I write about Casey and Watkins’s very timely book, in the shadow of yet another staging of the US’s struggle with its imperial and racial history, on the one hand, and its project and promise to be a beacon of light for the "tired, poor, huddled masses yearning to be free"—to paraphrase—on the other hand. This book is a celebration, and invitation to a reaffirmation, of this project and promise.

In each of the four chapters Wilkes takes the work of modernist artists and writers as his point of departure to unfold the “polyvocality” of Purbeck (page 141). Always sensitive to complexity, however, Wilkes moves beyond, but still with, these creative protagonists and their various imaginaries of Purbeck. He juxtaposes such imaginaries to, for example, military structures, radar experimentation and geological thought in order to highlight the discontinuities of meaning that play out across this landscape.

In this work, Quinney presents a series of photographs and short descriptive essays, or “field notes”, recording his life between 1983 and 2001 when he lived in the town of DeKalb in northern Illinois. Through this combination of photograph and text, Quinney invites the reader on a journey through his hometown and familiar landscapes at the end of the twentieth century.

Cities of Tomorrow: Planning, Justice and Sustainability Today is an important and most welcome addition to the limited texts available in Hebrew in the field of urban planning. The central question underpinning the different contributions is: how to plan the cities of tomorrow and to what extent and under what circumstances could they become more just and sustainable?

Deborah Cowen’s The Deadly Life of Logistics is the first of its kind: an original, imaginative, and critical theorisation of the centrality of violence to the modern logistics business. The book beautifully illuminates the conjuncture between capital accumulation and practices of security and securitisation on a global scale, zooming down to specific places and moments to better illustrate the inner workings of this conjuncture.

Piani sul mondo appears to present itself as a complement (or even an objection) to the expanding technical, analytical practice of mapping literature.

Augé’s book does not characterize itself as a novel, nor is this an ethnography. Rather, it is “ethnofiction,” an intermingling of the two, blending together both ethnographic research and fictional narrative.

This edited collection comprises the outcome of a sustained, multidisciplinary and multi-locale study of the sites known as ushnus, which broadly refer to (sometimes raised slightly, or stepped) surfaces in which physical features (drainage holes, fissures) or use referred to cosmological, political and religious practices of the Inca Empire, and whose echoes can be identified today in certain ethnographic contexts of the Peruvian and Bolivian Andes.

Engaging with spatial theory in most of its incarnations, the book contributes to conceptualisations of topology in the socio-cultural arena. This thought-provoking book adopts a critical stance that aims to transcend the metaphorical treatment of topology and clarify the potential of a topologically informed toolset fitted for spatial analysis.

Koelsch has produced a monumental study to help populate the landscape of the history of historical geography with figures from classical geography, showing just how recently the practice of classical geography was a concern for scholars: indeed Koelsch points out that the special interest only really met its demise around the turn of the twentieth century.