The Top Ten

The Architectural Record is the oldest architectural periodical in America and one of the world’s longest running (it was founded in the 1890s as an offshoot of a real estate periodical in New York). Once it was a majestic presenter of the best design in the world’s most powerful nation, with writers like Herbert Croly, Montgomery Schuyler, Louis Mumford, and A. Lawrence Kocher on the masthead. Today it has a small circulation by past standards, and caters mostly to members of the American Institute of Architects, for which it is the official media organ. As I’ve said before in these pages, architectural publishing is in the doldrums, and this magazine does little to raise standards of criticism. The Architect’s Newspaper, an internet and small market publication, is fresher, more informative, and far more pluralistic in its criticism. As a member of the AIA, I receive Record “free,” but otherwise wouldn’t bother reading it.

Record publishes glossy, praiseworthy articles about “top ten” architects and projects in various categories virtually every month, as if competition in the art of building could be measured in degrees. There is the annual Record Houses issue, once a barometer for the best in domestic architecture, but now a curiosity. The Progressive Architecture Design Awards, and the AIA Honor Awards are also published annually. The former was once the pride of a competing journal, but now must beg for space in its former rival’s pages. The competition these days is for space in a media forum that architects and clients respect and read regularly. Sadly, media sources are few and far between. The David Letterman Show could have fun with a parody of this situation, if anyone cared.

This month the magazine featured a cautious article about the nation’s “top ten architecture schools.” In the glory days of American architectural education, about 40 years ago, such a ranking would be ludicrous. In a profession marked by elitism and a closed network of masters and proteges, one knew the best schools as a matter of professional savoir faire. This year’s publication of academic rankings by a private communications/management firm (run by a former AIA executive director) is on the one hand a necessity in a changed marketplace, on the other an admission of defeat among the design elite who run the top schools. The old order is changing.

Despite some criticism in the article, the methodology upon which the survey is based is sound: ask practicing architects, students, clients, and faculty to rate the best architectural schools in the U.S., adding a few categories to sort out special programs. Emphasize training that prepares a student to practice architecture in the current marketplace. The results should be pretty indicative of what’s out there, and may be useful to everyone who cares about quality in architecture.

I would wager, however, that a lot of architecture professors and deans are fuming about various biases in the data. Bastions of architectural “theory” like Princeton, SciArc, and Cranbrook are conspicuously absent from all the lists. They should be, because their students are not trained to work in the profession. Classical and traditional schools such as Notre Dame, the University of Miami, and Georgia Tech are also absent, perhaps for similar reasons of bias. Only one school emphasizing “sustainability” makes the list–the University of Oregon (not a traditionally strong program). Only a handful of “polytechnic” universities (with engineering or tech emphasis) are listed.

Two of the nation’s top universities, Harvard and Yale, top the graduate school rankings, as they do in law and medicine. In both status and quality, they are undoubtedly premier programs. The undergraduate list is led by two traditionally strong programs, Cornell and Syracuse, that had slipped in recent years but appear to be on the right track again. From that standpoint we might as well be looking at a 1960 ranking. But below the top some interesting trends are emerging.

The consumer is taking charge in a marketplace once governed by rules of art. Virginia Polytechic and Cal Poly San Luis Obispo are in the top ten! Prestigious private universities are being pushed out by schools that offer value priced education, even in an elite profession. This trend says a lot about both higher education generally and the specifics of training practicing professionals today. Neither students nor practicing architects are being well-served by bastions of theory and art.

Though Record seems reluctant to acknowledge a sea change in the educational realm, its publication of “popular” rankings may signal a thawing in policies that proscribe the publication of architecture that is not by “top ten” starchitects. Unfortunately, the cover of the magazine shows a bizarre building in New York by Thom Mayne of Morphosis.  To me it looks like a giant fig leaf covering some unflattering genital protrusions. Oh, and it’s a building for Cooper Union, which didn’t make the list.

Navel architecture, or novel architecture?

I keep waiting for Nicolai Ouroussoff, the Times architecture critic, to write a piece that actually addresses the architecture it purports to criticize. Today’s article, an extended spread on the work of Japanese architect Toyo Ito, reads exactly like Ouroussoff’s expose on _________, the last architect he purported to cover. Designs of “striking inventiveness” and marked “orginality” are illustrated. An opera house turns classicism on its head and “liberates us from the oppressive weight of history.” Yada yada yada.

