Iconicon

by John Grindrod

A captivating exploration of Britain’s most iconic contemporary buildings, from the Barratt home to the Millennium Dome.

***TIMES BOOK OF THE WEEK*** 'A punchy polemic ... Highly readable.'

'A love letter to contemporary buildings and a fantastic account of recent British history, rich in humour.' NINA STIBBE

'Grindrod has spoken to everyone and his observations are humane and acute.' OWEN HATHERLEY

Wimpey homes. Millennium monuments. Riverside flats. Wind farms. Spectacular skyscrapers. City centre apartments. Out of town malls.

The buildings designed in our lifetimes encapsulate the dreams and aspirations of our culture, while also revealing the sobering realities. Whether modest or monumental, they offer a living history of Britain, symbols of the forces that have shaped our modern landscape and icons in their own right.

ICONICON is an enthralling journey around the Britain we have created since 1980: the horrors and delights, the triumphs and failures. From space-age tower blocks to suburban business parks, and from postmodernist exuberance to Passivhaus eco-efficiency, this is at once a revelatory architectural grand tour and an endlessly witty and engaging piece of social history.

Genres: Nonfiction, Architecture, History, Design, Urbanism, British Literature, Travel

464 pages, Paperback

Published May 9, 2023

Reviews

[Anna · Rating 4 out of 5]

I really enjoy the sub-genre of books chronicling a white man's judgemental walking tours of urban architecture. (If there are such books written by not-white not-men, please recommend them!) Most of those that I've read were by the pleasingly acerbic Owen Hatherley. John Grindrod, of the positively Dickensian name, has a similar tone but covers different ground. In fact, he mentions Hatherley's The Ministry of Nostalgia, which would read well with Iconicon: A Journey Around the Landmark Buildings of Contemporary Britain. Grindrod traces trends in spatial planning and notable architectural landmarks in Britain from 1980 to 2021. Inevitably this also entails wider political history, of deregulation, neoliberalism, and austerity. All of these have had disastrous effects on housing policy in Britain, resulting in homelessness, affordability crisis, poor quality housing stock, catastrophes like the Grenfell fire, and the smallest new homes in Europe. For greater detail on housing policy failures I recommend All That Is Solid: The Great Housing Disaster and Rethinking the Economics of Land and Housing. However, the points of focus here are the structures themselves and what their planning and design says about British society. Grindrod selects a really interesting range of examples and examines each with incisive wit.

Part of the reason for my delight in this sub-genre are my own pretensions to it. I have long possessed many opinions about urban planning and architecture; in this book Grindrod even validates part of the undergraduate dissertation I wrote in 2006. In this I compared the ethos and design of model industrial towns of the 19th century and Prince Charles' 20th century model community, Poundbury. Like Grindrod, I spent a day wandering Poundbury, gawking and taking photos. His impressions:

Beyond that we strolled down a facsimile small-town lane, winding along with faux-Georgian cottages of all hues and cosy dwellings of sponge-cake brick and shortbread lintels. A friend likened it to the village in Shrek, so pristine and CGI is it. The lanes are bizarre, but they are also perfectly fine. An experiment in whimsy executed with a certain degree of charm. [...] A short way down and we encounter our first square, not, as I might have imagined, occupied by a market and some posh loos and benches, but by cars. Every square we come to is crammed with great bulbous 4x4s, and every house has at least one parked outside. After a while, what seems more noticeable here are the cars rather than the buildings.

Naturally he writes much more evocatively than I did in my dissertation, but I made the same points. Beneath the visual heterogeneity of the buildings, there is a real lack of thought about shared space, transport infrastructure, and community-building. Poundbury is a commuter dormitory with a severe parking problem. For me the most memorable sight was a single house with five different styles of window, with an effect perhaps best described as hectic. As an undergrad, I argued that this experimental attempt at utopian planning was no more lastingly successful than the model industrial towns, because it was imposed from above rather than with input from the inhabitants. Grindrod's commentary on Prince Charles' influential opposition to modern and postmodern architecture is both droll and insightful.

