Brutalist Korea presents "nu-bru" buildings from Seoul to Jeju Island

New book Brutalist Korea showcases designs ranging from a blocky kindergarten to a building designed to "conjure the image of an open book". Author Paul Tulett chooses 11 favourites.

For Tulett, who also wrote a book called Brutalist Japan, South Korea's many modern brutalist buildings drew him to focus on the country for his latest book on the well-known architectural style.

"I wanted to cover Korea after reading about many contemporary builds there being in a style I label 'nu-bru' – a modern iteration of a style misunderstood and often condemned elsewhere," Tulett told Dezeen. "Don't fret, though; old-school examples also feature."

Brutalist Korea is the second in a planned trilogy and will be followed by Brutalist China.

Here, the author and photographer chooses 11 of his favourites among the projects in the book for Dezeen:

Dr Seo Women's Clinic Building, Seoul, by Kim Chung-up, 1967

"Dr Seo's Women's Clinic stands apart as a rare moment where early Korean modernism slips into something far more sculptural and instinctive. At a time when efficiency and repetition defined much of the built environment, this building takes a different route – shaping concrete into something fluid, suggestive, and loaded with intent.

"Its presence comes from that refusal to conform. The curved form disrupts the surrounding rigidity, asserting itself through softness rather than force. It carries a sense of protection and enclosure, hinting at meaning without needing to spell it out.

"The location deepens that reading. Set near a site historically tied to death, the building introduces a quiet counterbalance — one oriented towards care and renewal. That contrast gives it a resonance beyond its material.

"Within the context of Brutalist Korea, it represents a more nuanced expression. Not overtly heavy or confrontational, but still unmistakably bold in its conviction and form."

Kyungdong Presbyterian Church, Seoul, by Kim Swoo-geun, 1981

"Kyungdong Presbyterian Church got into the book through its sheer intensity. It doesn't present itself as a conventional religious building, and that refusal is exactly what gives it weight. The exterior reads as defensive, almost fortified, and it's not decorative — it's purposeful, direct, and slightly confrontational.

"What makes it compelling is its commitment to atmosphere over image. This is architecture that strips things back, removing distraction and focusing on presence. The material palette is honest, the forms are sharp, and the overall effect is one of compression and release, rather than openness and spectacle.

"Within the context of Seoul, it stands apart from more commercialised expressions of faith. There's no attempt to entertain or soften the experience.

"It also challenges narrow readings of brutalism. The use of brick doesn't dilute its impact – if anything, it reinforces it. It represents brick brutalism at the exterior and old-school brutalism inside."

Eunpyeong Library, Seoul, by Kwak Jae-hwan, 2001 

"Eunpyeong Library stands out for its sense of permanence. It doesn't try to disappear into its surroundings or defer to the landscape – it holds its ground with a quiet certainty, anchoring itself against the backdrop of Bukhansan with real conviction.

"The appeal lies in its massing. The layered concrete volumes step and shift in a way that feels deliberate, almost geological, giving the building a presence that changes depending on where you stand. It avoids excess, relying instead on proportion, repetition, and depth to carry the composition.

"There's also something fitting about its weight. In a time where information is increasingly intangible, this building insists on physicality. It gives knowledge a form that feels durable, something that can endure rather than flicker.

"Within the broader selection, it represents a more grounded expression of brutalism – less about spectacle, more about endurance."

House of Open Books, Paju Book City, by Himma Studio, 2005 

"Where publishing houses line the streets like well-thumbed volumes, the House of Open Books is one of Paju Book City's most sculptural tomes. Designed by Himma Studio, the building is a concrete meditation on language, translation, and the layered act of reading itself.

"Its folded planes and slanted lines conjure the image of an open book mid-turn – caught between comprehension and possibility. The structure comprises two elongated 'bars' set parallel like linguistic threads – languages running side by side, converging in intent yet never quite meeting.

"Externally, the board-formed concrete – striated, weathered, and exact – serves as both facade and metaphor, its grain recalling the pages of a heavy-bound text.

"Inside, ramps replace conventional stairs, creating a gentle rhythm of ascent and descent. It is a building designed not for speed, but for slow comprehension, where architectural language mirrors the act of reading, translating, and rereading."

Simple House, Jeju Island, by Moon Hoon, 2012 

"Simple House muscles into the book because it refuses restraint. It takes the idea of 'simple' and dismantles it, pushing concrete into something theatrical, exaggerated, and unapologetically expressive.

"What makes it essential is its attitude. The structure doesn't settle; it leans, balances, and projects outward with a kind of restless energy. Every angle feels intentional, every shift in mass charged with momentum.

"There's also a distinct personality to it, something rarely this pronounced in brutalist work. It feels confrontational but not cold, assertive but not detached — a building with presence that borders on character.