Ouroussoff wants to like Ito’s work, but his template for the next “heroic genius” architect doesn’t fit idiocyncratic designers very well. And Ito doesn’t like being pidgeonholed. So Our Critic can’t check off all the boxes on his standard list of “heroic genius” virtues. That’s too bad, because Ito has a lot of virtues worth examining in depth.

It’s not so much that Ouroussoff is ideological, as academic critics tended to be in past decades, as that he can’t stop looking at himself before settling his gaze on the architect of the month. And he isn’t a complete narcisist like Herbert Muschamp, his notorious predecessor, either. The problem is that Ouroussoff, who should demonstrate intellectual rigor, some catholicism of taste, and a consistent critical perspective, is a one-note wonder.

Toyo Ito is a fascinating if elusive designer who produces buildings that fit their places and programs with an almost mystical resonance. Each building is different from the last, making it impossible to attach a starchitect label to the work. How refreshing? In a society that marks everything with a media tag or consumer mantra, this architect resists classification.

Times readers might learn a lot about what makes an architect truly original through Ito’s work. But their critic can’t stop looking at his own agenda long enough to notice that he’s been handed a plumb assignment. He’s obssessed with a few criteria that look a lot like the old avant-garde program for revolution in the arts. To him a peach looks like an orange–they’re each round and about the same color.

Alice Tully’s makeover: dry, dull, uncomfortable

Among the New York Times’ consistently excellent music critics, Allan Kozinn is often the odd man out. He writes intelligently about concerts on the margins, while also standing up for many traditional performances and artists of the old guard. He sometimes sounds a bit prickly, which is one of the things I most admire about him. Today he struck a blow for those of us who loved the “old” Alice Tully Hall and are sad to see it gone.

Liz Diller and Ricardo Scofidio, the architects of the project, are freshening up Lincoln Center, ostensibly because the “closed and elitist” language of this 1960s landmark has turned away the concertgoing public. As with much that is transforming American cultural institutions during the recession, Lincoln Center’s motives for changing its buildings and public spaces are rather short-sighted. Putting more bodies in the seats at the expense of preserving the longstanding value of a cultural landmark, the LC administration hired a trendy, “conceptual” architectural firm to update its public spaces. Unfortunately, a casualty of this makeover was one of the city’s best concert venues.

Kozinn’s appraisal of the Alice Tully Hall renovation is written from the point of view of a discerning listener as well that of a regular patron who demands a commodious venue in which to enjoy many kinds of music. He does not swoon, as many have, over the “transparency” of the cantilevered lobby looming over Broadway. He finds the high tech lighting in the new hall rather gimmicky after the first visit. He minces no words about his view of the acoustics and general performance of the new hall–”I hate the new Tully Hall.”–strong condemnation from a leading music critic in view of the almost universal praise that followed the opening some months ago.

To those who have followed the career of Diller and Scofidio, Kozinn’s views should come as no surprise. Like many contemporary “starchitects,” these designers care little about the experience of patrons who regularly use their buildings. They were among the most arcane, abstruse and arid of the “conceptual” artist-architects of the 1970s and 1980s. Mixing performance, texts and often unbuildable collages in their early work, Diller and Scofidio developed their reputations as “paper architects.” Like Peter Eisenman, Zaha Hadid, and Daniel Liebeskind, they professed their disdain for building–that is, until they began to make money doing it.

It is little wonder, then, that Kozinn finds the new concert hall numbingly dull, colorless, and inhospitable to music. He questions the decision to fill the bright, large lobby with a restaurant rather than leaving space for patrons to mill about the space. He finds little to praise about the hall’s new interior. Pietro Belluschi’s warm wood and comfortable red seats in the old hall were beloved of patrons. I remember many wonderful performances in the Belluschi hall, which was intimate, sonically rich, and popular with performers. Why was it renovated? I suspect that the administration and the architects simply saw a chance to “re-brand” the hall with a hot new designer’s label. Their attitude shows clearly, if ironically, in the choice of a new location for the portrait of Alice Tully that once stood in the lobby–a small vestibule adjacent to the ladies’ rest room.