Pen portraits of many buildings are woven through the book. My favourites were the Gherkin (London's only skyscraper without an aura of extreme wealth and evil), the Millennium Dome (a fascinating technological achievement), the Angel of the North (the striking form of which was shaped by engineering requirements), and the Scottish Parliament. The latter deserves, and probably has, its own book. The project was troubled, to say the least. I agree with Grindrod that the debating chamber is beautiful and makes ingenious use of light. However he makes little mention of the incredible difficulty of navigating the maze-like interior or the reason (that I heard) for the myriad decorative details. The architect sadly passed away part-way through the project and rather than narrowing down to one or two main motifs, all those suggested ended up being used in the final building. After initial scepticism about the overall visual effect of this, I've warmed to the exterior of the Scottish Parliament. It looks both striking and natural next to the Crags and Holyrood Palace, which is no mean feat.

This is not to say that I merely enjoyed having my own opinions confirmed by Iconicon: A Journey Around the Landmark Buildings of Contemporary Britain. I also learned a lot, both about structures I'd seen and some I'd never heard of. The discussion of property TV programmes as expressions of the predominating housing concerns of the time is also thought-provoking: 'Location, Location, Location is very much a heterosexual version of Queer Eye, where we were told what we should aspire to'. The most hopeful and encouraging chapter concerns the gradual, limited efforts of local authorities and communities to build high quality new social housing after decades of decline under right to buy. I was fascinated by a place I hadn't come across before, the Granby area of Liverpool, which has made a success of community-led regeneration:

Granby is a story of transformations within transformations, a kind of fractal process from micro to macro and back again. Winning the Turner Prize allowed the world to see what was being done at Granby was not just bricks and mortar, not even just a story of improved living conditions or social justice. Suddenly, Granby stood for the ineffable qualities of the soul, of beauty, of philosophy.

Grindrod covers a lot in this social and spatial history of the UK's last forty years. He writes in an engaging style, tying his architectural tour together using the regeneration of the London Docklands. If you enjoy the work of Owen Hatherley, I think you will also appreciate Iconicon: A Journey Around the Landmark Buildings of Contemporary Britain. Grindrod has his own similar yet distinctive voice and set of perspectives. The main thing I disagree with him about is Milton Keynes, which I maintain is a terrible place designed for robots that definitely doesn't deserve to be a city.

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5

An in-depth and fascinating literary (and architectural) journey around contemporary Britain and the buildings which have shaped the country's recent past. Grindrod knows his stuff, and his enthusiasm for post-modern architecture is infectious.

(More to come after I attend a virtual author event on Thursday 5th May courtesy of the ever excellent Portobello Bookshop.)

[Alex Sarll]

If Grindrod's Concretopia explored the post-war rebuilding of Britain, Iconicon is the sequel picking up as the post-war settlement crumbles. And not just in the marketing sense that (admittedly offputting) title might suggest: "It's the Britain we have actually built since 1980 – chaotic, awkward, clashing and busy, a mixture of outlandish gestures, astonishing creativity, drab conformity and petty meanness, sometimes all at once." At one point towards the end, he suggests the two stories are mirror images, and if I'm not sure that entirely holds up, there are definite resonances – not to mention internal echoes. For all that he's a self-professed fan of the earlier book's brutalist public works, Grindrod isn't blind to the charm more contemporary work sometimes achieves, even if – being British – he often needs to be wry about how he expresses it, as when considering how the Clore Gallery looks just as good upside down, or saying (as a compliment) that "You can sketch the Shard or the Gherkin with a couple of lines. No. 1 Poultry, like the best dreams, defies coherent recollection." Not that I always agree with his assessments, you understand; he absolutely loathes the absurdist retail dystopia theme park that is Trago Mills (though to be fair, we did different branches and maybe Liskeard isn't as good), and his love of Whitechapel's Idea Store takes in the form, which I never much rated, fond as I was of its ability to funnel the comics collections of two dozen boroughs into my greedy grasp. But his views are always put across with sufficient justification and finesse that I could never begrudge them. Often, he goes past wry and into outright comedy, but for my taste at least, the jokes work reliably enough that I don't object, as when "A tiny pitched roof sits meanly on top of a fat tower, like a paper hat on a bouncer." It helps that this isn't a matter of clowning for clowning's sake, an attempt to get people who don't think they're interested in architecture to read about it, You Don't Have To Be Crazy To Live Here... But It Helps (And If Not, You Soon Will Be). No, these are the assured asides of someone who knows his stuff, who has a coherent position, and who recognises humour as one among the many ways to get that across: "An early example was from John Laing and the London Industrial Association (not a band) who created Skylines (not an album), now known as London Docklands Professional Park (not a park)."

