there who have come out with some great books over the last few years, which really do justice to the subject. Straight off the bat Calder’s love and enthusiasm for his subject jumps off the page and pulls you in there with him. He makes the bold claim that, “Brutalism was the high point of architecture in the entire history of humanity. It takes only a fairly basic level of expertise to start to recognise it as one of the greatest ever flowerings of human creativity and ingenuity.”

Although not something that I could ever agree with but still, he does pen a lovely introduction. One of the distinguishing characteristics about this book is the degree of attention he gives to places which rarely if ever appear on the architectural radar of most critics and authors, the likes of the Hermit’s Castle at Achmelvich in the far north of Scotland, the Anderston Centre, the Newbery Tower and the Strathclyde Architecture Building all found within the heart of Glasgow. He also dedicates a lot of time to the New Court at Christ’s College in Cambridge and the Leicester Engineering Building too.

Calder makes a good point about how so often the architect or the architecture is scapegoated for all the problems like with crime and decay, whereas the truth is that there is more to it than that, poor management of the building can have a devastating effect on the buildings and if the structures are well-maintained and properly cared for by the relevant authorities then much of the harm can be at least mitigated to some extent.

But of course there is a danger with fetishizing it. The very serious and growing problem of white, middle-class academics coming to gawp as if on some poverty tourism outing, secure in the knowledge that they never had to grow up in such a place, and endure all the problems and difficulties that come with it. They can enjoy a fleeting tour to appreciate the aesthetic aspects and toddle off again. It makes you wonder how many of these academics, artists etc would be as receptive to the idea of the tenants from these high rises coming en-masse to stand outside their houses, point, click and chat away as if they weren’t even there?...

Like with so many books by academics and lecturers this suffers from rambling verbosity and it would really have benefited from being reigned in and tightened up. That is the inescapable flaw with this, there were many times when I found myself distracted and drifting. But still, this was an enjoyable read, really well-researched and it tackles many refreshingly different examples in a new, though often exhausting light.

[M. Vtornikov · Rating 2 out of 5]

This book has gone some way in convincing me (neither Brutalism's biggest fan nor hater) of the appeal of Brutalist architecture. I should emphasise that I choose the word 'appeal' rather than 'beauty' carefully.

BC does a sound job of dispelling many 'myths' to which a total architectural novice like myself is likely to have been exposed, such as the ideas that there was a kind of malign anti-aesthetic conspiracy among the architects of the time, or that Brutalism was the 'lazy' design option, or that concrete was favoured for its extreme cheapness. It was especially interesting to learn about the amount of work and the degree of craftsmanship that went into producing various concrete finishes. These considerations have heightened the *appeal* of Brutalism for me and I will hopefully better enjoy/appreciate Brutalist buildings when and as I encounter them.

BC has not, however--despite the book's title--gone very far in convincing me of Brutalism's beauty. His own appreciation of the style seems to centre on what the style represents (to him): cheap abundant energy, post-war optimism, the welfare state, deslumification, architectural freedom that is not possible today, rebellion against bland early Modernism, "progress".

This, in my view, relates more to appeal than beauty and results in most of the book consisting of a narration about how the buildings in question came about. While this is good in small doses, it eventually gets rather tedious; reading for the gazillionth time about yet another architect experiencing Death by a 1000 Committees did not exactly arrest the wandering of my attention.

When it comes to describing the feelings Brutalist buildings evoke in him, far from convincing me of their beauty, BC sounds not too dissimilar to Brutalism's detractors: "thrilling, horror-film dominance", "dwarfed by ... man-made immenseness", "intrusive, uncouth virility", "boundless toughness, bleak and terrifying".

This made me think that perhaps Brutalism enjoyers ought to stop trying (and failing) to convince us of Brutalism's beauty and focus instead on other purely aesthetic reactions that the style evokes. While the above quotes do not scream 'beauty', they do pertain to other aesthetic sensibilities, which could--with some skill--be defended -- e.g., the sublime v the beautiful (cf Burke). Does architecture have to be beautiful? Can it legitimately aim at other aesthetic qualities? What could these qualities be? Does Brutalism successfully do this?

It would have been nice to get a more comparative angle with respect to other styles: why is Brutalism better/more beautiful? BC states at the start that he has come to believe "that these buildings not only match the great architecture of any other period, but that they win out". Yet I did not find this explored.

Other random observations:

1. I found it amusing that Denys Lasdun consoled himself with an Edmund Burke quote in the face of the backlash against his National Theatre, given that Burke would almost certainly have highly disapproved of his architecture.

