
Introduction
Acknowledgements
Preface
One
Suspending Judgment: The Post-Industrial City
Transformed
The Japanese Urban Continuum
Industrial Archipelago
The Port of Nagoya
Interchange
Enterprise Zone
Terminal
Kinjo Pier Logistics Terminal
Interface
The Bridge of Hesitation
Strategies of the Void
Workplace
Two
Generic City
The Ville Radieuse Legacy
The Radiant City in Japan
Agents of Transformation and the "Death" of Urbanism
Nagoyas New City
Mobility vs. Proximity
The Problem of Quantity
Preeminence of the Decorated Shed
Dead Space
Defunct Strategies
The Fourth Skin
Trauma of the New Interior
Death of the Façade
Zero-Degree Architecture
The Workplace Revisited
Three
Staging Uncertainty
Vivicities
Infratecture
Unveiling the Hidden Order
The New Fringe
Cité Post-Industrielle
Wiring the City
Complex Program
Eye of the Storm
In Place of the Public?
References |
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[2L3] THE RADIANT CITY IN JAPAN.

Japanese city planners love
the Radiant City because they can identify with its original intentions. To the Westerner,
the typical Japanese city is a congested, chaotic mess which has evolved in true piecemeal
fashion. City planning is actually an incredibly young profession in Japan; codes and
ordinances were first implemented in most cities only a few years ago. With the incredible
density and frenetic sprawl that characterize the Japanese urban experience, it is no
wonder that Corbusian notions of order and light, air, and greenery have had a
tremendous influence.
Within the last decade, the
Japanese industrial archipelago has become a kind of experimental test site for
Western-style master planning. The vast land reclamation developments in the ports of
major cities are obviously flat (a rare luxury in Japan), possess an appropriate scale,
and have been provided with well-planned infrastructure, including networks of broad,
rectilinear avenues qualities which are conducive for (if not suggestive of)
Utopian visions à la Le Corbusier. Existing industries and container yards have been
incrementally replaced by new offices, apartments, and commercial and entertainment
facilities. These new developments hardly resemble Japanese cities at all. In fact, the
Japanese consider the artificial islands and people who live and work there to be foreign.
In
Tokyos Teleport Town, which I mentioned earlier, one is struck by the
diverse collection of office and residential high-rises set within a wide, grassy plain. A
new monorail and suspension bridge provide easy commuter service to the island, which is
often visited as a theme park attraction by incredulous Japanese. Even to a Western
visitor, the ample spaces which separate the isolated structures appear empty and
desolate; the entire scene is like a variation on a De Chirico painting. Nothing, in fact,
could seem less Japanese, yet this kind of urban vision is embraced like so many other
Western influences.
Port Island and Rokko Island (named
after Rokko Mountain, from which landfill was removed to build it) in Kobe were designed
to have a diversity of functions from the outset. They closely resemble variations on the
Plan Voisin and Ville Radieuse, with central office towers separated by a grand plaza,
surrounded by residential high-rises and schools in well-landscaped yards, which in turn
are surrounded by a continuous green belt. Outside of the green belt, at the perimeter of
the islands, are working factories and container terminals, which can be heard clanking
away from a safe distance. For any student familiar with urban design and planning, these
islands represent astonishing manifestations of Howards Garden City as well as Le
Corbusiers City of Tomorrow. Naturally, it is no less astonishing to know that they
are built on artificial islands. They may in fact be the closest realizations of Utopia
that we have seen.
Considering
the population crunch and scarcity of land in Japan, what practical sense is there in
emulating models of ideal Western cities, which seem strangely inappropriate in that
context? Albert Pope made the wise suggestion that the artificial islands could support
much higher levels of density, given the ample open spaces provided by the sea, and that
much-needed pockets of space could be created retroactively within the congested fabric of
the mainland. In any event, the Japanese might profit more by continuing to develop cities
their way, based on the piecemeal, organic evolution of infrastructures
within confined spaces. Despite the fact that many consider the results of this kind of
growth ugly or haphazard, as Yoshinobu Ashihara states in his book The Hidden Order,
the bottom line is that the Japanese city works: "The [Japanese] townscape
built for shade and cool breezes has an ambiguity not found in the West, but it is endowed
with a warmth and friendliness all its own. The crowded conditions and diverse
architectural styles that coexist in Japanese cities may not be very attractive in form,
but in content they embrace a certain hidden order. It is that hidden order that makes
possible the vitality and prosperity of our cities today."71
71Ashihara,
Yoshinobu, The Hidden Order: Tokyo through the Twentieth Century, Trans. Lynne E.
Riggs (Tokyo: Kodansha International, 1989) p. 133-134
Images: 1. "Shidami Human
Science Town," Conceptualization, 2. "Sasashima Live 24" Project, 3. Tokyo
Teleport Town, 4. Port Island and Rokko Island, Kobe
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