Danny Hoffman has crafted a beautiful book that weaves together urban theory, architectural comprehension, photographic excellence, and rich anthropological immersion in the lives of Monrovians. In it, he examines the ‘conditions that make it difficult, and often impossible, ‘to learn to dwell’ in the aftermath of civil war’ (p. xxi). By uncovering how a sub-section of Monrovians – ex-combatants of Liberia's army – experience their city, Hoffman argues that an urban citizenship fails to exist, as the city provides no ‘sense of permanence to the space’ (p. 86).

Monrovia Modern provides a novel explanation for the observed absence of rights to the city experienced by the country's ex-combatants: the built environment. The ‘authoritarian’ architecture structures an urban ‘form that also imposes real limits on what their vision of city life could be’ (p. 47). Hoffman zooms in on four modernist buildings that are decaying, yet continue to feature symbolically in Monrovia's urban imaginary. These buildings include the Ministry of Defence, E.J. Roye, Hotel Africa and the Liberia Broadcasting System. Each building forms a central chapter in the book and Hoffman provides intricate details to theorise how they serve as ‘politically ordering forms’ (p. 59).

Hoffman provides new insights into what the African city is, while at the same time highlighting the limits of its transformative potential. Drawing from scholars such as Edgar Pieterse, Garth Myers and AbdouMaliq Simone, Hoffman observes a relational or liquid city, where the ‘ex-combatant populace might play any one of these roles: money changer, baggage handler, watch committee member, thief’ (p. 40). Yet Monrovia's architectural forms reproduce the violence of Liberia's past through a process of political subjection. The built environment prevents widespread popular mobilisation because there are no public spaces from which a collective identity emerges. Rather than ruins on which to build a new city, the buildings Hoffman photographs persist as rubble, restricting the possibility of a new and democratic future.

The book has the tendency to conflate the experience of ex-combatants with all Monrovians. It theorises the architecture of four buildings, yet uses these case studies to exemplify the overall architecture of the city. Therefore, there is a worry that the evidence presented does not reflect or represent that of Monrovia in its entirety. This matters because Hoffman claims that the architecture in the city restricts the political possibilities of its residents. Without knowing what political possibilities exist, and for whom, it is difficult to determine the validity of this claim. While Hoffman strongly suggests that the link between architecture and collective action is essential, the scope of urban citizenship and right to the city might extend beyond architectural forms and public space – to include opportunities in political parties and decisions made at the ballot box. Therefore, it is difficult to rule out alternative possibilities of democratic citizenship that exist outside the scope of popular resistance.

Few books are as ambitious or as creative as this one. Critical urban theory accompanies high quality (and attractive) photos of Monrovian buildings and public life. A detailed social and political history of Monrovia is told through the experiences of a neglected sub-set of the Liberian population. A theory of democracy emerges out of the ruins of Monrovia's violent past, even though this version of democracy is not achieved. Monrovia Modern will likely inspire scholars looking to combine photography, architectural design and critical social theory. For those interested in Africa's rapid urbanisation, the book provides new insights into the political potential of its cities. Hoffman teaches us that while Liberia has exited from its debilitating civil war, it has yet to extricate itself from a violent past.