2. My favourite building in BC's selection was probably Hermit's Castle because it showed that Brutalism can be convincingly applied on small 'human scale', as opposed to the large bombastic projects, to which I previously believed it to best/exclusively lend itself.

3. Sir Leslie Martin's preference for young fiery architects with something to prove made we ponder the necessity of putting a minimum age floor on eligibility to become an architect (at least 40, I think).

[Bruno · Rating 5 out of 5]

‘Yet each generation fails to learn the lesson that all architecture, and perhaps especially the strongest-flavoured and best, has an unfashionable moment for several decades after each completion.’

A passionate book, a heartfelt defense urging us to rethink how we see and apreciate the buildings around us, and a reminder that we should value the little we have left (and remember how much we have already lost).

[Taylor Hughson · Rating 5 out of 5]

I really liked this and it was surprisingly readable for a book that spent a lot of time detailing complex construction processes, but I do think a good editor could have probably helped chop this down to say 250 pages rather than 340 - gets quite wordy and overly detailed at times.

[Filip Olšovský · Rating 5 out of 5]

Brilliant combination of subjective narration and factography. Excellent in telling the story of every building and focus on the smallerst of details. If you are in love with brutalism, this is an excellent way of how to spread the love further. If you are not, this is the way to go.

[Mike Clarke · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rough with the smooth: Barnabas Calder is a subject matter expert par excellence which gives him the right to be angry. Raw Concrete is a bold apologia for that most-derided of architectural styles, Brutalism. And yet, when you look at the sea of hideous and now largely redundant shopping malls and office blocks in faux marbre, steel and glass, with their “windswept plazas and attendant branches of Costa coffee” as Owen Hatherley described it, it may well be a case of “come back Rodney Gordon, all is forgiven.”

I do know a bit about this from personal experience. In terms of the examples Calder cites to support his polemic, I’ve been in the Southbank Centre and Barbican as a performer and in the audience on numerous occasions, I’ve been to the National Theatre often, and had the pleasure of visiting Balfron Tower as part of the Home On High art project in 2017. Trellick was on the library cards we issued in Kensington and Chelsea, one of a series of local landmarks and to my mind more interesting than Kensington Palace or the coloured stucco of Notting Hill. A lovely Scunthorpe lad of taste and refinement whom I knew well lived in Keeling House, Lasdun’s social housing masterpiece in the East End, now a sought after, stylish address. More than these, I lived in a modern estate - deck access, system built council houses with more than a touch of the Brutal about them - for three years before they were swept away by Michael Heseltine, full of reforming zeal. Both the flat and the maisonette I successively occupied were well-designed: airy, spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows in the main rooms, ample storage, and fanlights illuminating the internal areas. Poor maintenance, lack of rent collection, and the presence of asbestos condemned them even if the basic design was sound. As always, the poor suffer from the decisions of the rich and powerful.

Brutalism is beautiful - done right - but it takes an educated palate to appreciate it. Few enjoy oysters or the films of Pasolini without some foreknowledge. Previous generations discarded first Georgian then Victorian buildings and furnishings as unfashionable and worthless. We never learn. Some day, I hope to live on the 21st floor of a Brutalist classic. We are dreamers after all.

[Andy Watt · Rating 4 out of 5]

An enjoyable and personal view of a selection of Brutalist British buildings from an enthusiast and professional in the field. The genuine passion for the subject and easy writing style make this a much more enjoyable read than the academic background of its author might imply. It's a very personal view, well researched but as much historic travelogue through Calder's interaction with the buildings as revealing history of the movement.

There's surprisingly little context though and his genuine love of some of the buildings without the context of whether they were loved at the time, were actually fir for purpose and how they are viewed by others does get wearing - not everyone loves leaky windows, drafts and constant repairs - something other books on the topic reveal. A recommended read though even for those casually interested in Britain's post-war reconstruction.

[Steve · Rating 5 out of 5]

A fascinating and personal account of one man's relationship, and love for, Britain's brutalist architecture.

Full of fascinating detail, it takes a somewhat unstructured stroll through the history of our brutalism, both public and commercial, stopping off on the wild coast of Scotland, Glasgow, London and Cambridge, by way of intriguing diversions into the role of the LCC's Sir Leslie Martin and post-war reconstruction politics.

Calder is an enthusiast through and through, as well as an expert, and this passion shines through. He's also a good writer, providing some wonderful turns of phrase as well as interesting tid-bits of information.

Altogether, hugely enjoyable.

