Mexican settlers first came to the valley of the Rio Grande to establish their ranchos in the 1750s. Two centuries later the Great River, dammed in an international effort by the U.S. and Mexican governments to provide flood control and a more dependable water supply, inundated twelve settlements that had been built there. Under the waters of the new Falcón Reservoir lay homes, businesses, churches, and cemeteries abandoned by residents on both sides of the river when the floods of 1953 filled the 115,000-acre area two years ahead of schedule. The Smithsonian Institution, the National Park Service, and the University of Texas at Austin conducted an initial survey of the communities lost to the Falcón Reservoir, but these studies were never completed or fully reported. When architect W. Eugene George came to the area in the 1960s, he found a way of life waiting to be preserved in words, photographs, and drawings. Two subsequent recessions of the reservoir—in 1983–86 and again in 1996–98—gave George new access to one of the settlements, Guerrero Viejo in Mexico. Unfortunately, the receding lake waters also made the village accessible to looters. George’s work, then, was crucial in documenting the indigenous architecture of these villages, both as it existed prior to the flooding and as it remained before it was despoiled by vandals’ hands. Lost Architecture of the Rio Grande Borderlands combines George’s original 1975 Texas Historical Commission report with the information he gleaned during the two low-water periods. This handsome, extended photographic essay casts new light on the architecture and lives of the people of the Texas-Mexico borderlands.

Lost Churches of Mississippiis a collection of archival photographs, postcards, and drawings of more than one hundred notable churches and synagogues vanquished by fire, disaster, development, or neglect. Constructed primarily from the mid-1800s through the early 1900s, these places of worship were often among the most visually prominent and architecturally striking buildings in Mississippi. Storms, floods, tornadoes, flames, bulldozers, or the disbandment of congregations razed what once was hallowed.In Lost Churches of Mississippi, architectural historian Richard J. Cawthon reclaims such noteworthy churches as the old St. Paul's Catholic Church in Vicksburg, Bethel Presbyterian Church near Columbus, the old Trinity Episcopal Church in Pass Christian, and the old First Presbyterian Church in Yazoo City. Selections represent over fifty towns and cities throughout the state and are captured in 180 distinctive black-and-white illustrations from several historical archives and other collections.Cawthon discusses the architectural features and historical background of each house of worship and provides a brief introduction that illuminates the study of lost buildings, as well as a glossary of architectural terms and an annotated bibliography Lost Churches of Mississippi rescues a cardinal legacy and recognizes a portion of the state's rich architectural and religious heritage.

As preservationist Mary Carol Miller talked with Mississippians about her books on lost mansions and landmarks, enthusiasts brought her more stories of great architecture ravaged by time. The twenty-seven houses included in her new book are among the most memorable of Mississippi's vanished antebellum and Victorian mansions. The list ranges from the oldest house in the Natchez region, lost in a 1966 fire, to a Reconstruction-era home that found new life as a school for freed slaves. From two Gulf Coast landmarks both lost to Hurricane Katrina, to the mysteriously misplaced facades of Hernando's White House and Columbus's Flynnwood, these homes mark high points in the broad sweep of Mississippi history and the state's architectural legacy. Miller tells the stories of these homes through accounts from the families who built and maintained them. These structures run the stylistic gamut from Greek revival to Second Empire, and their owners include everyone from Revolutionary-era soldiers to governors and scoundrels.

Originaire de la ville de Québec, Louis Bertrand s’installe à L’Isle-Verte en 1811 puis devient un notable parmi les plus en vue de la région. Seigneur, député, maire, lieutenant-colonel de milice, marchand de bois, fondateur de la Société d’agriculture du comté de Rimouski voici quelques-uns des titres portés par l’homme. Mais Louis Bertrand n’a pas qu’occupé ces fonctions administratives et institutionnelles, il a également laissé une empreinte grâce à son action sur l’occupation du territoire et l’exploitation des ressources naturelles. Les stratégies d’accumulation et de gestion des ressources qu’il déploie éclairent certains aspects encore négligés des dynamiques historiques régionales du Québec. Les actes notariés nous révèlent l’importance de la propriété foncière et les stratégies mises en œuvre par les élites locales pour s’affirmer dans la société bas-canadienne et, plus subtilement, ils esquissent, en filigrane, toute la complexité de la formation du tissu social local. À travers la trajectoire de vie de Louis Bertrand, cet ouvrage interroge plus largement le rôle fondamental joué par les élites locales en émergence dans les processus de développement de certaines régions périphériques québécoises au XIX^e siècle. L’auteure dévoile également la manière dont ces individus ont évolué dans un environnement en mutation marqué par l’abolition du régime seigneurial, la conquête du sol, ainsi que par l’essor du capitalisme et de l’industrialisation.

