Old libraries and old books play a big part in the aesthetic.
The movie version of academia is typically a leafy campus, with great libraries, bright minds, and deep intellectual discussions. It’s a happy grove where the young and talented go to bloom to superiority, eclipsing their parents and their well-meaning, but fuddy-duddy teachers. It’s also where oppressed middle-agers go to complete a journey of self -discovery. To the extent that professors are there in older movies, it’s to confer degrees and, eventually praise.
But there is a new mood in literature and movies where professors are sinister, and competition is darker and more dangerous place, both for the body and the soul. It’s called “Dark Academia.” Consider the recent hit movie and book, “The Secret History,” by Danna Tartt. It follows a talented person without any particular view or direction. The person arrives, looking to make friends and to become special, and through misguided efforts, students end up damaged or killed. Any friendships that result are sinister, and often exploitive.
An early version was Hitchcock’s “Rope,” where two students get excited by a professor expounding the ideas of Nietzsche. They go on to kill one of their fellows who they come to decide isn’t, quite as enlighten as they. Secret History is similar, except that the professor teaches Greek. Another early version was Frankenstein, whose early chapters are of crazed collegians pushing the limits of science in a dark laboratory and similarly dark library settings. For Dr. Frankenstein, the crushing pressure is from inside the student, and not so much from his professors or classmates. University is still a place of refuge, without the pressure of drugs, sex, or fashion.
Harry Potter and friends in dark academic garb. Casual, clean, active, hip-academic.
The evil professor trope of Dark Academia first appears in Harry Potter, I think. The school is both helpful and hurtful, both refuge and enemy. It’s education in a building that tries to trip you, with sadistic professors, plus slave labor, and some murderers or “death eaters.” There are friends too, with the friendship bound by fire-whiskey, or butter-beer, and an intense desire to excel over each other at ones craft, in this case magic. Fashion becomes important in dark academia. Harry Potter’s round glasses, robes, and school neckties, but the alcohol isn’t excessive in HP and the books are pretty chaste where sex is concerned.
Alcohol abuse, fashion, and sex are more central in “The Secret History”. There is a cultish professor, Morrow, and students fashions are described in detail. Most dress in tweeds, and all of them wear round glasses, like Harry Potter’s– in this case with metal rims. All are rich. And as in Hitchcock’s “Rope,” they conspire to murder the least special of their group in the goal of understanding the ancient Greeks. Unlike in Rope, they get away with it.
A yet more recent example is “Kill your darlings” — the main character is played by Daniel Radclift, the same actor who was Harry in the HP movies. It takes place in Columbia University in 1943-46 and portrays the young Alan Ginsberg. As in “Secret History” there is a cultish leader and a murder. Alan enters school not knowing what sort of poetry he’d like to write, or if he’ll write poetry. In the movie, Jack Kerouac, William Burrows and a few others who introduce him to drugs, including heroin, gay sex, wanton destruction, and benzedrine. As in Secret History, there are no bad effects from the drugs, though he tries suicide and one of his group murders another — the least special one as in other dark academia. He gets away with it, as in Secret History, the cult leader is rejected, and the others become special — a happy ending of sorts. Ginsberg writes a great “absurdist” essay and goes on to become a great poet.
Danna Tartt, author models the Dark Academic look. Notice the cigarette.
The mood of dark academia is a mix of repressed anger and innocence that takes place on a campus, but might as easily taken place in bohemian Paris. The movie architecture includes vast dining halls, gothic bell towers and forbidding libraries. The devoted student searches here for hidden light but finds only darkness. Murder follows. Students stare into space like Oscar Wilde with a heartburn, smoking like well-dressed longshoremen on break. See Danna Tartt at left.
The main contributions of Dark Academia is the fashion: Shades of brown, black and gray mostly, casual and active, but clean. The look says, “I’m both sexually active and criminally active; I do drugs think great thoughts, but don’t do homework. I might do murder too, but it’s OK since I plan to submit a killer final project. Morality is for losers, and “Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.” It’s a line from “The secret History,” appears, slightly altered, in Hitchcock’s “Rope.” The tremendous desire to be pure and special; great in a word, and that involves a destruction of the ordinary: an academic aesthetic where murder is the crowning creative act.
