I had a discussion recently with some Chinese and Western friends about architectural trends in China. The topic kicked off with a comparison of recent visits to Beijing, where one either loves or hates the new architecture that’s gone into place for the city’s coming-out party. Consensus round the table was that all the new architecture was hideous, with the new CCTV building being both hideous and astounding. I bemoaned the fact that none of the new architecture reflected anything of a sense of style through which previous dynasties in China projected their world views. Instead, the new architecture was developed by Westerners who were hard put to get those sorts of structures built in their home countries. “Come on,” I said, “look at the Egg, on Tiananmen Square; or the CCTV building. They’re hideous!”

“Oh, you Westerners always like the traditional architecture, which just isn’t economical,” Bob, one of my Chinese friends said.

“You’re right about the economics, but my point is that none of the new architecture in the national capital reflects a sense of Chinese style, a kind of continuity between old and new, or a projection of the traditional into the future.” I brought up a relatively new property development here in Suzhou, Ligongdi, on Jingji Lake. “The architecture is amazing. The developers were able to keep a strong sense of the Suzhou architectural style while at the same time updating it, modernizing it. It’s lovely.” The “Suzhou-style,” also prevalent throughout southern Jiangsu Province from Kunshan to Nanjing, presents simple white-washed facades capped with undulating black-tile roofs. Clean, simple lines sometimes punctuated by large round doorways into courtyards that give a feeling of entering a safe place, a sacred space. In other words, there is a sense of style, as opposed to a mere paean to power or commercial acuity.

“And then there is the University of Xiamen,” I said excitedly. Xiamen is a municipality in Fujian Province across the Strait from Taiwan. “The main building on the campus must be 30 stories, with a great, peaked roof that swoops down and up again like a bold, red-tiled brush stroke. The building clearly reflects the Fujian traditional style but updates it beautifully.” Bob and my other Chinese friend, David, had seen the campus. They both nodded their appreciation of the building.

Bob made the point, though, that Beijing never really had a chance at carrying forward some sense of the traditional. From 1949 the Central Government began tearing down the great fortress wall that ringed the city, and built monstrous Soviet-style mausoleums as a tribute to the fathers of Communism. In other words, the architectural trajectory of the city from the founding of the People’s Republic was never in the direction of extending the traditional. He came back again to economics, said, “How many people can you fit into the Siheyuan?” he asked. I nodded my head in acceptance of his point. Siheyuan are the traditional courtyards of Beijing in which several generations would live. Typically, the areas are quite small, with stingy, dark rooms that in the winter have wind whistling through tired panes of thin glass; and in summer, are stifling with dusty heat. As charming and “traditional” as they Siheyuan are they are not very economical in light of the shifting demographics of the country: more people are coming to make their lives in the city from the countryside.

And then again, Bob and Frank – the other Westerner at the table – proposed, Beijing is not in competition with the rest of China over who is the most cultural; Beijing is in competition with other capitals of the world. Beijing is looking to impress the political, cultural and financial leadership of the world.

And when Beijing’s air pollution lifts long enough to reveal the New City – like a curtain drawn on the debut of a grand performance – world leaders may indeed find themselves envious.