In Conversation; A History of a Declining Art Stephen Miller chronicles (among other things) the rise and fall of "clubbable" society in 17th and 18th century England. Londoners in particular were keen conversationalists whose coffee-houses were famous throughout Europe as locales of lively repartee and raillery. Something happened toward the end of the 18th century, however -- the French Revolution?, Britain's war with France?, a changing business climate?, fear?, weariness? -- and formerly "clubbable" folks, avid conversationalists who debated all topics with great style and verve, as well as those who never did like what they considered the superficiality of mere talk, withdrew. For many, the withdrawal took them into the ineffable, into "nature" v. society, and they got their "authenticity" fix by contemplating (silently, of course) The Sublime, which can of course only be found in Nature. The Sublime can make a noise (as in roaring waterfalls), but it cannot chatter, talk, hold lively conversation.

Miller calls Thomas Gray, England's most popular poet during the second half of the 18th century, "the anti-conversationalist." Gray felt uncomfortable around most people, and only wanted to converse with people he liked and who shared his interests. He didn't like the city (London). Instead, Gray upheld Nature, especially its Sublime variants, as the Ideal -- not least because one can manage to locate bits of it that are utterly devoid of other people.

Gray's poem The Bard was meant as a celebration of "true virtue and valor," to which Miller adds, "Gray was a neo-Spartan like Rousseau; he wanted the polite world to turn away from luxury and embrace ancient virtues." Miller follows this remarkable observation of the man-of-substance's dislike of "luxury" with an intriguiging paragraph that sums up many aspects of the style v. substance dichotomy. It also illustrates why change is such a hateful thing to those who believe that style is superficial (while they believe that substance is deep and lasting). And, for Victoria City Style Council, it shows us how style, luxury, change, and development is compounded into a monolithic "vice" made up first and foremost of people, and that the only antidote is solitude, nature, and the utter absence of other people.

Like many opponents of luxury, Gray disliked change. Describing a beautiful "white village" that borders a lake and lies beneath "a broken line of crags," he notes that there is no evidence of wealthy newcomers: "Not a single red tile, no flaring Gentleman's house, or garden-walls, break in upon the repose of this little unsuspected paradise, but all is peace, rusticity, & happy poverty in its neatest most becoming attire." Since Gray does not engage the villagers in conversation, how does he know the poor villagers are happy? Gray is not interested in talking to the villagers; he prefers to view them from the distance. for him they are picturesque figures in a sublime landscape. (Miller, p.171; emphasis added)

Victoria City Style Council doesn't agree that "escape" from the conversible world, whether into the largely silent Sublime or into "happy poverty" that shuns "newcomers" (i.e., other people who might want something different or who bring change) is a recipe for any city that must develop (and develop cities must). Nor does the Style Council accept the distinction between style and substance (much less its opposition). The Style Council avers that style is substance, especially in cities, and that we will have more conversations (not fewer) on this.