Vol. 12 No. 16 (2020): Sixteen Commentaries on LOVE versus HOPE by Daniel Solomon
Late in life, architects seem more prone than other people to a particular form of compulsive disorder: the neurotic need to write a book. And not just a book, but The Book, the final book that explains everything, the validation of a lifework. How, after all, will the world get on with things unless they know what I know? It is an obligation – the polemical/memoir/monograph – that summarizes the thoughts and works of a lifetime. At home I have a special shelf for such books, mostly written by friends or colleagues in their late seventies or later. Some of these volumes contain interesting ideas, most contain beautiful or at least worthwhile projects. But with very few exceptions, they are awful books. For whatever cathartic, or therapeutic service they may be to the authors, most of them are terrible to read.Often these books are only half-hearted attempts to enter the great library of the world’s ideas. The real motivation is just to make a book – a bunch of pages with a book cover and a binding, a title and the author’s name. The existence of the artifact is the main thing; whether anybody buys it, reads it, let alone likes it, are secondary matters. If one succeeds in making a book, it goes on bookshelves next to all the other books, all the other books, including the great ones. You don’t have to write a great book to be on the shelf with great ones – just a book. From a distance they all look pretty much the same. And all the authors are authors. Everybody knows the game, accepts it for what it is, and doesn’t read too critically. If things go well, there is even a cocktail party or two to celebrate the author.
Published:
2020-08-31