You may know that engineers recently succeed in decreasing the tilt of the “leaning” tower of Pizza by about 1.5°, changing it from about 5.5° to about to precisely 3.98° today –high precision given that the angle varies with the season. But you may not know how that there were at least eight other engineering attempts, and most of these did nothing or made things worse. Neither is it 100% clear that current solution didn’t make things worse. What follows is my effort to learn from the failures and successes, and to speculate on the future. The original-tilted tower is something of an engineering marvel, a highly tilted, stone on stone building that has outlasted earthquakes and weathering that toppled many younger buildings that were built straight vertical, most recently the 1989 collapse of the tower of Pavia. Part of any analysis, must also speak to why this tower survived so long when others failed.
First some basics. The tower of Pisa is an 8 story bell tower for the cathedral next door. It was likely designed by engineer Bonanno Pisano who started construction in 1173. We think it’s Pisano, because he put his name on an inscription on the base, “I, who without doubt have erected this marvelous work that is above all others, am the citizen of Pisa by the name of Bonanno.” Not so humble then, more humble when the tower started to lean, I suspect. The outer diameter at the base is 15.5 m and the weight of the finished tower is 14.7 million kg, 144 million Nt. The pressure exerted on the soil is 0.76 MPa (110 psi). By basic civil engineering, it should stand straight like the walls of the cathedral.
Bonanno’s marvelous work started to sink into the soil of Pisa almost immediately, though. Then it began to tilt. The name Pisa, in Greek, means swamp, and construction, it seems, was not quite on soil, but mud. When construction began the base was likely some 2.5 m (8 feet) above sea level. While a foundation of clay, sand and sea-shells could likely have withstood the weight of the tower, the mud below could not. Pisano added length to the south columns to keep the floors somewhat level, but after three floors were complete, and the tilt continued, he stopped construction. What to do now? What would you do?
If it were me, I’d consider widening the base to distribute the force better, and perhaps add weight to the north side. Instead, Pisano gave up. He completed the third level and went to do other things. The tower stood this way for 99 years, a three-floor, non-functional stub.
About 1272, another engineer, Giovanni di Simone, was charged with fixing the situation. His was the first fix, and it sort-of worked. He strengthened the stonework of the three original floors, widened the base so it wold distribute pressure better, and buried the base too. He then added three more floors. The tower still leaned, but not as fast. De Simone made the south-side columns slightly taller than the north to hide the tilt and allow the floors to be sort-of level. A final two stories were added about 1372, and then the first of the bells. The tower looked as it does today when Gallileo did his famous experiments, dropping balls of different size from the south of the 7th floor between 1589 and 1592.
Fortunately for the construction, the world was getting colder and the water table was dropping. While dry soil is stronger than wet, wet soil is more plastic. I suspect it was the wet soil that helped the tower survive earthquakes that toppled other, straight towers. It seems that the tilt not only slowed during this period but briefly reversed, perhaps because of the shift in center of mass, or because of changes in the sea level. Shown below is 1800 years of gauge-based sea-level measurements. Other measures give different sea-level histories, but it seems clear that man-made climate change is not the primary cause. Sea levels would continue to fall till about 1750. By 1820 the tilt had resumed and had reached 4.5°.
The 2nd attempt was begun in 1838. Architect, Alessandro Della Gherardesca got permission to dig around the base at the north to show off the carvings and help right the tower. Unfortunately, the tower base had sunk below the water table. Further, it seems the dirt at the base was helping keep the tower from falling. As Della Gherardesca‘s crew dug, water came spurting out of the ground and the tower tilted another few inches south. The dig was stopped and filled in, but he dig uncovered the Pisano inscription, mentioned above. What would you do now? I might go away, and that’s what was done.