[Yorgos P · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a fun book. The author travels around the UK and through their personal experiences, they manage to narrate the story of British new brutalism. However, they systematically ignore the class-based element of brutalism itself, and omitting its radical progressiveness. They fetishise brutalism as a form while silencing it as an essence

[Colin Roy · Rating 4 out of 5]

A pleasant journey with a chatty author that gets to the heart of a selection of Brutalist buildings in the UK. In showing us how to understand these monolithic structures, Barnabas Calder also unveils and revels in their oft missed beauty.

[Mr Guy S Dickinson · Rating 5 out of 5]

An eloquent love story of Brutalism

Beautiful, lyrical writing, with superb personal accounts of encounters with a range of the UK’s maligned, and now favoured buildings.

I learnt a tremendous amount from this book.

[Classic · Rating 5 out of 5]

A great book about what Brutalism is, how it was implemented throughout the UK and why these buildings are cool

[Joe Johansen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thorough and fantastically compelling; eye-opening!

[Cameron Smith · Rating 5 out of 5]

I am convinced. The author has successfully converted me into a concrete-sniffing w***er.

[IW · Rating 5 out of 5]

I’m a brutalist convert. I like concrete now more than an ordinary amount

[Karl · Rating 3 out of 5]

--- "once you get your eye in you start to see a huge range of textures, tones and colours, a level of variety almost comparable to that of building stone, which is rarely attacked for its monotony." (Calder: 29)
--- "Brutalist concrete was a celebration of unprecedented creative freedom." (Calder: 336)

This book talks about Brutalist architecture in England and Scotland. It does so by describing several buildings, out of which you can grasp the main features of Brutalism.

In my opinion, the book should have included far more photographs. In that way I would have understood the descriptions of the buildings easier. I know there is a website with photographs but the author should have numbered these photographs and pointed in the book at which photograph number to look at for every description.

Apart from this I also found the book too full of trivial/unnecessary information. However, and despite the annoying difficulties I came across in understanding many descriptions of the buildings, the book is good at explaining what Brutalism is in the UK.

[Simon Mee · Rating 4 out of 5]

Brutalism is a subject I know only the smallest bit about, so I am in no position to second guess the author. However he does an excellent job of convincing me that Brutalism was more than a fad, if not quite that "Brutalism was the high point of architecture in the entire history of humanity."

When I thought of Brutalism, gigantic landscape dominating buildings come to mind, so the author's first example is the tiny Hermit's Castle in Scotland. When I think of featureless blocks, the author waxes lyrical about elevator buttons. When I think of impersonality, the author infuses the story with personalities, including the Goldfinger who inspired Goldfinger (as you can guess, Ian Fleming did not make much effort to disguise his nemesis).

The architectural achievements are interesting and well described, but it is the context in which the buildings inhabit that is the feature of this book. Racial tensions rear their head as to who gets the worst concrete blasting jobs at the Barbican. The squabbling theatre performers almost doom the National Theatre. Commercial developers exploit poorly drafted laws and hold local Councils to ransom. Concrete, reinforced with steel, offered architects opportunities beyond the arches prevalent since Roman times but they still had to do the calculations by hand. Further, making the concrete moulds still required craftsmanship.

Brutalism adds a new dimension to the early post war era, when energy was cheap and reinforced concrete offered a way to start afresh with the Victorian slums. It is worth learning more about.

[Roger · Rating 5 out of 5]

A glorious book, written with passion and intelligence. I can honestly say no book has ever changed my mind so completely about its subject matter.

I started out (and the author admits he did too) with the usual off-the-peg opinions about Brutalism, based on no knowledge at all (Calder is very good on the dual nature of architecture, the art form with which we all engage constantly but, unless we become architects ourselves, almost certainly have no education in). And it's amazing how quickly and simply he was able to explain what it was about, and how the cheapest energy in history in the 1960s made it all possible.

I can't promise you'll end up agreeing with the author that Brutalism represents the highest flowering of human creativity in architectural history. But you'll never look at the National Theatre the same way again once you know the texture of the concrete comes from making the moulds out of Douglas Firs.

[Alison · Rating 4 out of 5]

Chatty, anecdotal, engagingly personal and entertaining. And very much in love with Brutalist architecture "the high point of architecture in the entire history of humanity ... one of the greatest ever flowerings of human creativity and ingenuity" Particularly enjoyed the sections on the GSA's Newberry Tower.

[Colin Bisset · Rating 5 out of 5]

A good read about several British Brutalist buildings that gives you plenty of background info and an appreciation of why these buildings matter. Calder writes well (apart from using the dreaded 'whilst' instead of plain old Brutalist 'while') and the book is full of his personal observations that elevate the book from pure information. Looking forward to his next on Lasdun.