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Review by Matthias Brendler In his introduction to Placing Words: Symbols, Space, and the City, author William J. Mitchell observes, This book explores the ways in which the spaces and places of twenty-first century cities provide contexts for communication. Communication, of course, is a word thats subject to numerous interpretations, and the way we understand it is unavoidably colored by our personal and professional identities. Architects answer to the realities of physics, space, and ergonomics, whereas graphic designers deal mainly in persuasion. Designers are concerned with the ephemeral, kinetic flux of perception and interpretation, and our world is less concrete and in some ways more complex than architecture. Our language is meaning itself, and is not necessarily limited, as architecture is, to physical manifestations. Yet for Mitchell, the idea of word is inseparable from text writ on physical form. Mitchell, author of The Reconfigured Eye: Visual Truth in the Post-Photographic Era, is dean of the MIT Media Lab. If his perspective on communication differs somewhat from the designers, Placing Words is nevertheless an absorbing and entertaining collection of short essays. Each piece provides a unique experience, as the author journeys through ruminations on architecture, contemporary culture, and technology. Though Mitchell has an academic background, theoretical exposition seems to be his least compelling skill. In his introduction, broad statements substantiated by simplistic examples made me cringe at times. I would have liked to have seen more references to the theoreticians who no doubt influenced this preface; instead, Mitchell presents a synopsis of the August Strindberg play Dance of Death to demonstrate how the development of the photograph and telegraph created a temporal and spatial disconnection between man and content. Maybe Im dramaturgically challenged, but this reference seems odd, considering the absence of more

Placing Words: Symbols, Space, and the City By William J. Mitchell Designed by Sharon Deacon Warne the mit press, cambridge, massachusetts 224 pages; $16.95 accessible and arguably more influential theoretical and cultural analysis on this subject. Elsewhere in the introduction, Mitchell discusses the concept of labels but neglects to mention Barbara Kruger and her subversion of the language of advertising, thereby missing an opportunity to greatly enrich his investigation. Overall, the first section seems forced, more like an academic obligation than a genuine meditation on the title and purported theme of the book. The introduction is particularly stiff in contrast to the 33 vibrant and eclectic essays that follow. In these pieces, Mitchell seems to be channeling a distracted Marshall McLuhan attempting to outmaneuver Walter Benjamin, Noam Chomsky, and Guy Debord in a streamof-consciousness improv performance. As he contemplates New England architectural decay while attending a Cape Cod drive-in with a carload of kids, or as he reflects on the specious artificiality of Paul Gauguins Tahitian paradise home (on the island of Hiva Oa), the reader is taken along on many vivid, thoughtful, and amusing excursions. Throughout the collection, Mitchell shows himself to be an erudite and astute cultural observer. The author begins the essay What Does a Pixel Want to Be by referencing film director Sergei Eisensteins comments about New York City circa 1920: All sense of perspective and realistic depth is washed away by a nocturnal sea of electric advertising. Mitchell connects this description with contemporary Times Square signage and raster videoscreens and considers the potential of flexible sheets of individually controllable LEDs. Pondering the impact of this new material on two- and threedimensional space, Mitchell asserts that as the composition of mass and surface converges with computer animation . . . the traditional distinctions between architectural lighting design and computer graphics are beginning to disappear. Mitchells observation is fascinating, though visual communicators are likely to take issue with the architects cool certainty that graphic design (which he seems to dismiss as computer graphics) will be subsumed by architecture. If anything, it might be the other way around. Despite an occasional glint of architectural elitism, the essays remain engrossing until about three-quarters of the way through the book. Each essay is no more than five pages, an editorial format that makes for easy reading but precludes thoroughgoing examinations of his chosen subjects. In his short-essay formula, Mitchell unapologetically pulls into frame however brieflywhatever references suit a given essays purpose; after 20 of these capsulized trips, the format begins to feel as tired as a half-hour TV sitcom. Nevertheless, the sheer variety and amount of ground covered in the essaysrhetorical bricolage par excellencecan be pleasantly dizzying. Poison Ivy analyzes how Ivy League campuses have been designed to satisfy alumni and to aid fund-raising efforts. His insights on this, as on other subjects, are priceless: American colleges and universities are in the nostalgia theme park

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business. Trustees call it tradition. Riffing on the TV program Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, the essay An Eye for an Eye examines historical paradigm shifts in design to emphasize that architects invented the taste-and-class makeover genre in the first place. In King of Bling, Mitchellafter referencing the philosopher Edmund Burketraces the evolution of the word bling and proceeds to consider how the concept applies to architecture; Frank Gehry comes center stage for a moment before the author ends the essay with a Jimi Hendrix quote. Placing Words is a self-extracting archive that expands substantially upon reading. Ironically, though Mitchell begins his introduction by examining contexts for communication, his own book is difficult to navigate. The table of contents, listing only abstruse essay titles, gives the reader little guidance for the substance of the chapters; a better editorial design would have helped readers traverse the kaleidoscopic references. With this omission, the disconnect between architectural theorizing and the built realitybetween the perspective of architecture and graphic designbecomes palpably evident. The author could have designed a better space for his visitors.

Chip Kidd: Book One: Work: 19862006 Written and art-directed by Chip Kidd Curated and designed by Mark Melnick rizzoli international publications, new york 400 pages; $65 Chip Kidd is a signicant book and book jacket designer as well as an astute editor of books on comics, an erudite raconteur, and a spirited novelist. Although there are others who have contributed as muchif not moreto the art of book covers and jackets, few have reinvented themselves as frequently as Kidd has. Chip Kidd: Book One: Work: 19862006 is a monograph that reveals the designers talent while exposing his hubris. The anthology, both fascinating and infuriating, provides a record of adventuresome book cover and jacket design, yet it is vastly overwrought. With long cropped pages that extend beyond the short-cut hardcover, the book is designed to be a convention-busting object; it is, however, difcult to put on a bookshelf. The interior design showcases his distinctive employ of pictorial fragmentation and type-photo compositions, but the work and assorted sketches are crammed together so as to reduce them to mere canned goods on a bookstore display. Like too many autobiographical monographs, Book One is peppered with attering comments, in this case from authors whose covers Kidd has designed; a duly respectful introduction by John Updike doesnt lessen the pervasive self-aggrandizement evident in Kidds often sarcastic commentaries on how and why he designed the covers shown. Kidd warrants a monograph, but he would have been better served by a more serious critical analysis than this surfeit of testimonials, no matter how good the material. s t e v e n h e l l e r

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