"As a closing note, it lands differently [as the last item in the book]. After everything that comes before, this is the final turn: not quiet reflection, but defiance. A reminder that brutalism, at its core, isn't one thing. It stretches, provokes, and, at its best, refuses to sit still. Love it or hate it, brutalism is here to stay."

Dongdaemun Design Plaza, Seoul, by Zaha Hadid Architects, 2014

"I chose the Dongdaemun Design Plaza (DDP) because it refuses to behave. It doesn't sit neatly within any category, and that tension makes it an essential inclusion. At first glance, it reads as sleek and futuristic, but the longer you look, the more forceful it becomes.

"What draws me in is how it overrides its surroundings. Rather than responding politely to the city, it imposes its own logic, sweeping across the site in one continuous gesture.

"There's a kind of brute determination in that move, a willingness to disrupt rather than blend in.

"It also speaks to a broader shift. This is not traditional brutalism, but something mutated — heavier ideas expressed through a different skin. That contradiction is what makes it interesting. It feels excessive, confident, and slightly chaotic, much like Seoul itself."

White Cube Matrix, Paju Kindergarten, Paju Book City, by UnSangDong Architects, 2014 

"White Cube Matrix finds itself in the book because it walks a fine line between play and control. At first glance, it feels almost too severe for a kindergarten — a stack of rigid volumes that looks more like a study in discipline than a place for children. That tension is exactly what makes it interesting.

"What struck me is the clarity of the idea. It reduces architecture to blocks and voids, nothing decorative, nothing wasted.

"There's a kind of stubborn honesty in that approach, even if it borders on being overly strict. It doesn't soften itself for its users, yet it still suggests play through repetition and variation.

"It also captures a particular kind of Korean architectural confidence — precise, controlled, and unafraid of restraint. For me, it's a reminder that brutalism doesn't always have to shout. Sometimes it sits quietly, composed and slightly unnerving, letting the geometry do the talking."

Hands Corporation, Seoul, by Kim Chanjoon, The System Lab, 2014

"The HANDS Corporation building stands out for how it softens the usual weight associated with concrete. Rather than presenting a flat, imposing facade, it moves — the surface folds, bulges, and recedes, giving the impression of something alive rather than static.

"That sense of motion shifts how the building is read, turning mass into something more tactile and responsive. Its strength lies in that balance between structure and expression. The concrete isn't hidden or dressed up, but it's also not blunt.

"It's shaped with intent, creating depth, shadow, and a constantly changing rhythm across the surface. The result feels less like a conventional office block and more like a piece of inhabitable sculpture.

"Set against the intensity of Hannam-daero, it holds its own without resorting to aggression. It suggests a more humane direction for brutalism, one that retains presence while allowing for softness and variation."

The Closest Church, Seoul, by Kwak Hee-soo, 2015 

"The Closest Church stands out for its refusal to perform. In a context where religious buildings often compete for attention, this one pulls back, relying on clarity and restraint rather than spectacle.

"The strength lies in how it handles form and symbolism. Nothing is overstated. The mass is controlled, the gestures minimal, and even the most recognisable elements are pared back to near-absence.

"It repositions brutalism within a spiritual context. Instead of using weight to dominate, it uses it to focus, creating a space that encourages reflection without directing it.

"It shows a sense of discipline and precision, and it proves that impact doesn't rely on scale or drama – sometimes it comes from knowing exactly what to leave out."

Myeongjeong, Sayuwon, by Seung H-Sang, 2019 

"Myeongjeong does almost the opposite of what most architecture tries to do. It withdraws rather than declares, choosing restraint over presence.

"There's no excess, no gesture for the sake of attention — just a careful orchestration of ground, light, and movement. The architecture reveals itself gradually, asking for patience rather than demanding a glance. That shift in pace changes how the space is understood.

"Its relevance within Brutalist Korea comes from its commitment to material and intent. The concrete is unrefined, direct, and unapologetic, but the effect is not heavy-handed. Instead, it feels measured, almost meditative.

"It introduces a quieter register. Not every work needs to assert dominance; some achieve their impact through absence, discipline, and an almost stubborn refusal to perform."

MRNW, Daegu, by Society of Architecture and Yerin Kang, 2022

"MRNW in Daegu earns its place through its control of rhythm. The angled concrete grid immediately sets it apart, disrupting the predictability of a standard frame and giving the facade a sense of movement without sacrificing solidity. It feels deliberate and slightly offbeat – enough to catch attention, but never chaotic.

"There's a clarity to how the building is composed. The repetition of columns, the measured spacing, and the restrained palette all point to a disciplined approach, yet the angled structure introduces just enough tension to keep it from feeling static.

"It reflects a confident evolution of brutalist ideas. The material remains honest and exposed, but the expression is more refined, more tuned to experience and flow.

"It doesn't rely on sheer mass to make its point – instead, it uses structure, cadence, and subtle variation to hold attention."

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