Not that it's always a funny story, of course, not even in that sense of gallows humour as a response to the expensive bullshit perpetrated in glass, steel and verbiage across the nation. At one point farce repeats as tragedy, the former coming when Corby's aborted WonderWorld (where I would actually have quite liked to check out the Terry Gilliam restaurant, albeit probably not enough to go to Corby) serves as a dumbshow of the much grander, ultimately just about semi-successful Millennium Dome saga to come. The various Millennium projects form the centrepiece of the book's middle section, For Tomorrow, with Docklands taking an equivalent role in the preceding Penthouse And Pavement; in the last section it's austerity, of course, and I remain convinced there must have been a British band who could have supplied a similarly perfect title there, though I can't deny MGMT's Little Dark Age applies. But certainly with the grand schemes either side of the Thames, he's done an excellent job of taking familiar stories, both of which I lived through, one of which I was even aware of at the time, and digging up stuff I didn't know, like the Millennium Eve bomb scare. Imagine if Blair had actually decided to evacuate, how different the national mood would have been – let alone if a device had actually gone off! As is, it's remarkable, not to mention poignant, to be reminded of how hopeful the world felt back then. Obviously we carped and took the piss, because again, we're British. Very few of us could with a straight face have echoed Mandelson's line: "I want the Dome to capture the spirit of modern Britain – a nation that is confident, excited, impatient for the future." But with hindsight...actually, yeah, it was a bit, wasn't it?

As for the tragedy, well, where to begin. There's the homelessness, the ugly and inappropriate buildings, the developers using opaque assessments of profitability to duck out of their obligations on affordable housing and laugh all the way to the bank. There's the breathtaking waste of public funds to private benefit in PFI, and the new estates getting infill housing before the first homes have weathered. Sometimes the chiselling almost comes back around to being funny, as when show homes on new estates turn out to have furniture at seven-eighths of normal size to make them look like homes rather than rabbit hutches, or when Facebook grants developers Persimmon admin rights to the group 'DO NOT BUY a Persimmon home', and they inevitably prove much speedier about making that over than they ever did about fixing the flaws in their crappy buildings. But looming above all of this, the inevitable endpoint of the whole pile 'em high, sell 'em dear, and if they can't afford dear then fuck 'em, there's Grenfell. And just as the Dome had its Corby prelude, Grindrod shows how closely the Grenfell disaster followed the lines of the earlier Lakanal House fire, whose six deaths should have been plenty of warning to avert the far greater loss of life to the same causes eight years later, if only anyone in a position to do anything about it had actually given a toss. But where most of us would be content to put our heads in our hands, or maybe start daydreaming about guillotines, Grindrod keeps digging, looking into the division of building responsibilities which lies at the root of so many of these problems, and the two obscure (at least to non-specialists) nineties process reports to blame for the fucking state of it all.

Despite all of which, he does his damnedest not to let the book end on the downer it could have – "My name is Britain's planning system. Look on my works, anyone non-mighty, and despair", a lonely but far from level wasteland all around. The book's structure, itself pleasingly architectural, means there are a couple of smaller sections which come after, but the last chapter proper concerns Grindrod's hometown of Croydon, whose history he regards, not without fondness, as a sort of Sisyphean sitcom. I picked up the book while on a walk he was leading around its landmarks; then as here, he seemed surprised that there was a sincere appetite for such a thing, perhaps struggling to fully accept that it's not just tech firms who've been priced out of North London, but wannabe psychogeographers too. That chapter, written as lockdown eased, talks about building a better world afterwards, and the pendant which follows takes up the call again: "For many, the 2010s have been a lost decade. But for some its instability has created opportunities to reset, experiment, and imagine a better way of life." Inevitably, these expressions of optimism now feel a lot like a man reporting to camera on a succesful beach clean-up, unaware of the tsunami we can all see over his shoulder. But just supposing, just imagine... oh, wouldn't it have been lovely if he were right?

[Sophy H · Rating 2 out of 5]

2.5 stars

Hmm this was a funny one. I thought because I loved Concretopia: A Journey Around the Rebuilding of Postwar Britain, I would love this too. I was wrong!

I think there was a lack of cohesion and flow with this book. The author kind of bobbed from one thing to another, returning to certain issues after leaving them, deep diving into the background of some buildings and projects whilst skimming over others. If you're prepared to really sift through all the information, there are some interesting facts hidden here but I felt it was hard work trying to root out the "good stuff".

