In Architecture du réel Eric Lapierre presents recent projects, some realised, some not, the oldest of which date from 1998, by a group of French architects who can be seen as successors to the successful generation of Jean Nouvel and Christian de Portzamparc. While their masters were able to earn their reputation with prestigious government commissions at top locations, this group of 40-year-olds has had to get by on low budgets and building in the untidy outskirts of provincial towns. This has not of course led to a common style, but has produced similarities in their method of working, approach to the town and choice of materials, which justify combining these twelve firms under a single, loosely employed name. Architecture 'du reel', says Lapierre, sees the architectural, urban, social and economic reality it encounters as its principal source of inspiration. The question this book raises is whether such an approach also produces architecture which, besides relying on existing forms or explaining something of the context, can also exist outside. In other words, is this new architecture, like that of Nouvel and De Portzamparc, a French export product?

Warned by the polemics which followed the publication of Bart Lootsma's book Superdutch, Lapierre uses tile preface to defend his 'national' selection with the argument that since the second half of the 1990s, French architecture has been struggling with its own individual problems in a country that has changed significantly, both economically and socially, and this has led to particular methods of working and shared preoccupations Lapierre's arguments are pertinent, and his book has the merit of linking architecture with a particular situation, so leading to a better understanding of the architect’s motives. This contextual approach also explains the striking photography, which makes such a contribution to the book. To avoid the usual aestheticised photos, the author sent to the buildings three photographers (Claire Chevrier, Emmanuel Pinard and Paola Salerno), none of whom specialise in architecture, and each of whom was allowed to deal with just one aspect (context, building or use).

After the Mitterrand years, when government expenditure was virtually unlimited, France found itself on the brink of bankruptcy. The nation was suffering from a collective hangover, awakening painfully to a disconcerting reality. How much influence such a climate can have, even on architecture, is illustrated here. It led to an 'aesthetic of efficiency', with which a firm like Lacaton & Vassal managed to attract attention. Today, writes Lapierre, this deliberately 'shabby' architecture can be seen as a reaction to the pompous days of Mitterrand, but it can also be seen as a return to the origins of French architecture. Indeed, buildings like Ferrier’s enormously simple RATP building in Paris seem to hark back to the rationalistic tradition that runs as a leitmotif through French architecture, from Eugène Viollet-le-Duc through Auguste Perret to Jean Prouvé.

That cheap materials, low budgets, crude aesthetics and the appreciation of post-war modernism need not necessarily lead to drab minimalism is proved by the firms Périphériques, Du Besset & Lyon and Nicolas Michelin. Lapierre demonstrates that these firms show signs of objective observation - acceptance even - of the 'banality' of the French urban periphery, but also of an interest in the 'triviality' of commercial activity, the only activity which still brings excitement and colour to such surroundings. For example, Du Besset & Lyon (who once worked with Frank Gehry in Los Angeles) produce striking buildings which exaggerate commercial signs and reuse them transformed. By 'doing a better job as an architect than the McDonald's next door', their colourful public buildings, playing with ideas like kitsch or excess, turn out to be more attractive than shopping centres. Similarly, Périphériques erected a suburban music centre using the shapes of the surrounding buildings as a basis, but with different materials and arranged in an unexpected way. The same architectural mimicry is also present in the work of Atelier Provisoire, which used brown, corrugated sheets lo build a villa with a striking likeness to the wooden sheds surrounding it.

Another characteristic of the group is its aversion to the aesthetic of 'facade architecture' and 'connecting gable walls', imposed by the current wave of neo-Haussmann architecture and the strict regulations which make it impossible for architects to do their work. The negative influence of this retro-aesthetic on the quality of residential and office space in France would be worth a study in its own right. For example, a large proportion of the new apartments and offices in the Ile-de-France was built without balconies, because an image must at all costs lie maintained of the 'prestigious' Paris style, with smooth, empty facades and no washing lines or cigarette-smoking office workers. This is why Du Besset & Lyon often build 'façadeless' buildings with 'indefinite' outlines, and why the offices of Lacaton & Vassal and Ferrier are not only transparent, but have outward-projecting floors, so creating continuous balconies on each floor, reducing maintenance costs and increasing work satisfaction.

There are, however, some question marks about Lapierre's selection. For example, after his Bibliothèque Nationale, does Renault really belong in this group, despite his membership of the age group considered by Lapierre? And doesn't Art'M (Poitevin & Reynaud), a striking firm that is ignored here, satisfy the specified criteria wonderfully well? Anyway, among the twelve firms selected, Rudy Ricciotti occupies the most radical position. He describes his architecture as the antithesis of an 'architranquiliser' (archicalmant) and advances it as a therapeutic cure for mediocrity. His sunken villa Lyprendi, near Toulon, slicks out provocatively against the neo-Provencal villas on the hill. A military camouflage net provides protection against the sun - or safety for the courageous, overtly modern residents?

This militaristic bunker-villa is the prime emblematic image of the position of architecture in the France of 2004. Surrounded by an overwhelming mass of historicised architecture, the French architect - in a country in which even the government now ignores him - has become a kind of resistance fighter. The battle would seem to have been lost long ago, but that does not detract from the fact that sometimes a significant level of dynamism and originality emerges from this dramatic conflict. This makes it possible to answer the question posed at the beginning: Lapierre's selection includes three or four firms whose attitude, projects and writings transcend the locale, have universal value and will ensure the succession of Nouvel and De Portzamparc, even though the application of this group will lie elsewhere. Apart from that, the book proves - providing that you have the same kind of modesty as Lapierre - that it can be quite enlightening now and then to set architecture in a national context.

© Steven Wassenaar