Few figures in the American arts have stories richer in irony than does architect Minoru Yamasaki. While his twin towers of New York's World Trade Center are internationally iconic, few who know the icon recognize its architect's name or know much about his portfolio of more than 200 buildings. One is tempted to call him America's most famous forgotten architect. He was classed in the top tier of his profession in the 1950s and '60s, as he carried modernism in novel directions, yet today he is best known not for buildings that stand but for two projects that were destroyed under tragic circumstances: the twin towers and the Pruitt-Igoe housing project in St. Louis. This book undertakes a reinterpretation of Yamasaki's significance that combines architectural history with the study of his intersection with defining moments of American history and culture. The story of the loss and vulnerability of Yamasaki's legacy illustrates the fragility of all architecture in the face of natural and historical forces, yet in Yamasaki's view, fragility is also a positive quality in architecture: the source of its refinement, beauty, and humanity. We learn something essential about architecture when we explore this tension of strength and fragility.
In the course of interpreting Yamasaki's architecture through the wide lens of the book we see the mid-century role of Detroit as an industrial power and architectural mecca; we follow a debate over public housing that entailed the creation and eventual destruction of many thousands of units; we examine competing attempts to embody democratic ideals in architecture and to represent those ideals in foreign lands; we ponder the consequences of anti-Japanese prejudice and the masculism of the architectural profession; we see Yamasaki's style criticized for its arid minimalism yet equally for its delicacy and charm; we observe Yamasaki making a great name for himself in the Arab world but his twin towers ultimately destroyed by Islamic militants. As this curious tale of ironies unfolds, it invites reflection on the core of modern architecture's search for meaning and on the creative possibilities its legacy continues to offer.
Beautifully illustrated with over 100 color illustrations of Yamasaki's buildings, this book will be of interest to students, academics and professionals in a range of disciplines, including architectural history, architectural theory, architectural preservation, and urban design and planning.
This might be the most academic book I have ever read. And, much like Because Internet last year, it took me a good three months to finish it—a bit longer even, for a book that's all of 251 pages long. I got the last third of it so done on the flights to and from Louisville for my trip there in late March, having started it in December, plus having renewed it at the library twice, then being forced to return it and check it out again, and then renew it twice yet again. And this was not because I was disinterested in the book; it’s a matter of putting myself in circumstances where I have the time and the lack of distractions—such as, say, a cross-country flight. And I certainly didn't want to give up on this book, which the library literally added to their collection at my request (a first for me!) after I learned of its existence in the wake of the 20th anniversary of 9/11 in September 2021.
The subject of this book has special significance for me, a longtime and huge nerd about skyscrapers, as Minoru Yamasaki was a graduate of University of Washington, grew up in Seattle, and designed, among countless other structures around the world, iconic skyscrapers from coast to coast: the collapsed Twin Towers of the World Trade Center, first completed in New York City in 1973; as well as Seattle's own building on a pedestal, Rainier Tower, completed in 1977. He also designed the Pacific Science Center, originally named United States Science Pavilion, at Seattle Center in 1962. He also designed Seattle's IBM Building (now just called 1200 Fifth), finished in 1964. This clear local-architect connection to the World Trade Center and the 9/11 tragedy naturally piqued my interest, and the anniversary coverage in 2021 made me aware of this, very new book. It reads a lot like something someone might read in a college class (although an architect friend of mine was bemused to learn that author Paul Kidder is a philosopher and not an architect himself) but I did still find it interesting and engaging—especially the last third or so, which included a chapter dedicated to the changing attitudes about the WTC design, particularly before and after the collapse of the Twin Towers. That said, it connected to a particularly niche interest of mine, and I can't imagine many other non-architects like myself having a great deal of interest in it.