No one questions the need for a larger lobby and a better circulation system at Tully. The original location at the back of the Juilliard School and tortured entry sequence were hated by everyone who used the facility. The architects improved this immeasurably. Give them credit for this modest accomplishment. But don’t be dazzled by shiny new surfaces and expensive technology, overlooking the obvious flaws in this ill-conceived project. Allan Kozinn has not bought the “propoganda line” that Lincoln Center is employing to sell its renovation plans. To wit, that the new architecture will create “open,” people-friendly spaces that will bring new audiences to what was once a “closed citadel” of the arts. Perhaps New Yorkers should be skeptical too.

Renzo Piano, stealth classicist

The opening of Renzo Piano’s new Modern Art wing at the Art Institute of Chicago has won him another rave from critics throughout the U.S. Even the New York Times’s Nicolai Ouroussoff, generally a curmudgeon when it comes to Piano’s work, granted him a positive nod. His only complaint was that the country was feeling the effects of “Renzo Piano fatigue” as a result of his slew of recent commissions  in America. Why should this be the case?

Piano is a suave, cultured and disciplined designer who engenders confidence in institutional clients, both in the U.S. and abroad. His success is  hard won and, in my view, entirely deserved. While other international starchitects like Daniel Liebeskind, Rem Koohaas, and Zaha Hadid plop their trademark works in cities, expecting adulation for ignoring their local audience and trashing the urban environment, Piano carefully knits his buildings into the fabric of the places he encounters. While there is a superficial similarity to his work–most buildings are light, glassy and structurally innovative–he tries, sometimes to a fault, to find a balance between his interventions and the character of the buildings which set the stage for the new work. This is true at the Morgan Library entrance pavilion, which must attach to three disparate urban buildings (including the greatest classical building in New York–Charles McKim’s original library of 1909). It is also true of his California Academy of Science in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, a building that effortlessly includes an older Beaux Arts museum into a larger new facility while providing numerous sustainable systems that make the structure as contemporary as possible. His light, beautiful, and classical museum so outshines its clumsy Herzog & DeMeuron neighbor (the De Young) that visitors may wonder how the Swiss architects were ever considered for their commission at all.

There are moments when one architect achieves a pre-eminent position in the global marketplace, often because his work strikes a chord with stylemakers, critics and politicians. This was the case with Frank Gehry around the time of his Disney hall and Guggenheim Bilbao projects. It was surely the case when Louis Kahn unveiled his brilliant Kimball museum and Salk Center designs. Today’s master builder is Renzo Piano, an architect who has found a contemporary answer to the world’s need for a classical balance and assurance amidst chaos and uncertainty. He has made his mark quietly, largely without pandering to avant-garde critics, and the patronage network has responded with the best institutional commissions of the last decade. On balance, Piano has given us work that will outlast the flash-in-the-pan quasi-sculptures of Gehry, and perhaps rival the serene masterpieces of Kahn. That is an achievement worth celebrating, and Americans should be pleased with their good fortune and good judgment in choosing an architect of such gifts.

An Escape Pod by the Blobmaster

[Previous versions of this blog were incomplete]

I never cease to be amazed at the paucity of real domestic architecture that is published in the home design issues of the New York Times Magazine. Last Sunday’s issue was even more disappointing than usual, with nary a feature on what most Americans choose to call their houses–whether apartments, townhomes or single family dwellings. Pages and pages of advertising make a concerted effort to sell home products to consumers, but the writers and editors find it beneath themselves to actually acknowledge the taste of their readers. Avant-garde design continues to be their target, even when examples of this elusive animal are scarce.

Leave it to those editors, and to Nicolai Oroussoff, to pick one of the most inept examples of single family house design ever published in the Times–a small residence in California by the vaunted master of “blobitecture,” Greg Lynn. Does the house resemble the free form globules that are Lynn’s trademark? No, it is a rather boring box with a large translucent window on one end. The rooms inside and the plan suggest the work of a first-year architecture student at a small midwestern college. Lynn has, according to Ouroussoff, turned his back on building any of his work so as not to sully its purity and computerized wizardry. In his forties, the “young” architect has built nothing of consequence. Add this ineffectual building to his oeuvre.

How did Mr. Lynn, the purist, get the commission? An employee of his firm married a rich Hollywood film maker and became both the project manager and the client, a convenient arrangement. What kind of budget did he have? Almost unlimited it appears, with the added perk that the interiors would be hung with obscenely expensive contemporary art.  And the furnishings? Most are built in and made of Corian, a material that sane architects refuse to consider these days (it’s petroleum based, expensive, and mainly used as faux stone). Some pieces echo the classics of trendy mid-century modern designers–Charles and Ray Eames, Eero Saarinen, and Florence Knoll.

