100 Books Like Sand Rush

I love this book because it ties our insatiable demand for stuff to local, regional, and, indeed, global pollution and environmental destruction that threatens human and animal life.

Each chapter presents an eye-opening case study, my favorite of which explains all the steps that occur to bring bananas from far-off places and into grocery stores through Southern California’s largest ports. In fact, while Oil Beach spells out the impacts of oil refining, shipping, and trucking on humans, I love it, especially because it focuses on birds, whales, and other non-humans. The sad irony of oil-coated birds being treated at a clinic funded by oil companies will not be lost on the reader.

I also love books that are compelling reads. I read this book from start to finish without putting it down.   

I love this book because it hammers home the consequences of relentless energy development. One quote in particular says it all as far as drilling for oil is concerned: “One place cannot be drained for the sake of another without damage to a larger interconnected whole.” Santa Barbarans learned this in 1969. Extraction Ecologies warns of the consequences of climate change for all of us and the species with whom we share an increasingly fragile existence.

I also love this book because Miller uses books I had not read since high school, such as King Solomon’s Mines, to analyze the changes to landscapes and economic and social structures catalyzed by nineteenth-century industrialization and imperialism. Since reading the book, I have been rereading these books in a whole new light.

This is an amazing book on many levels and makes you look at every Van Gogh painting you’ve ever seen in the context of industrialization and the damage it was causing to the landscapes we associate with nature and beauty in the late nineteenth century.

The beautifully reproduced artworks are replete with smokestacks and locomotive engines spewing smoke into the air from coal combustion. Van Gogh also gives us polluted canals and rivers. Lobel shows us what we miss when looking at Van Gogh as a depiction of nature. I am now itching to get back to the Van Gogh Museum at all those irises in a whole new light. Like Extraction Ecologies, this book shows us our future from a distant past.

I love this book because it explains in a compelling and highly readable way why we humans have charted a path utterly dependent on fossil fuels that marks the Anthropocene and threatens our way of life, if not our very existence. And ultimately, why California will continue to burn. Like Elizabeth Carolyn Miller and Michael Lobel, Stoll shows us our future by digging into our nineteenth-century past.

It is our relentless quest to accumulate and consume that will spell our doom. This need translates into a global and collective pursuit of economic growth. To be sure, oil companies have sowed doubt about the consequences of fossil fuel combustion. But we love our stuff. Even now we are looking for ways to keep on having more of it. And so we are all complicit.

This book was written in the wake of the drowning of a young boy by a strong offshore current that pulled him out of the hands of his father. This Bostonian implored me to work to prevent this from happening to others, but at that time, beach communities did not even want signs to be posted to warn of rip currents for fear that it would result in loss of tourism. 

While most people fear sharks in the wake of the Jaws series of movies, rip currents are the real killers. Yet they are often unrecognized by the public without the scientific understanding to spot them and how to escape their grasp. In addition to the first two chapters on sharks and rip currents, the Beach Smart chapter provides insightful advice on how to avoid the “red lobster” sunburn and skin cancer, red tides, and jellyfish.   

This account of how LAX shaped its surrounding environment usefully affirmed my own decision to focus on a particular place. Its careful focus on how jet noise catalyzed relationships among a wide array of people and social forces in Los Angeles helped me understand better how such relationships had developed about 400 miles to the north.

Beyond all of that, this book has a lot of smart things to say about how noise more generally shapes our urban environments and attunes us to them.

Measuring environmental impact typically involves inscrutable measures like equivalent carbon emissions.

The Ecological Footprint method, devised by Wackernagel and Rees at the University of British Columbia, employs a much more palpable calculation of resource utilization and emissions: land. By demonstrating how the flows of global energy, materials, and waste can be converted into land-area equivalents, the authors make environmental impact tangible.

The book clearly articulates the most essential sustainability metric there is: one-Earth living.

This book is as much about urban design and landscape architecture as about architecture, its annotated sketches demonstrating how good places respond to their contexts.

I like its straightforward, practical, and concise approach. Although billed as ‘a manual for designers’, it is equally useful in analysing why some environments work, both practically and emotionally, and others don’t.

It is opinionated, not afraid to criticise as well as applaud. 

“Our cities and towns have been on a high carbon diet—and our metropolitan regions have become obese,” Peter Calthorpe states. Plying a generation of path-breaking work, he reveals how shifting to urbanism, “compact and walkable development,” can mitigate climate change and secure health and happiness. The metrics he presents are essential reading. Three types of neighborhoods—urban, compact, and sprawl—are assessed for their impact on land consumption, energy use, infrastructure, and utility cost, vehicle miles traveled, and greenhouse gas emissions. The information delivers a clear message: technology will not save us, but a lifestyle change will. It is “not radical,” Calthorpe writes, “but simply a shift from large lot single family homes” to the “streetcar suburbs” that once flourished in American cities. This seemingly simple solution is a vast undertaking, but the blueprint is fresh, and the next step requires, as Olmsted averred, “the best application of the arts of… show more.

Key to understanding cities is also to know how people experience them. Thousands of miles away but only a few years after Jacobs’ manifesto, Danish architect and urban designer Jan Gehl fascinatingly describes how people experience and behave in cities. We can use Gehl’s psychological and experiential lens to improve our urban environment, not designing buildings and cities just to appease other designers, politicians, or developers, but to real end users. Gehl’s original work has been translated into dozens of languages and expanded into one of the world’s foremost urban design firms. As an urban designer and researcher, Gehl’s book reminds me every day to focus first on people, then on space, and only then on buildings.