The next attempt to fix the tower (fix 3) was by that self-proclaimed engineering genius, Benito Mussolini. In 1934. Mussolini had his engineers pump some 200 tons of concrete into the south of the tower base hoping to push the tower vertical and stabilize it. The result was that the tower lurched another few inches south. The project was stopped. An engineering lesson: liquids don’t make for good foundations, even when it’s liquid concrete. An unfortunate part of the lesson is that years later engineers would try to fix the tower by pumping water beneath the north end. But that’s getting ahead of myself. Perhaps Mussolini should have made tests on a model before working on the historic tower. Ditto for the more recent version.
On March 18, 1989 the Civic Tower of Pavia started shedding bricks for no obvious reason. This was a vertical tower of the same age and approximate height as the Pisa tower. It collapsed killing four people and injuring 15. No official cause has been reported. I’m going to speculate that the cause was mechanical fatigue and crumbling of the sort that I’ve noticed on the chimney of my own house. Small vibrations of the chimney cause bits of brick to be ejected. If I don’t fix it soon, my chimney will collapse. The wet soils of Pisa may have reduced the vibration damage, or perhaps the stones of Pisa were more elastic. I’ve noticed brick and stone flaking on many prominent buildings, particularly at joins in the chimney.
John Burland’s team cam up with many of the fixes here. They are all science-based, but most of the fixes made things worse.
In 1990, a committee of science and engineering experts was formed to decide upon a fix for the tower of Pisa. It was headed by Professor John Burland, CBE, DSc(Eng), FREng, FRS, NAE, FIC, FCGI. He was, at the time, chair of soil mechanics at the Imperial College, London, and had worked with Ove, Arup, and Partners. He had written many, well regarded articles, and had headed the geological aspects of the design of the Queen Elizabeth II conference center. He was, in a word, an expert, but this tower was different, in part because it was an, already standing, stone-on stone tower that the city wished should remain tilted. The tower was closed to visitors along with all businesses to the south. The bells were removed as well. This was a safety measure, and I don’t count it as a fix. It bought time to decide on a solution. This took two years of deliberation and meetings
In 1992, the committee agreed to fix no 4. The tower was braced with plastic-covered, steel cables that were attached around the second and third floors, with the cables running about 5° from the horizontal to anchor points several hundred meters to the north. The fix was horribly ugly, and messed with traffic. Perhaps the tilt was slowed, it was not stopped.
In 1993, fix number 5. This was the most exciting engineering solution to date: 600 tons of lead ingots were stacked around the base, and water was pumped beneath the north side. This was the reverse of the Mussolini’s failed solution, and the hope was that the tower would tilt north into the now-soggy soil. Unfortunately, the tower tilted further south. One of the columns cracked too, and this attempt was stopped. They were science experts, and it’s not clear why the solution didn’t work. My guess is that they pumped in the water too fast. This is likely the solution I would have proposed, though I hope I would have tested it with a scale model and would have pumped slower. Whatever. Another solution was proposed, this one even more exotic than the last.
For fix number 6, 1995, the team of experts, still overseen by Burland, decided to move the cables and add additional tension. The cables would run straight down from anchors in the base of the north side of the tower to ten underground steel anchors that were to be installed 40 meters below ground level. This would have been an invisible solution, but the anchor depth was well into the water table. So, to anchor the ground anchors, Burland’s team had liquid nitrogen injected into the ground beneath the tower, on the north side where the ground anchors were to go. What Burland did not seem to have realized is that water expands when it freezes, and if you freeze 40 meters of water the length change is significant. On the night of September 7, 1995, the tower lurched southwards by more than it had done in the entire previous year. The team was summoned for an emergency meeting and the liquid nitrogen anchor plan was abandoned.
Tower with the two sets of lead ingots, 900 tons total, about the north side of the base. The weight of the tower is 14,700 tons.
Fix number 7: Another 300 tons of lead ingots were added to the north side as a temporary, simple fix. The fix seems to have worked stabilizing things while another approach was developed.