Apparently oblivious to the irony of his commentary, Ouroussoff admits that Lynn’s little plaything is “a nice if cautious work,” “a perfect little fairy tale,” and “an exercise in good taste and high craftsmanship”–all comments that should make a design hipster want to vomit. You can hear Lynn’s student admirers running for the exits. Where is the edge, the shock value, the perversity that made Lynn a superstar for a few months in the late ’90s?

Grasping at straws, the critic and the magazine are more or less admitting that this article, and the house it puports to critique, have been “placed” by a public relations agent for the client and his architect. (Remind you of Architectural Digest during the Bush years?) Even Ouroussoff, clearly an admirer of Lynn’s work, can’t bring himself to drink the Koolaide and dole out the proper adulatory prose. The bathroom cabinetry “speaks of luxury,” the child’s  bedroom is Spielbergesque, as in “E.T. phone home.” The ultimate put-down for a shock-jock architect? “Rather than confront uncomfortable realities,” [Lynn's house] is “designed to insulate us from them.” Didn’t we just elect a president who promised to bring us back to reality after years of delusion? It now appears that “blobs and shards” were just the flip side of an architecture of escape, little different in psychological terms from their doppelgangers, the Disney-theme-park houses of those Wall Street derivative kings we’d like to tar and feather.

Nostalgia, drug of the unwashed masses

Well, Nicolai Ouroussoff has now decided to take on baseball fans, after aiming his critical jabs at museum goers, preservationists, and virtually every citizen in New York. The New York Times architecture critic offered his assessment of the city’s two new baseball stadiums in time for opening day, and had little good to say about either one. Both, he opined, were dragged down by their obeisance to “nostalgia,” his term for everything that is wrong with contemporary architecture. Never mind that baseball is America’s most tradition-bound sport, and that both Yankee Stadium and Shea Stadium had seen their fair share of sports history through the years. History, it appears, has no place in serious architecture.

“American stadium design has been stuck in a nostalgic funk,” wrote the critic, “with sports franchises recycling the same old images year after year.” His view of the generally acclaimed turn towards “old fashioned” baseball parks with the Camden Yards design by HOK Sport about a decade ago was the same as his view of most American architecture–the Baltimore stadium was an example of populist design that eschews the avant garde in favor of mass appeal. Lowbrow culture was dragging down the quality of sports architecture as it had the rest of the public realm.

This kind of elitism has been the posture of “progressive” architects and critics for more than a century, and it led to the kind of cold, indifferent stadiums that are now being demolished throughout the world. The sporting public, at least those who cared enough about their teams to buy season tickets, demanded a more intimate and evocative environment in which to enjoy their hard-won leisure time. Down went multi-purpose stadiums in Houston, Philadelphia, Milwaukee, Cleveland and many other top sports venues, replaced by special venues for baseball, football and soccer. Fans loved the “new-old” look in many of these parks, and owners made significant profit from an increase in corporate boxes.

Of course, the age of excess that we have just left behind fueled some rather grandiose and wasteful spending on mega-stadiums for owners like George Steinbrenner and the partners in the New York Giants franchise. Old Yankee Stadium might well have been saved with Fenway Park had Steinbrenner not needed his puffed up revenue to buy more aging talent. The money and the architecture were tangentially related, as is often the case.

“Nostalgia,” a buzz word like “theme park architecture,” has taken on a new significance in cultural criticism of the kind practiced by Ouroussoff and many highbrow architects. Its mere invocation is meant to swipe away all pretense of design quality. A society infected by a desire to embrace the past in any form, according to this view, is a society in steep decline, and one that cannot support “new ideas” in architecture.  Should baseball fans, who carry around the history of the game in statistics and iconic performances, be branded with this epithet? Emphatically no; their allegiance to the history of their sport is no more a cultural stigma than the opera buff’s thrill at entering a grand old theatre. Mr. Ouroussoff is treading on thin ice when he attacks one of America’s most loyal sporting communities for their nostalgia, for he places himself in a political posture that tramples on a central myth of our democracy, the rights of the polis to its aesthetic choices, whether based upon tradition or rational judgment.

