Module 1 Annotated Bibliographies

Aciman, A. (2000). Shadow cities. In A. Aciman (Ed.), Letters of transit: Reflections on exile, identity, language and loss (pp. 15-34). New York: The New Press.

Through a discussion of his favorite park on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, Aciman – a self-described “exile” from Alexandria in Egypt – argues for the existence of what he calls “shadow cities,” effectively versions of the remembrances of other cities one has inhabited for any length of time that exist alongside, underneath and through one’s current locale. These shadow cities allow us to appreciate where we are more fully by creating a mirror, which Aciman calls a “mnemonic correlate,” in which one can see these other cities one has known or even only imagined inhabiting. For instance, he says, he never actually sees the real New York; instead, he only sees a New York which stands in for other locales or helps him to remember the other places he has been. Exiles, he argues, fear change and instinctively look for their homeland abroad in order to minimize the stress of the longing and loss they feel. This is, effectively, the opposite of the concept that you can never go home again – you’re always home wherever you are, because you are constantly bringing your concept of “home” with you, wherever you go.

Chabon, M. (2009, 16 July).  Manhood for amateurs: The wilderness of childhood. The New York Review of Books, 56, 12.

Chabon reminisces about his childhood home in Maryland, where his family lived at the edge of a wooded area. He connects the “wilderness of childhood” to well-known children’s stories of adventure and their usual inclusion of a map which not only reveals the geography of the tale but also serves as metaphor for the mental maps which children create of their surroundings as they learn and grow. Recalling his interest in a series of books of the lives of famous Americans as children, Chabon finds a familiar link from their adventures in the wilderness through his play (and mental map-making) as a child and contrasts that with the current generation of American children, including his own, who don’t get to experience the wilderness of childhood for fear of abduction or otherwise serious harm. Ultimately, he worries what effect this closing of the wilderness will have on both children’s imaginations – their ability to play, think and create freely, unencumbered by adults – and “the world of adventure, of stories, of literature itself.”

Cooper, C. (1974). The house as symbol of the self. In J. Lang, et al. (Eds.), Designing for Human Behavior (pp. 130-146). Stroudsburg, PA: Dowden, Hutchinson and Ross.

In this “think piece,” Cooper takes the Jungian concepts of the collective unconscious, archetypes and symbols and relates them to the modern construct of the house. For Jung, archetypes are nodes of psychic energy in the unconscious mind, and symbols are the manifestations of archetypes in the real world. For Cooper, the house serves as a symbol of the self, and humans treat their homes as reflections of the people they are, the people they want others to see them as, or the people they someday hope to be. This house-as-self image that individuals project may often happen unconsciously, but it is fraught with the same stereotypes and judgments that are found in issues of socioeconomic status, racial inequality and cultural normalcy. She then examines examples of house-as-self in literature and poetry, finding that the house as “womb” or “mother” is a common theme. Further connecting to research of Carl Jung, Cooper uses examples of Jung’s accounts of his own dreams of houses and subsequent actual additions to his house to show that the collective unconscious is constantly at work building and shaping our homes and, by extension, our lives. Although somewhat dated, Cooper’s collection of research and anecdotal evidence ultimately suggests that architects and designers need to consider their clients’ sense of self when designing for them or risk producing “a symbolic reality which leaves the residents bewildered and resentful.”

Proshansky, H. M., Fabian, A. K. & Kaminoff, R. (1983). Place-identity: Physical world socialization of the self. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 3(1), pp. 57-83.

The authors examine the concept of “place-identity,” whereby they extrapolate from the development of self-identity a concurrent theory concerning an individual’s learned ability to make distinctions between oneself and not only objects and things but also the spaces and places in which those things are found. This place-identity is crucial to the development of one’s ability to effectively respond to a variety of physical settings encountered throughout life, they argue, whether or not one has been exposed to a particular environment before. In this way, we collect a database of place-identities which allow us to navigate our way through life. They discuss the various functions of place-identity, including recognition, meaning, expressive-requirement, mediating change, and anxiety and defense. Physical settings dominate the lives of children, and the authors insist that it is within the framework of these spaces where children learn the significant social roles they will inhabit for the rest of their lives. Therefore, place-identity is instrumental in the formation of one’s self-identity and its importance cannot be overstated. Their exhaustive analysis of place-identity is largely effective, though it often diverges into somewhat convoluted and repetitive reasoning which tend to lessen the impact of the basic argument. Plainer language and a tighter thematic framework could strengthen their discussion considerably.

Whitehead, C. (2001, 11 November). The way we live now: 11-11-01; Lost and found. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com         

 

In an article written two months after the terrorist attacks of September 11, Whitehead rather effectively argues, through humor no less, that you can call yourself a New Yorker “when what was there before is more real and solid than what is here now” – or, rather, once you’ve created your own private version of the city which is based on all of the places you’ve lived, frequented, worked or otherwise known. The places that have disappeared still exist, he says, because we still exist and we still remember. Not only that, but having this history also proves that you were part of the city and, by extension, it was a part of you. It’s a rather poignant reaction to the destruction of the two World Trade Center towers, which Whitehead suggests still stand “because we saw them…were lucky enough to know them for a time.” He ultimately wonders what, if anything, will physically take their place and suggests that we give whatever does a chance to share the city with us too.