I generally like Grindrod's style of writing, his humour is relatable and his personable manner is easy to read, but I think the subject matter at times couldn't hold my interest enough.

[Keen Reader · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Please don’t make me sound like a prat for not knowing how many houses I’ve got.”

David Cameron in 2009.

Grindrod takes us on a political, social and architectural journey round Britain since 1980 up to the present day with some highly entertaining results. Grindrod is always good value as he stalks the land forever with an eagle eye and tongue firmly in cheek as he examines and evaluates the built environment around him and the political, commercial and social motivations behind it.

“People were being sold a version of the dream they had long been promised: better homes for all, better healthcare and schools. Now, in the age of the icon, we don’t build what we need, we build for dreams: for a random lottery win or the lifestyle of a Premiership footballer; forever homes’; gleaming towers; gated communities. As our basic rights are ever more under attack, the aspirations of today are peculiar fantasies indeed. Smart homes. Self-driving cars. Adding value. Second homes. The avatars of success. Forget that homelessness, poverty and genuine hardship stalk the land in ever increasing numbers. Our hopes are written beneath the foil of a scratch card, a diversion to blur out the reality of the world we live in.”

As Roger Wilson of Wimpey Homes insisted, “Unlike private practice, we never meet the client. You must realise that they are only a number to us, we rely heavily on what our marketing department tells us what people want.”

He examines the Right to Buy scheme, where residents of more than 3 years would receive a 33% discount on market price, rising to 50% for longer term residents. By 1984 the minimum tenancy was dropped to only 2 years and the discount raised as high as 60%, some flats being discounted by 70%. The scheme would be worth around £40 billion to the government in the first 40 years.

By September 1984, 700,000 homes had been sold off, 11.5% of the total council houses available. Some councils were so desperate to get rid of the council houses in their area, in a bid to rid themselves of responsibility for the poor and a wish to gentrify. As Grindrod says, “Under the corrupt leadership of Shirley Porter, Westminster City Council disposed of 10,000 council homes between 1986 and 1994.”

With the developers there's always another angle one of the tricks being to make furnishings only 7/8ths scale for show homes, deliberately misleading many into buying a pure lie. Shoddy workmanship and other dirty tactics continued to plague the main house builders, with complaints increasing in the 90s and still very much a series ongoing problem today.

By the end of the 80s home ownership throughout the UK had grown from 52 to 68% and at the same time homelessness had doubled since 1979 as the pool of housing stock dried up.

“Between 1992 and 2017, the number of people renting from private landlords doubled…by 2014 the government was directly subsidising commercial investors through housing benefit to the tune of £9.3 billion.”

He has a gift for some amusing turns of phrases, at one point on a visit to Trago’s Liskeard branch in 2018, he describes, “The cash desks feel more like a Cold War checkpoint.” later adding, “While we were there, we got stuck in a lift for ages. It was the only good bit.” His trip to Poundbury (the absurd suburb and birth child of Prince Charles) is pretty entertaining. It sounds like it embodies all the twee and unbearable aspects and negative stereotypes of dystopic Middle England, and of course they vote Tory and Leave too.

He summarises,

“The story of the Prince’s involvement in architecture is a sad tale. These buildings evoked a past beyond Thatcher’s middle class Victorian Values, pillaging the Empire styles of Georgian terrace and Industrial Revolution warehouse. This was seeing the past through rose-tinted spectacles, the splendour without the poverty, the Empire without slavery, an antiseptic version of the past. This was not classicism, it was denialism.”

“Grenfell Tower burned 350 years after the London Rebuilding Act of 1667, which attempted to eradicate the risks that had led to the Great Fire of London. This legislation was scrapped in 2012 by the coalition government.”

The renovation of Grenfell had taken place between 2015 and 2016 at a cost of almost £9 million. The contract was won by East Sussex company, Rydon, who bid £2.5 million below their rivals.” They did this through ‘value engineering’ i.e using cheaper, usually inferior materials to complete the job.

The public inquiry later revealed that a product manager from a supplier had been made to “lie for commercial gain” regarding the test results for the insulation used at Grenfell, which initially failed British Research Establishment tests for fire resistance. It was basically illegal and the tired old story of vast profit at the expense of human lives

So this is another fine outing from Grindrod, he definitely gets a little carried away at times with the lengthy descriptions (know that feeling), but he covers a lot of vital ground and gets to some really interesting places and offers many amusing insights, and ultimately he has produced another deeply enjoyable read. I got a lot out of this and this may well be his strongest book yet.