Are we a nostalgic culture? Probably not, but to the extent that our enduring values depend upon tradition and history, there is nothing wrong with a little nostalgia, especially as an antidote to “unprincipled change,” David Lowenthal’s term for the crushing march of technological progress. Using “nostalgia” as a pejorative code word is a weak critical strategy. Just as political name calling dragged our democratic process through the muck of several bitter presidential contests, finally giving way in 2008 to a new civility, it is time that cultural criticism shed its warlike subtext. Leave baseball alone, and let the fans enjoy opening day.

Preservationists Don’t Do Windows

As one who has spent his career trying to convince others of the value of historic buildings, I am amused by the new alliance between the green energy folks and the National Trust for Historic Preservation. The Trust has its purpose in this democracy–mainly to remind civic minded people that “heritage” matters–but it often sounds as if it is preaching to the choir rather than leading a new movement. The Trust is always behind the curve, proclaiming yesterday’s news to people who love the past enough to tolerate a little deja vu.

The most recent issue of Historic Preservation magazine, the Trust’s main mouthpiece, featured another “green” issue, close on the heals of the first one issued last year. Not much has changed in a year as far as preservation technology is concerned, but one or two things emerged that caught my attention.  Articles on the adaptive re-use of historic buildings started to make sense as models of energy efficiency, not because the buildings were better insulated or more advanced than new structures, but because they maintained their “old” materials and technologies. It turns out that when considered holistically, older structures often make sense as examples of environmental conservation even if they haven’t been modernized.

To an architect who lived through the first energy crisis in the 1970s, and saw the preservation movement through its highs and lows, this revelation was not news. Many traditional buildings use passive heating and cooling, clever means of ventilation, and inherently sustainable materials. One bugaboo, however, has existed since I began restoring houses 30 years ago–the question of what to do about “leaky” single glazed windows. Conventional wisdom was to throw them away in favor of double glazed sashes that would seal the house and keep heat and cold inside in hostile climates.

Finally the tide has changed and preservationists have started to look at windows as pieces of the treasured fabric of older buildings that don’t need to be sacrificed to the altar of sustainability. It turns out, according to recent research, that a well-made wooden double-hung or casement, equipped with tight-fitting wood storm sash, can perform almost as well as a double-glazed unit in terms of thermal resistance and infiltration. Moreover, the cost of replacing beautifully-crafted wooden sash continues to rise, increasing their potential “embodied energy.” There is really no compelling reason to remove character-defining wood windows from any historic structure, if storm/screen units can be installed outside.

Though this may not sound revolutionary, it frees preservationists from one of the most vexing problems in building conservation. If one wants to be green, don’t install windows made of green wood. Why? The seasoned, old-growth wood in most historic windows will continue to perform better than either new wood units or comparable synthetic or metal sashes (metal conducts heat faster than wood). It turns out that when it comes to windows, they really don’t and can’t make ‘em like the used to.

From now on my answer to clients who tell me their energy bills will be intolerable if they don’t replace their “leaky” windows will be: it’s not easy being green; add some foam to the roof deck.

A Twist of Fate

Previous posts concerning the folly of the New York Public Library’s $250 million dollar expansion plans have proved prophetic. Yesterday’s New York Times front page featured a report on the library’s failed attempt to sell its popular Donnell Library on 53rd Street to a developer who planned to demolish the building for yet another luxury retail, restaurant and hotel tower. Without the inflow of cash from the sale the library may not be able to follow through on its foolish scheme to have Norman Foster gut and redesign the center of Carrere & Hastings’ masterpiece on 42nd Street. Foster’s office announced a layoff of 350 staff, or 1/3 of its employees, as reported in the latest issue of Architectural Record.

Fate plays tricks on both the common folk and the high and mighty. The 10-year boom in expensive, high-rise construction throughout the globe is coming to an end, and architects like Foster, who benefited from the hubris of bigwigs throughout the world, have felt the pinch. It’s hard to feel sorry for him, or for his Arab, Chinese, Turkish, American, German and English clients. Thomas Hastings, the architect of the old library, may be chuckling from beyond the grave. He warned New Yorkers of the disastrous loss of community and urban coherence that would come from constructing tall buildings, and little good to say about modernism. Once again an economic downturn is proving good for preservation. A great building may escape unscathed.

Max Bond’s Journey

Last week the architectural profession lost one of its real heroes. J. Max Bond died following a battle with cancer at his home in New York. Bond was America’s most esteemed African-American architect, and much more. In his quiet way, he paved the way for a generation of younger black designers in a profession that has been resistant to people of color. His journey was hard, but he always seemed to prevail over hardships while maintaining a sense of dignity and grace.

