‘Drosscape’ must have been on my to-read list for about a decade. It stayed on there because, a) the expanses of wasted built environment in the US are fascinating in a horrifying sort of way, b) it is not an easy book to get hold of. I eventually found it in a well-stocked university library that was unusually willing to lend something classified as a folio. As I should perhaps have predicted, the photos are superb but the text nowhere near as compelling. Berger advances a broad theory of wasted space in the centres and fringes of American conurbations, in a style that is rather repetitive and not as profound as the seriousness of his tone would imply.
Starting with dense text rather than imagery was a tactical error, as I began the book irritated by Berger’s treatment of urban sprawl and wasted land as inevitable and ‘natural’. Indeed they are not. A complex interplay between economic, historical, cultural, geographical, and social factors have made America look like this. Nowhere in Europe does sprawl and inner city urban decay coexist to anything the same extent. Post-Soviet Russia might be comparable, ironically. The UK, by contrast, has encased its cities in green belts for more than fifty years. It’s very frustrating when American writers treat the state of things in their country (or ‘nation’ as it is pompously called) as an inevitable blueprint for the world. Particularly in cases like this, when the American way is manifestly dreadful. There is no one right way for urban development to proceed, of course, but it’s pretty clear that Los Angeles does not invite emulation. Although the book depicts spatial waste as a discrete* phenomenon, sprawl only became possible thanks to dependence on oil-powered vehicles. The size of American motorways required by incredibly low density development is terrifying. One reason I never want to go to the US is that every time I saw a highway I’d immediately have an anxiety attack.
Anyway, I found Berger’s classification of drosscape into sub-types reasonable enough, but the analysis of why it exists and what to do with it was slight and vague. It suffered in part from not mentioning the role of investment banks in the pre-2007 housing boom, as their insatiable appetite for subprime-mortgage-backed derivatives created a massive bubble. The reader looks at these endless identical suburbs and wonders, who built and bought this shit? Bergen does not elucidate. Frankly, the sitcom Arrested Development analyses the economics of speculative low density housing development much more effectively. Thus there isn’t much of note here in terms of theory, other than the very basic idea of reusing previously developed land for something different. Which surely would not be a novel concept in any other country in the world. In the UK we call it ‘regeneration’.
Nonetheless, the photography is stunning and makes the text worth slogging through. The pictures of drosscapes from the air are genuinely haunting and make this book a very appropriate Halloween read. America’s built environment scares the shit out of me. There’s a photo of LA International Airport which, at least 13 years ago, had twenty-five thousand parking spaces. As far as I can see, these were all at ground level, resulting in a gargantuan expanse of tarmac that dwarfed the actual runways. Why? This is the kind of thing I imagine whatever intelligent life survives into the next few centuries will hold up as evidence of human (well, American) folly. My fascination with photographs of wasteful development has limits, however. When graphs of population density and changes in dispersion of manufacturing jobs are presented, the superimposition of photos makes them frustratingly hard to read. Also the axes should be labelled more clearly. Recently I’ve been marking student assignments that contained some truly tragic graphs, so am more sensitive to this than usual. In conclusion, America is an environmental nightmare, but from the air its incredible spatial profligacy attains a certain toxic beauty.
* Not ‘discreet’. That typo gets on my nerves when found in turgid academic prose, as is the case here.