Eastern European prefabricated housing blocks are often vilified as the visible manifestations of everything that was wrong with state socialism. For many inside and outside the region, the uniformity of these buildings became symbols of the dullness and drudgery of everyday life. Manufacturing a Socialist Modernity complicates this common perception. Analyzing the cultural, intellectual, and professional debates surrounding the construction of mass housing in early postwar Czechoslovakia, Zarecor shows that these housing blocks served an essential function in the planned economy and reflected an interwar aesthetic, derived from constructivism and functionalism, that carried forward into the 1950s. With a focus on prefabricated and standardized housing built from 1945 to 1960, Zarecor offers broad and innovative insights into the country’s transition from capitalism to state socialism. She demonstrates that during this shift, architects and engineers consistently strove to meet the needs of Czechs and Slovaks despite challenging economic conditions, a lack of material resources, and manufacturing and technological limitations. In the process, architects were asked to put aside their individual creative aspirations and transform themselves into technicians and industrial producers. Manufacturing a Socialist Modernity is the first comprehensive history of architectural practice and the emergence of prefabricated housing in the Eastern Bloc. Through discussions of individual architects and projects, as well as building typologies, professional associations, and institutional organization, it opens a rare window into the cultural and economic life of Eastern Europe during the early postwar period.

With a unique focus on corporate headquarters as embodiments of the values of the press and as signposts for understanding media culture, Media Capital: Architecture and Communications in New York City demonstrates the mutually supporting relationship between the media and urban space. Aurora Wallace considers how architecture contributed to the power of the press, the nature of the reading public, the commercialization of media, and corporate branding in the media industry. Tracing the rise and concentration of the media industry in New York City from the mid-nineteenth century to the present, Wallace analyzes physical and discursive space, as well as labor, technology, and aesthetics, to understand the entwined development of the mass media and late capitalism._x000B_

Built primarily for public religious exercises, New England’s wood-frame meetinghouses nevertheless were closely wedded to the social and cultural fabric of the neighborhood and fulfilled multiple secular purposes for much of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. As the only municipal building in the community, these structures provided locations for town and parish meetings. They also hosted criminal trials, public punishments and executions, and political and religious protests, and on occasion they served as defensive forts, barracks, hospitals, and places to store gunpowder. Today few of these once ubiquitous buildings survive. Based on site visits and meticulous documentary research, Meetinghouses of Early New England identifies more than 2,200 houses of worship in the region during the period from 1622 to 1830, bringing many of them to light for the first time. Within this framework Peter Benes addresses the stunning but ultimately impermanent blossoming of a New England “vernacular” tradition of ecclesiastical/ municipal architecture. He pinpoints the specific European antecedents of the seventeenth-century New England meetinghouse and traces their evolution through the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries into Congregational, Presbyterian, and Baptist churches heavily influenced by an Anglican precedent that made a place of worship a “house of God.” Undertaking a parish-by-parish examination, Benes draws on primary sources—original records, diaries, and contemporary commentators—to determine which religious societies in the region advocated (or resisted) this evolution, tying key shifts in meetinghouse architecture to the region’s shifting liturgical and devotional practices.

Using the analytical perspectives of architecture, comparative literature, and cultural studies, the essays in Memory and Architecture examine the role of memory in the creation of our built environment.

Gaining prominence as a seaport under the Ottomans in the mid-1500s, the city of Mocha on the Red Sea coast of Yemen pulsed with maritime commerce. Its very name became synonymous with Yemen's most important revenue-producing crop -- coffee. After the imams of the Qasimi dynasty ousted the Ottomans in 1635, Mocha's trade turned eastward toward the Indian Ocean and coastal India. Merchants and shipowners from Asian, African, and European shores flocked to the city to trade in Arabian coffee and aromatics, Indian textiles, Asian spices, and silver from the New World.

Thoughtfully documenting the voice and emotions of many who might otherwise remain unheard, Hemalata Dandekar provides in-depth accounts and insights, underpinned by quietly rigorous analysis, about family interactions and the perceptions, understandings, and memories of family members . . . a tribute to the indomitability of the human spirit as an enduring force in sustaining farm life on the Michigan farms. ---Anatole Senkevitch, Jr., Taubman College of Architecture and Urban Planning, University of Michigan Michigan's family farms form the backbone of the state. One need only see the Centennial Farm signs that dot the sides of the state's country roads to understand that. Hemalata Dandekar shows in her new book just how connected those family farm buildings are to the families that inhabit them. Eight family-farm case studies display farm buildings' relationship to the land they sit on, their function on the farm, the materials they're made with, the farm enterprises themselves, and the families who own them. Photographs, plans, elevations, and sections of typical, exemplary traditional farm buildings show the aesthetic and architectural qualities of those types of buildings across the state. The ways in which the buildings serve the productive activities of the farm, shelter and nourish the people and livestock, yield a living, and enable the aspirations of farm people are shown in the words and photographs of the farmers themselves. The buildings form a window into the lives of Michigan's family farms and into the hearts and minds of the people who have lived and worked in them their entire lives. Hemalata C. Dandekar is head of City and Regional Planning at California Polytechnic State University. She specializes in urbanization, urban-rural linkages, rural development, and gender and housing. She developed her love of Michigan farmers and farm architecture during her years as a student, professor, and then director at the Urban Planning program of the A. Alfred Taubman College of Architecture and Urban Planning at the University of Michigan.