Bond was active in virtually every arena of his profession. He was an educator, leading programs at both Columbia and City College of New York, and impressed students with his intelligence and commitment to social issues. His service to city and community included stints on the NY Planning Commission and leadership in Harlem’s redevelopment. His addition to the famed Avalon Ballroom saved a landmark while providing space behind the building for offices and biomedical labs. He also designed buildings at the King Center in Atlanta and in Africa. Unlike many of his more militant colleagues in the struggle for racial equality, Bond was a soft-spoken leader who proved through his professionalism that his people deserved a place at the drafting table. Moreover, he went beyond academia and practice to insist on a public role for all architects in the affairs of his city.

Born into a prominent African-American family, Max Bond used education to advance his career in the 1950s. But when a Harvard professor suggested that he not be an architect because of his color, he persisted. During the mid-century architecture was one of the whitest professions, and one of the most insular. Few blacks had made significant careers–the main exceptions being Paul Williams in Los Angeles and Julian Abele in Philadelphia–but they were always under the radar. Beginning in Europe and Africa, Bond acquired significant experience outside the avenues available in the U.S. When he returned home in the 1960s, he found himself in a cauldron of social change.

He went directly to work in the community, participating in the renewal of Harlem during the 1970s and 1980s. Instead of joining an established firm, he founded his own partnership and won significant commissions despite being an outsider. By 1990 Bond Ryder James was a major player in New York. When his partner, Donald Ryder, died Bond merged with Davis & Brody, a socially committed firm which had specialized in public housing for the Urban Development Corporation. Bond became the senior partner with the deaths of Lou Davis and Sam Brody, and continued to design major buildings until his death last week.

Max Bond began his career half a century ago, in an America that closed its doors to professional achievement for people of color. He broke down the doors in his path with steely determination and unrelenting spirit. Like Thurgood Marshall, Rosa Parks, Marian Anderson and other heroes of civil rights, he should be celebrated as a pioneer.

Towering Inferno, Koolhaas Style

The tragedy of lives lost in a fire is always hard to bear, but particularly so when the accident might have been averted. Beijing’s recent building fire adjacent to the CCTV tower was horrific, particularly in videos that have appeared on YouTube, but the interest in the blaze has gone beyond mere empathy for its victims (construction workers mainly, who were celebrating with fireworks). A number of commentators, both in China and the West, have asked questions about the architecture, and the famous architect, Rem Koolhaas, who designed both the hotel and the communications tower next door. Did hubris play a part in the blaze? Was this a bad omen? Would western starchitects be invited back to Beijing following the disaster? Was the building safe for its prospective occupants?

In a previous post about Chinese architecture and urbanism, I questioned the country’s choice of high-profile western designers who were hired, and given carte-blanche, to remake Beijing for the summer Olympics. The billions spent on showcase buildings, all with silly nicknames, seemed ridiculous last August, and seems even more shortsighted in today’s dismal economic climate. It appears from reports of the fire that the glamorous hotel in the CCTV complex might not be rebuilt, given the enormous cost involved and the severity of the destruction. The tragedy will lead reasonable people to question the wisdom of locating so many thousands of  workers in Koolhaas’s bizarre tower next door, which offers little safety against fires. Here is why: not only is the building tall at 75 stories, it twists in a strange cantilever, preventing people on many of the floors from getting to an exit. Occupants are literally hovering above the ground with no vertical circulation nearby for hundreds of offices. The speed of the destruction of the nearby hotel indicates just how vulnerable people would be were the larger building to catch fire. The World Trade Center catastrophe would pale by comparison.

When will architects and clients recognize the folly of such experimentation with building form? Following 9/11 many architects and engineers began to question the wisdom of constructing massive skyscrapers, given the near impossibility of evacuating them in large fires. Yet this did not stop egotistical builders in many Chinese cities from erecting towers over 50 stories, the limit of safe elevator egress. To those of us who care about the environment, the era of the skyscraper is over–energy concerns will drive builders to reconsider tall buildings as heating and cooling them becomes ever more difficult. An architect who pretends to care about cities and their residents, as Mr. Koolhaas does (and his hypocrisy shows here as elsewhere), has no business constructing such death traps.

Poetic justice? Ominous portent? The Chinese have followed omens for centuries, and there is no reason to doubt them now.