Fix number 8: In order to allow the removal of the ugly lead bricks another set of engineers were brought on, Roberto Cela and Michele Jamiolkowski. Using helical drills, they had holes drilled at an angle beneath the north side of the tower. Using hoses, they removed a gallon or two of dirt per day for eleven years. The effect of the lead and the dirt removal was to reduce the angle of the tower to 4.5°, the angle that had been measured in 1820. At this point the lead could be removed and tourists were allowed to re-enter. Even after the lead was removed, the angle continued to subside north. It’s now claimed to be 3.98°, and stable. This is remarkable precision for a curved tower whose tilt changes with the seasons. (An engineering joke: How may engineers does it take to change a lightbulb? 1.02).
The bells were replaced and all seemed good, but there was still the worry that the tower would start tilting again. Since water was clearly part of the problem, the British soils expert, Burland came up with fix number 9. He had a series of drainage tunnels built to keep the water from coming back. My worry is that this water removal will leave the tower vulnerable to earthquake and shedding damage, like with the Pavia tower and my chimney. We’ll have to wait for the next earthquake or windstorm to tell for sure. So far, this fix has done no harm.
Robert Buxbaum, October 9, 2020. It’s nice to learn from other folks mistakes, and embarrassments, as well as from their successes. It’s also nice to see how science really works, not with great experts providing the brilliant solution, but slowly, like stumbling in the dark. I see this with COVID-19.
It’s summer in Detroit, and in all the tall buildings the air conditioners are humming. They have to run at near-full power even on evenings and weekends when the buildings are near empty, and on cool days. This would seem to waste a lot of power and it does, but it’s needed for ventilation. Tall buildings are made air-tight with windows that don’t open — without the AC, there’s be no heat leaving at all, no way for air to get in, and no way for smells to get out.
The windows don’t open because of theconceit of modern architecture; air tight building are believed to be good design because they have improved air-conditioner efficiency when the buildings are full, and use less heat when the outside world is very cold. That’s, perhaps 10% of the year.
Modern architecture with no openable windows. Someone wants you to suffer for his/her art.
Another reason closed buildings are popular is that they reduce the owners’ liability in terms of things flying in or falling out. Owners don’t rain coming in, or rocks (or people) falling out. Not that windows can’t be made with small openings that angle to avoid these problems, but that’s work and money and architects like to spend time and money only on fancy facades that look nice (and are often impractical). Besides, open windows can ruin the cool lines of their modern designs, and there’s nothing worse, to them, than a building that looks uncool despite the energy cost or the suffering of the inmates of their art.
Most workers find sealed buildings claustrophobic, musty, and isolating. That pain leads to lost productivity: Fast Company reported that natural ventilation can increase productivity by up to 11 percent. But, as with leading clothes stylists, leading building designers prefer uncomfortable and uneconomic to uncool. If people in the building can’t smell an ocean breeze, or can’t vent their area in a fire (or following a burnt burrito), that’s a small price to pay for art. Art is absurd, and it’s OK with the architect if fire fumes have to circulate through the entire building before they’re slowly vented. Smells add character, and the architect is gone before the stench gets really bad.
No one dreams of working in a glass box. If it’s got to be an office, give some ventilation.
So what’s to be done? One can demand openable windows and hope the architect begrudgingly obliges. Some of the newest buildings have gone this route. A simpler, engineering option is to go for leaky construction — cracks in the masonry, windows that don’t quite seal. I’ve maintained and enlarged the gap under the doors of my laboratory buildings to increase air leakage; I like to have passive venting for toxic or flammable vapors. I’m happy to not worry about air circulation failing at the worst moment, and I’m happy to not have to ventilate at night when few people are here. To save some money, I increase the temperature range at night and weekends so that the buildings is allowed to get as hot as 82°F before the AC goes on, or as cold as 55°F without the heat. Folks who show up on weekends may need a sweater, but normally no one is here.
A bit of air leakage and a few openable windows won’t mess up the air-conditioning control because most heat loss is through the walls and black body radiation. And what you lose in heat infiltration you gain by being able to turn off the AC circulation system when you know there are few people in the building (It helps to have a key-entry system to tell you how many people are there) and the productivity advantage of occasional outdoor smells coming in, or nasty indoor smells going out.
