The architects of new Butler faced the unenviable task of harmonizing their design with the unspeakable ugliness to their north and managed the job with good grace. The red brick flows into the new facade for the Butler-Wilson dining complex, and this, in turn, braces the viewer — if that were possible — for the Cold War monstrosity that is Princeton’s oldest residential college. (For the record, Princeton’s own architectural guidebook refers to Wilson as “Jersey Motel Modern.” One expects to see a hooker and a broken vending machine around every corner.)
New Butler is a predominantly horizontal construction — the eye is not drawn upward, and the lines of the buildings are broad, not tall — which is more suggestive of classical architecture than Collegiate Gothic. Red brick is neither a classical material nor a curvy one, but it blends pleasantly with the profusion of trees which are among the college’s environmental assets. The bricks themselves are slightly variant shades of red and streaked through with lines of concrete, which further accentuate the horizontal solidity of the buildings. I know that sounds ugly, but the effect is surprisingly easy on the eye.
The windows are sleek, and in some cases the architects have cleverly doubled the light exposure on the interiors by forming "V"-shaped bays. The roofs are planted with grass, though I wish the designers had opted to install railings and let the students enjoy the park-like atmosphere. (New York showed the way with its High Line project, the recent and innovative recycling of the old elevated train line on the West Side into a high-rise park.)
The series of sunken pits is a bit odd — one can imagine claustrophobic students shying away from the submerged benches and subterranean shrubbery and, potentially, careless Princetonians throwing their trash over the side — but with the deep-set lighting, bright red backdrop and echoing acoustics, they would make a fine stage for an opera of “Paradise Lost.” Act One: Satan enters from Studio ’34, the bricks ablaze with light, and the demons hold counsel in Wilf Hall.
All the same, the partially recessed nature of Butler is among its attractions: The designers seem to have been under commission by the University to refrain from exceeding four stories in height, so they excavated. The secluded, central courtyard, bordered by a gently backtracking ramp of grass and trees, is an admirable centerpiece for the construction. I wonder, though: Was that ramp meant to be planted over, or did the lawn accidentally turn into a road?
If one were to remove the buildings at Butler from their present environment and dump them in the desert, I think they would be unattractive. So if one wants a very strict architectural review, focusing on just the bricks and mortar, I would hesitate to give the thumbs up. But Butler wasn’t built in a desert, and the trees, the ramps, the subtle slopes of elevation — these are all part of the design. And the work as a whole is not the finest addition to Princeton’s campus, but neither does it disgrace the scenery.
Some students will surely complain that Butler is not Gothic, and it isn’t. I still prefer the monumental majesty of the University Chapel and the Oxonian spires of Rocky Tower. The sight of the Graduate College across the golf course is, to my mind, the prettiest view in all England. But new Butler does not detract from the general beauty of the campus and partly eases the eyesore qualities of Wilson. Perhaps in 20 years’ time, after wind and rain have done their work, I will want to revise my opinion. But for now, speaking as one student among many, I would compliment the architects for handling their commission with good grace and constructing a pleasant — if not grand or great — addition to the campus.
Brendan Carroll is a philosophy major from New York. He can be reached at btcarrol@princeton.edu.
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