[Review originally published on Bookmunch: View Post]
I knew nothing about the life of Antoni Gaudí as I dove into this book. I did, however, remember visiting the Sagrada Família when I was young, and being blown away by architecture for the first time in my life. It is a magnificent building, truly unlike anything – with mythical figures and melons and coffee beans, decorated with glass and pottery shards, piled on top of spires like 99 Flakes, bursting with colour. It’s enough to take a quick glance at the Güell Pavillions Dragon Gate, or the Casa Batlló, to see what I mean.
I know even less about architecture, but it does strike me as unique that Gaudí was a ‘total architect’: he didn’t just design the brick-and-mortar structures, but also the interiors and, in some cases, even the furniture. Every nook and cranny, painted bird, cast-iron leaf or coloured glass shard came from him. His influences, presented in the book in good detail, are fascinating in their global scale: William Morris and John Ruskin, the Arts and Crafts movement, Persian and Orientalist flourishes, mudéjar (the work of Muslim craftsmen under Christian rule, a style still very prominent throughout Spain) and Gothic styles – despite travelling very little himself and learning mostly from the books he found in his university library.
The man behind all this dreamy colour, however, was not at all what I expected.‘There were three main strands to Gaudí’s thought: he was extremely right-wing, a fervent Catalanist and a militant Catholic.’
The depths of his fanaticism emerge in detail, including a fasting period during his midlife crisis that felt more like a hunger strike in its seriousness, and religious extremism in every aspect of his life.
He was brusque, often rude, haughty and rebellious but, inarguably, outrageously talented. He had no time for leisure: ‘In his pockets he usually carried bags of biscuits … stamped with a cross, which he nibbled frequently and distributed to whomever he was talking to. Formal meals used up too much valuable time, he thought.’
The book provides good historical context for some basic understanding of Gaudí’s motives and historical setting, and will be of interest to anyone who has seen, or is planning (or hoping) to see, some of his work. Notably, Eaude writes very accessibly: as and when he uses jargon, he is quick to explain in layman terms before one could even start panicking. Everything gets sufficient context, which is surprising for such a slim volume. Adorned with 57 illustrations and/or snaps, though black and white, it feels a complete picture of the man and the myth (though for a fuller experience, it is worth seeing the designs in colour).
The format of the book is doing it no favours, though. On first appearance, I was baffled by my own wish to read this – the small type, the glossy pages, the elongated paperback format all screamed academia. Luckily, I actually started reading it, and quickly realised looks could be deceiving. It turned out to be a very enjoyable and interesting read. (Admittedly, upon further research, the TLS said the series contained ‘very short critical biographies whose main target audience is likely to be undergraduates, but that will also do nicely for a general audience.’ So clearly I'm just a nerd.)
The book finishes on the question of what Gaudí would have made of his stellar success today. He is personally responsible for driving mass tourism to Barcelona, attracting more visitors annually than the Prado Museum in Madrid or the Alhambra in Granada. Eaude proposes he would have ‘taken reverence and admiration of his talent as his due … And would have fulminated against the irreligious, money-making mass consumption of tourism’.
A classic case of biting the hand that feeds, reminiscent of Thomas Bernhard’s literary prizes. It’s a complicated legacy, but the value of Gaudí’s revolutionary buildings and unique architecture is rock solid.
