An Architecture of Invitation describes the life, work, and writings of Colin St John Wilson, or “Sandy” as he is known to his friends. Best known as the architect for the British Library at St. Pancras, London, a project on which he labored for thirty-five years, Wilson also spent two periods teaching at the Cambridge School of Architecture. Sarah Menin and Stephen Kite, both architects who lecture at the School of Architecture Newcastle upon Tyne, examine Wilson's built and unbuilt projects and the architectural theories he developed throughout his long career. Unfortunately for the nonexpert, the authors give little in the way of background, which can make for hard work at times. Nonetheless, the book is an enjoyable and thought-provoking analysis of the life and work of this major British architect and is a welcome addition to the literature.

In addition to synthesizing the large secondary literature about Wilson, the authors interviewed Wilson, his friends, colleagues, and peers. Interesting parallels are drawn between Wilson's ideas and life experiences and the theoretical writings of art critic Adrian Stokes, psychoanalyst Melanie Klein, and psychiatrist Donald Winnicott. For example, one of Wilson's earliest memories is that of playing under a large table at home, which provided a place of safety and yet was open. This was soon translated into an aedicule—a space within a space—and became a symbol and reference for him. Similarly, Klein wrote on how an infant needs to internalize a mental picture of being held by the mother; this physical need becomes a mental one and leads to confidence in adulthood. Winnicott wrote of the idea of “potential space,” the gap between child and mother, so that if needed the mother will be there. The aedicule offers this to those who experience something of the gap.

When Wilson went up to Cambridge University in 1940, he intended to study history but changed to architecture as it offered an opportunity to practice drawing, an early interest of his. He was also an avid collector as a child, and these “crazes” (14) lead eventually to his private art collection, now considered one of the best on British Art.

The first chapters describe his childhood, his university education, and his early career with Leslie Martin at the London County Council. They provide an insight into Cambridge, the architectural scene of the 1950s, the period of the Festival of Britain, and the rebuilding of London after the blitz. The emerging “Independent Group” meeting at Raynor Banham's house on Sunday mornings or the “French Pub” in Soho to discuss the latest issues of the arts and architecture world is told in good narrative fashion.

Wilson's architectural agenda is far greater than that of most of his contemporaries. He argued that architecture is a form of communication and an aid to memory. His rejection of the Cartesian Corbusier is described in the book as his “Emmaus moment” (72), when he heard Finnish architect Alvar Aalto speak at the Royal Institute of British Architects in 1957 in favor of the “other” more human and accommodating designers from Scandinavia and Germany.

Wilson and Martin were appointed to the British Library project on the basis of their work on the Oxford Manor Road Library Group, a set of buildings with clear influences of Aalto. These and other built and unbuilt works are analyzed in great detail. Three Cambridge projects stand out: his design for the extension to the School of Architecture, Harvey Court, and his own house in Granchester Road, which recalls the college courts of the university. An unbuilt scheme, the Lucas Headquarters, won in competition in 1975, showed real innovation for its time.

Wilson met M. J. Long, a student at Yale, and married her following the breakdown of his first marriage. Ironically, she did not like his much-praised house in Granchester Road in Cambridge; it was not in her mind a place to raise a family. Long became a partner in Wilson's own practice and played an important and key role in writing the brief for the library and establishing the final design concept.

The library saga is set out in two parts. The first charts the various schemes produced from 1962 to 1973 for the original site in Bloomsbury. This contained Hawksmoor's Church of St. George, which the design team were allowed the possibility of demolishing, an offer they refused. A sketch section of the first scheme shows “the biggest room in the world” (145), a marvelous glass-covered reading room inspired by Etienne-Louis Boulée's 1785 interior perspective for a National Library. The second scheme was opposed by a strong conservation lobby and was eventually dropped as it became too big for the site. Wilson had misgivings about the designs and was relieved when a new site at St. Pancras was proposed.

His office started work on the new site in 1974 and produced four concept designs over two weeks. The planning brief set physical constraints on siting and height. The final design presented in 1977 accommodated 3,500 readers and 25 million books. The problems that beset the project are legendary. Margaret Thatcher's public spending review lead to smaller phases over longer periods, which ramped up the costs. It was eventually completed in 1997. Key elements of the story, however, are hidden or missing. The politics of the design office are relegated to the footnotes, little is given on the press attacks, and the sniping from Private Eye is missing. As a user, the library is a wonderful success. It is ironic that Prince Charles ended up, due to the Queen's absence, in conferring a knighthood on Wilson, although he had earlier lead the attack on the building before it was finished.

A wonderful quote by Edmund Burke advises that “those who would carry on great public schemes must be proof against the most fatiguing delays, the most mortifying judgements, the most shocking insults and worst of all the presumptuous judgement of the ignorant upon their designs” (219). Wilson had that proof.