Every so often a book reminds us why architecture matters—not simply as the making of buildings, but as the shaping of lives. John Tuomey’s memoir is one such book.
I read it with particular interest because, in a small but significant way, our architectural paths have something in common. John and I both worked, at different times, in the office of James Stirling. That experience left its mark on a generation of architects, and it is fascinating to recognise, across the distance of time and practice, some of the intellectual curiosity, independence of thought and delight in making that Stirling encouraged.
Tuomey’s memoir is, however, much more than an account of an architectural career. What emerges is a deeply human reflection on architecture, family, place and memory. His writing has many of the qualities that distinguish the work of the Dublin based practice he cofounded nearly 40 years ago – O’Donnell + Tuomey: curiosity about people and places, honesty, restraint, wit, and a respect for tradition without ever becoming nostalgic.
These qualities are particularly apparent in their London buildings. The Saw Swee Hock Student Centre at the London School of Economics is an extraordinary piece of city architecture—compact, complex and intensely urban, yet full of warmth and humanity. More recently, their work at East Bank, including V&A East and Sadler’s Wells East, has demonstrated the same ambition to make cultural buildings that are generous to their users and rooted in the life of London.
What I find most compelling in the memoir is that the architecture never overshadows the humanity. Tuomey’s affectionate observations of his architectural and life partner Sheila O’Donnell and their two sons reveal that the richest architecture is inseparable from love, memory and everyday experience. Buildings become repositories of life rather than objects to be admired in isolation.
This is something that resonates strongly with me as an architect. We often speak about context, materiality and craftsmanship—as though they were ends in themselves. Tuomey reminds us that these things only truly matter when they are connected to people and to the life of a place.
His prose is evocative and poetic, but never self-important. There is humour and wit alongside the seriousness, and a wonderful rhythm to the movement between architecture, family and landscape. Perhaps that is what makes the memoir so engaging: it feels less like an architectural autobiography than a life observed through the lens of architecture.
Having both passed through Stirling’s office, albeit at different times and under very different circumstances, I was particularly struck by this continuity of an architectural culture in which ideas, drawings, making and conversation mattered enormously. Tuomey has carried that spirit into a body of work that is unmistakably his own.
I am grateful to Ellis Woodman, Director of the Architecture Foundation, for recommending the book. I would warmly recommend it to anyone interested in architecture and, more broadly, in the relationship between buildings and the lives that inhabit them.
It is a book to savour and revisit. For me, it will stay with me—not least because it is a reminder that architecture is ultimately a human endeavour.
Publisher: The Lilliput Press Ltd