[p. · Rating 4 out of 5]

A clear and informative summary of the processes from Britain's recent history that have formed the society in which we currently live (it is a little disheartening that time appears to be a circle and nothing else). Grindrod's writing is so evocative that when reading it, the audience can not only see his judgement on the projects discussed (negative, enthusiastic, neutral) but can almost hear an expression of his emotions.

[Atlantean BCT · Rating 4 out of 5]

A thoughtful and informed account of architecture and building since 1980. "Landmark buildings" to my surprise does not merely refer to the large structures such as The Shard or the Millennium Dome but the estates built by the volume house builders. The author manages to fund cause for optimism, which sometimes I found difficult in the account of the loss of social housing and the lack of civic planning.

[Emma · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fascinating, particularly the chapters on the Docklands, and the horror of the Grenfell Tower.

[Andy Walker · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a brilliant book this is! John Grindrod has written an engrossing, often funny, thoughtful and very readable account of some of the landmark buildings of contemporary Britain. More than just an account though, Grindrod’s book is also in parts a justifiably polemic against bad design, planning and politics that have glistened on the nation some pretty poor housing and other building infrastructure that should never have seen the light of day. He has taken the time to discuss with real people who use and live in real buildings, giving the book an insight that it’s all the better for. Grindrod is not only writer on architecture here, he also chronicles the human spirit. His description of those who perished in the Grenfell Tower fire had me in tears reading it and thank goodness there are people like him to tell it as it is. In the Grenfell section of the book I was particularly struck by his description of the work of the area’s former MP, Emma Dent Coad, who has campaigned for years on behalf of her community. What a disgrace that she has been barred by the Labour Party from re-standing for her local area as an MP at the last election. Speaking of politics, Grindrod pulls no punches in his criticism of the austerity years that wreaked so much damage on communities and the social infrastructure that supports them. We need more critical voices like John Grindrod’s and we need more books like Iconicon. Read it, learn from it, be inspired by it and get educated.

[Richard Hakes · Rating 3 out of 5]

I am not sure what I was expecting. The cover suggests the big iconic buildings that to me are what its all about. I love it when people do 'something' and build something big and bold. Some people have always done this if you are not sure just visit Burghley or Strawberry Hill to name a couple. There is too much boring, cautious, unadventurous mundane in the world (big black/grey 4x4's and all black bicycle's are a particular dislike of mine). While the big and iconic were there, I suppose that when you get a whole book on a limited subject you run out. There are only so many Shard's and Angel's in the North. The book seems to spend too much time on the Barratt houses that plague the world even if they were nicely designed!

[Liberty · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was worried this would be too depressing to read, as someone privately renting in London an ex-council flat and wishing it was still council owned. But Grindrod manages to keep the mood light and humorous.

[David · Rating 5 out of 5]

You can ignore most expressions of art: nobody forces you into an art gallery; you can walk out of a play or cinema; and stop reading a book. But one art form is in your face, wherever you look - architecture.

The geek in me throughly enjoyed John Grindrod's Concretopia a book about - well, concrete. This story was about buildings, both the big and famous like the Barbican and the small and everyday like housing estates. The basic message of the book was that there was a great deal more that was positive and good about what was done after the war, than was bad.

Grindrod has now been touring Britain applying his critical eye to post-1980 projects, again with his practiced skill. When you read the late Queen Mother's apparel described as: 'snipping a ribbon... dressed in the manner of a Beatrix Potter hedgehog', you can be assured that this isn't a dry book about architecture.

Facts he reveals are alarming, during the boom in the 1980s for owner-occupier housing, less than five per cent of new builds were designed by an architect. Or amusing. The Terry Farrell designed Embankment Place, owned by the Sultan of Brunei, who introduced stoning to death for adulterers and gays, had in its basement Heaven Club.

American Carla Picardi recalls in the 80s that cabbies wouldn't take her to Canary Wharf where she was attempting to develop the area we know today. 'For London cabbies, it was literally off the map: the docks did not form part of The Knowledge.'

Here I should record an interest. as Faber & Faber have sent me a copy for review.

This is a large tome (apparently Grindrod discarded 50,000 words), the book would have been enhanced with more illustrations featuring the building being analysed, but that would have made it impractical for printing.

