Fans pick 59 books like The New Urban Frontier

This castaway story, about a man trapped on a concrete island under and between converging freeways on the outskirts of London, still stands the test of time.

I found it especially resonant during the imposed isolation of the global pandemic; all of us each marooned in our living rooms. The protagonist, architect Robert Maitland, has to learn to survive and thrive in reduced and restricted circumstances, and he can’t buy or build his way out of it.

When he finally discovers a way off the island he no longer really wants to leave, reminding us that we are sometimes most effectively imprisoned by our own minds and desires.  

Through the skillful interweaving of personal experiences mixed with scholarly observations and references, Kern catalogs all the ways that cities have historically been designed for men by men.

Stories all women recognize, like the extra costs of keeping oneself safe in the city, or the boundaries imposed on women with young children who can’t get strollers up staircases or into trolley cars, or the discomfort with dining alone at restaurants, remind readers of how urban planners could and must do better.

Kern is attentive to race, ability, and gender in her observations and references as she seeks to balance the here-and-now with pragmatic solutions for future feminist cities capable of serving everyone equally. 

Through devastating stories of unoccupied housing developments in China and Spain, gargantuan mansions built mostly underground the streets of London, and pencil-thin skyscrapers in New York where residents never have to see each other, Soules explains how “architecture has become finance and finance has become architecture.”

In its relentless pursuit of profit, capital has created the conditions for the built environment to be redesigned and standardized for easier trading as cash liquidity. This movement since the 1980s explains both the rampant urbanization of the world and the increasing canyon between the haves and have-nots. 

This pocket-sized book of a mere 63 pages can be read in a couple of hours and has a lasting impact.

Fraser, a feminist philosopher I was lucky to take a class with once in graduate school, explains the political and economic conditions that frame the near-constant anxiety one feels daily as witnesses to near-constant national and global crises.

We are all living through a “hegemonic gap;” that is, a profoundly unsettling transformation between the failure of agreed upon political authorities (she labels this progressive neoliberalism) and the lack of any clear future direction. In the mix is the global rise of proto-fascist populism, environmental disaster, increasing wealth gaps, and violence and war.

What can guide us out of this mess? That is the subject of the last few pages… 

Richard Price’s propulsive plots revolve around crime, but the novels are always about something much bigger, and Lush Life merges many of his favorite themes into one masterpiece: ambition and compromise, race and class, gentrification and crime, the push-and-pull of a city’s progressive leanings against reactionary forces for law and order and property values. Price’s city is constructed on a bedrock of conflict between those who’ve come to New York struggling to create art, those who were born here struggling to get by, and the cops struggling to hold the middle, in a spectacular kaleidoscope of a downtown scene at the turn of the millennium, of hipsters and gangsters, housing projects and trendy restaurants, all these subcultures clashing in one microcosm of urban life.

Read this book if you want to understand the nuances of blackness in the nation’s capital.

Brandi Thompson Summers argues in her book, Black in Place, that gentrification along the H Street Corridor in DC has involved the embracing of blackness as an aesthetic alongside the displacement of actual Black people. Summers explains how blackness came to be valued as a prized aesthetic at the same time that Black people experienced the heavy policing, predatory lending, and displacement that both make possible and accompany the gentrification of Black neighborhoods.

I love this book because it was so ahead of its time. Written during San Francisco’s first bout of hyper-gentrification—the 1990s dot-com boom—it is a chronicle of and tribute to the economically marginal but culturally central communities that got squeezed out: SRO denizens, Black activists, and queer refugees from Middle America.

In this 2001 book, a yet-to-be-discovered Solnit, in league with photographers Susan Schwartzenberg and Kate Joyce, records it all through the bulldozed and whitewashed spaces where these urbanites once lived. Most indelible is Joyce’s photo essay on San Francisco Starbucks outlets, each with a line below marking the storefront’s former life (“New Manila Restaurant, 1964-1994”; “Melody Video & Sound, 1936-1992”) showing how a flood of corporate money washed away so much that was unique in a great American city.

Giles does a wonderful job with a current hot topic that might come up a lot for kids: gentrification. Take Back the Block made me want to leap into action, and that’s a pretty magical thing to be able to say about a book! Not only did I want to read more about these characters, but I wanted to get involved in my own city to preserve homes and mitigate gentrification. Change is constant, and kids will love this book for talking about the changes we can control and those we cannot, and how to see the difference. Parents will appreciate a way to concretely illustrate what gentrification is, and to have honest conversations about it with their kids.

This book offers insight into how Black DC residents think about their changing city.

For many Black long-term residents, DC has long been a “Chocolate city,” a city where Black people held both the demographic and political majority, and where Black people created their own spaces of belonging, pride, and self-reliance.

This book draws from oral histories and ethnographic data with long-term African-American residents of DC to explain both how gentrification has enhanced the vulnerability of low-income residents and how Black residents of DC are reclaiming spaces in their city.

This book is full of rule-breakers, but not in the way you’d think. Rhea and her friends try to combat gentrification in their South L.A. neighborhood in the most unconventional way imaginable by inventing a fake gang; however, they are soon blamed for a very real murder.

I lived in West Baltimore for a time and saw the effects of gentrification taking over my neighborhood even in the short two years that I was there, so this book really resonated with me on a personal level. The premise reminded me of those memes of people claiming to shoot out the windows every few months to keep the rent low. While it’s a joke, there is a very real fear behind it, and this is a complex issue that Adia tackles with such a fresh voice and nuanced approach.