One irrational fear of openable windows is that some people will not close the windows in the summer or in the dead of winter. But people are quite happy in the older skyscrapers (like the empire state building) built before universal AC. Most people are nice — or most people you’d want to employ are. They will respond to others feelings to keep everyone comfortable. If necessary a boss or building manager may enforce this, or may have to move a particularly crusty miscreant from the window. But most people are nice, and even a degree of discomfort is worth the boost to your psyche when someone in management trusts you to control something of the building environment.
In 2006 Al Gore claimed that industry was causing 2-5°C of global warming per century, and that this, in turn, would cause the oceans to rise by 8 m by 2100. Despite a record cold snap this week, and record ice levels in the antarctic, the US this week banned all incandescent light bulbs of 40W and over in an effort to stop the tragedy. This was a bad move, in my opinion, for a variety of reasons, not least because it seems the preferred replacement, compact fluorescents, produce more pollution than incandescents when you include disposal of the mercury and heavy metals they contain. And then there is the weak connection between US industry and global warming.
From the geologic record, we know that 2-5° higher temperatures have been seen without major industrial outputs of pollution. These temperatures do produce the sea level rises that Al Gore warns about. Temperatures and sea levels were higher 3200 years ago (the Trojan war period), without any significant technology. Temperatures and sea levels were also higher 1900 years ago during the Roman warming. In those days Pevensey Castle (England), shown below, was surrounded by water.
During Roman times the world was warmer, and Pevensey Castle (right) was surrounded by water;. If Al Gore is right about global warming, it will be surrounded by water again by 2100.
From a plot of sea level and global temperature, below, we see that during cooler periods the sea was much shallower than today: 140 m shallower 20,000 years ago at the end of the last ice age, for example. In those days, people could walk from Asia to Alaska. Climate, like weather appears to be cyclically chaotic. I don’t think the last ice age ended because of industry, but it is possible that industry might help the earth to warm by 2-5°C by 2100, as Gore predicts. That would raise the sea levels, assuming there is no new ice age.
Global temperatures and ocean levels change by a lot; thousands of years ago.
While I doubt there is much we could stop the next ice age — it is very hard to change a chaotic cycle — trying to stop global cooling seems more worthwhile than trying to stop warming. We could survive a 2 m rise in the seas, e.g. by building dykes, but a 2° of cooling would be disastrous. It would come with a drastic reduction in crops, as during the famine year of 1814. And if the drop continued to a new ice age, that would be much worse. The last ice age included mile high glaciers that extended over all of Canada and reached to New York. Only the polar bear and saber-toothed tiger did well (here’s a Canada joke, and my saber toothed tiger sculpture).
Is funny because …. there’s an Escher-like impossible structure and a dirty word (ass, tee hee). Besides that, this joke highlights a fundamental conflict between the architect and the client (customer): what is good architecture?
Typically the customer whats a home or office that “looks nice”, “doesn’t cost too much”, and “works,” perhaps as an advertisement for the company. Often the architect wants to make a statement for him/herself, or wants to produce a work of art. Left to their own, architects can produce expensive monuments that no one can live in.
A wonderful (horrible) case concerns The Cooper Union, my alma mater, and more-or-less the only free college in America. The Cooper Union was founded by an inventive mechanic, Peter Cooper, see my biography, who invented jello, and rolled steel, laid the transatlantic cable, founded AT&T, and managed to give free education to a century and a half of students. The trustees of the school tore down the old, serviceable building, sold the land, and built a $270,000,000 dollar monstrosity. Hailed by the New York Times as great architecture, it bankrupted the school, and is unusable for the sort of hands-on education that Peter Cooper devised.
In hopes of attracting a rich donor, Cooper Union sold its engineering building and borrowed $175 million to erect this replacement. No donor materialized, and, with it, a 155-year-old policy of free tuition.