Grindrod's highly readable style, more akin to a page-turning novel, makes this polemical work on something that touches us all, a pleasure to read.

[Mike Clarke · Rating 4 out of 5]

Estate of the nation: John Grindrod’s journey is far from the sentimental nostalgia of travelogues that litter our shelves and screens - Michael Portillo would run screaming to his linen closet - and most of the landmarks here have never been visited by tourists in their right minds, so of course I loved it. He writes fluidly about the mistakes of the past (the often great design but usually appalling build and maintenance of 60s and 70s council estates) and the mistakes of the present (Croydon, mainly but seriously, a lot of the off-the-shelf designs of the big developers that are marching steadily across the country in a tidal wave of mediocrity). Landmark can mean anything from the truly remarkable - the Angel of the North - to the mundane but locally significant - a leisure centre in New Addington - and they’re not always for the good. Lest this sound like an extended whinge by a disappointed modernist, it’s not - there is plenty to celebrate, such as Liverpool’s Granby, where residents rescued doomed terraces from the wrecking ball and gave them a fresh start, and schemes for housing in places as diverse as Cambridge, Hackney and Norwich, which have shown thoughtful architects and designers can create not only living spaces that are more desirable, but that are also more green, more spacious and more sociable. There’s a lot wrong with housing and communities in the UK and a single book won’t change that, but it’s a thoughtful, measured piece and that’s a good place to start.

[Pixie · Rating 4 out of 5]

I hadn't heard of this author-architectural critic before but completely enjoyed his slightly sardonic & critical yet amusing description & analysis of modern architectural buildings and how they came about and how they interplay with the people environment around them. He also raises the issue of what is meant by icons in the first instance and quite specifically points out that 'icons' don't get decided by the architects & builders of the construction world but generally become an icon because of peoples' perceptions, often by curiously appropriate nicknaming & how a building or buildings withstand the vagaries of the economy and popular fad. I definitely would like to read some of his other books, 'Concretopia' and 'Outskirts' - it's great to read architectural criticism that's not full of artsy design lingo nor being too willing to accept the status quo. I hope he writes about Croydon (his original growing-up place) and its £1.6 billion deficit some day as well!

[Sarah · Rating 4 out of 5]

I loved this. Knowing nothing much about architects and modern buildings, and having seen few of the buildings covered, I was over my head at many points. But no need to worry - the book drew me in. Helps that he has such good perspective (in my world view) that houses and businesses are to be lived in and worked in by people, and should not destroy livelihoods or the world. And after reading I have so many new ways to ask questions of buildings, builders and architects. And while the author deals a lot with the frankly distressing things that have been done around us he finishes by highlighting the possibility that buildings, or some of them may be changing for the better - thanks for those rays of hope.

So I say iCONicon but my partner insists Icon-Icon. Luckily I was able to check with the author and he says Iconny-con.

And the cover is lovely!

[Jennifer · Rating 4 out of 5]

The book is billed as a journey but it didn't feel like a unified journey and for a long time I didn't feel I (or indeed the author) knew where it was going... but the structure proved to be there and when the fog lifted, there it was.

I didn't feel the book struggled under the weight of sneering 'positions' or the style preferences of the author (although both appear) Perhaps that is aided by his many conversations with those involved in some of the projects he describes. It gave me new perspectives on familiar places and added detail to stories I already knew. His definition of 'landmark' and 'building' extends to social housing (it's not all Gherkin) and to the Angel of the North (the account of whose arrival on site was tear jerking, even set alongside his very sobering analysis of the impact of it and the NewcastleGateshead regeneration)

There's a lot to worry about here (it is called Iconicon for a reason) but some happiness too.

[Daniel Skilbeck]

Some funny stuff, some interesting stuff, some dull stuff

[Nick Rudman · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is an excellent book about how our lives are impacted by the places we live in. The good, the bad and the ugly. Actually, I’ve made that sound really dull.. this isn’t dull… it’s really very interesting and at times very funny.

I’ll go back and read it again… which is something I never do. Mind you, it took me bloody ages to read it the first time, as it’s fairly long.

Could have done with more and better pics, but then there’s always the internet if you really want to see images of what’s being covered.

[Esther · Rating 4 out of 5]

Very good writing to tell the stories behind some of the most famous and controversial buildings of recent times and kept my interest over some nearly 500 pages with minimal photos. He can tell the story of architects, politicians, developers but best of all the people who live and work in these places.