About a week ago, someone liked one of my reviews and after I clicked onto their profile I noticed they had reviewed this book. I’ve been fascinated by the whole idea of place and space for a very long time. Well, that and Goffman’s symbolic interactionism – the idea that many of our interactions can be understood as little dramas. So, this seemed right up my alley, so to speak.
Well, if Goffman liked dramas, the thing to notice is that dramas happen on stages with props, and, as Chekov liked to say, if there is a gun on a wall at the start of the play, it had better have gone off by the third act. Items on a stage are meant to be essential, you could imagine them as being inanimate actors in the play – which is more or less the central idea of New Materialism. All the same, this book is easier to read than most New Materialism.
So, what about all of the things that appear in a city street? You could shrug this off by saying, well, a city street isn’t really a stage. But the thing is that both are artifacts – they are made by humans so as to serve human purposes. All the same, when we think of cities we are much more likely to think about buildings than we are the spaces between them. And the author is at pains to say that the spaces between buildings are often much more interesting (and important) to the life of the city, than buildings. He even says at one point that you can have buildings of fascinating shapes and any or multiple colours of concrete and that hardly matters at all if the spaces between the buildings are poorly designed.
Three things happen in the spaces between buildings – necessary activities, optional activities and social activities. These are, or can be, overlapping categories, but they are still useful to think with all the same. No matter how bad the space between buildings is, you are still going to have to go out into them for necessary activities – to buy food, or go to work, say. Some social activities are going to fit into the necessary group too category too, but obviously, optional activities are going to be strongly impacted by the quality of the space, with you being much more likely to spend time in that space if it is welcoming.
So, what does welcoming mean? Most of this book is about answering that question. And some of the things said – oh, and shown, as there are lots of photos of street scenes – seemed surprisingly counter-intuitive to me. For example, he says at one point that most streetscapes would be improved if there was less space in them – I really would have expected the opposite.
He spends quite a lot of this book discussing human physical characteristics, and how these impact on whether the spaces between buildings are appropriate to human interactions. How far away can someone be for us to be able to hear them? How far away they can be before even if we can hear them, we can’t really sustain a conversation? And bizarrely, how close do they have to be before we feel forced to stop having a conversation with them? I’m not sure if you’ve ever noticed this, but you can be chatting away furiously with someone walking up to a lift, but then stop speaking immediately while you are in the lift. Space matters – and it certainly isn’t due to it being hard to hear what is being said in a lift – quite the opposite, in fact.
And then there is the fact we never see stuff that is above a certain height in streetscapes, not least since we generally walk with our heads tilted slightly to the ground, as Ani DiFranco says, ‘when I look down, I just miss all the good stuff, when I look up, I just trip over things’. Or the fact that we have a preference for the shortest route between two points, even if it isn’t the easiest way to get there.
Our senses have evolved to be useful to us at particular scales, and walking pace matches most of those scales for us. Walking pace means we can see all of the details in an urban space that certainly can’t be seen while driving through them in a motor car at 70km/h. In the car, signs need to be huge, barriers (of one form or another) need to exist between the driver and pedestrians, and noise from the cars means talking becomes next to impossible for people on the streets. Parents hold onto children’s hands in such spaces and so children are less engaged in these places too.
I had never really thought about how people interact with large open spaces before. Generally, we start off by sticking to the edges of space – so, increasing the number of edges is often a good way to increase the amount of human interaction with that space.
Inevitably, I kept thinking about my own city while reading this. Melbourne has often been voted the world’s most liveable city – this isn’t nearly as impressive as it sounds. Really, it is something the Economist magazine does for its readers, it being a kind of competition to decide how much you should be compensated if you have to live somewhere else. You know, if your company sent you to live in Yemen or Gaza, you would probably want some sort of danger money to make it worthwhile. Whereas, Melbourne is relatively politically stable, has quite nice drinking water, lots private schools and legalised prostitution, all of which are the things a business man away from home needs to tick off their list.
When Melbourne’s streets were planned, the governor at the time demanded that the Little Streets – between the main ones – should be made narrower than the planner had intended. The planner wanted them wider, because they believed at the time that disease was spread by bad smells. There was a fight, and the governor won. The governor wanted more housing blocks and less public road, since there was money pouring in from one and money disappearing due to the other. But this meant Melbourne inadvertently is an example of both the too much and too little space discussed here – and what he says basically works – the main streets are far too wide for you to get a sense of what is going on on the other side of the street – but this is certainly not true of the little streets. Some of the little streets have had traffic taken out from them and have then become virtual outdoor restaurants. There is a liveliness to these streets that you don’t find so much in the main streets, even when these too have been turned into malls. And it isn’t a shortage of people on the main streets – there is often more than enough people there.
The author makes the point that we are endlessly fascinated by our fellow humans. So, the seats in a square or at a park that are most likely to be used as the ones that let those sitting on them see the flow of people around them – rather than, say, a very attractive flower bed. People will stand for ages watching other people work on a building site, but might not look at all when no one is working there – when, if you think about it, there is probably almost as much to see both times. This is also true of those people you sometimes see drawing artworks in chalk on the pavement. As the author says, we will stop and watch them drawing, but might walk over their artwork once the artist has gone for the day.
Human interaction both draws us towards it, but also can require courage to get us to make that first step. And here the author talks about the benefits of private, public and semi-public spaces – for example, having a front-garden in your property where you can ‘tend to the garden’ – that is, have a reason for being there – while also allowing chances to occur where you can speak with neighbours and with people passing by. The book says that Venice is a particularly human city, since it has so many features that make incidental human interactions much likely. He says at one point that just about every object in the city of Venice can be used as a seat.
This is a remarkably short book, but it is packed with things I’d never thought about before that made me think about what makes the spaces between buildings either work or not. It’s the sort of book that will come to annoy you while you are out and about walking about your local neighbourhood – and, honestly, how could that not be a good thing?