The language of cities

I’ve always been someone that forms a strong opinion about whether or not I ‘like’ a city without really being able to put my finger on it — this book helps you to understand more about the decisions (intentional or otherwise, direct or indirect) that shape and influence our cities.

For example, the moment you understand that cities are designed to be experienced at the pace of the primary form of transport they were designed for, suddenly it all makes more sense:

• The harmony you feel when viewing Amsterdam by boat or bike

• The tension you feel of a perfectly straight road carved through a UK city between the 1950–90’s.

• Why American cities won’t be solved by simply adding pavements and cycleways.

While there is so much more depth to this book — in particular, the political and economical forces that shape and mould a city — the main thing I took away was the ‘sharpening of the senses’ you gain: suddenly you no longer look at a city in quite the same way you did before, you notice more.

When it comes to design, I feel one of the most powerful muscles we can build is our ability to notice — and to extend this to all environments where design decisions have been made. Through giving the details (big or small) our attention, we start to discern the difference between why a design (I’m using this term very broadly here) ‘works’ or ‘feels right’.

This is why, whenever a friend visits Amsterdam and I’m giving them a tour, I will bore them with the details that most don’t see — the decisions that prioritise pedestrians and cyclists that make it safe, effortless and a joy to choose a bike over a car.

These are the details that everyone ‘feels’ but can’t quite put their finger on until you gain the vocabularly — The Language of Cities starts to offer you the ability to notice, and to name it.