The most propitious enticement for a browser may be the 32-page color insert of photographs, maps and drawings of American environments. A picture may not always be worth a thousand words, but it is easier to discuss places with representative images of those places, first as these places may have been imagined and drawn, then as they were being planned, and finally as they assumed three-dimension.The images in the color insert are duplicates of more modest black-and-white versions that directly accompany the text. My exceptional editor, Ian Malcolm, argued that the book must foremost be for readers. Excessively illustrated books for Ian distract from the stories being told, as in the proverbial, oversized coffee table volume in which text becomes secondary to images, rather than the reverse. This, of course, is counter to the instincts of an architect whose eyes tend first to focus on the illustration.

Thus, the book’s color insert became a compromise among author and editor, allowing this author to compose a few stories with images.As an example, I juxtaposed each of the five monumental canvases of Thomas Cole’s 1830’s Course of Empire with five analogous moments in the life of Chicago’s 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition. Cole’s Transcendentalist-inspired intent was a warning against unimpeded progress at the expense of nature. This for him ultimately risked desolation, not of the natural world as we fear today, but of all that artificially built up progress; the fate of Imperial Rome. The Chicago’s World’s Fair was, of course, committed to an exaltation of human progress. However, as a temporal environment its evolution from a swampy field, to a wonderous architectural ensemble, to the demolition of that ensemble at the Fair’s conclusion, to its transformation into a pastoral park, replicated in three dimensions Cole’s haunting course of empire.

This juxtaposition is to help connect Cole’s warning to present environmental concerns. By the end of the 19th century the expectation of sustaining a “Nature’s Nation,” the focus and title of Chapter 2, had receded under the onslaught of industrialization. Cole’s prescient concern about the consequences of not heeding nature resonate today, more so than those architectural monuments of the World’s Fair, their ephemerality, indeed, supporting Cole’s and our anxieties about the despoiling of nature.Another attempt at a visual story in the book is the 2-page spread with three images depicting an optimized place for labor. It could be viewed as a graphic summation of chapter 5, which discusses a tradition of locating a company town away from town, being today overturned by headquarters of companies returning to town centers. The images are of a canonical 19th-century mill town, a mid-20th-century suburban corporate enclave, and the new Amazon Headquarters, having recently relocated from suburban Seattle to its downtown.

My hope is that readers come away with two primary insights about the evolution of American city building. First, that Americans have rarely felt bound by traditional ideas about what constitutes a city. Instead, they have instinctively relied on an ancient notion—the city being a place inhabited by citizens, from the Latin civis, for citizen, and civitas, for the social body of citizens. This more general construct has produced some unprecedented environments, such as suburban spread that rankle those who define a city in a particular way, and has led to exaggerated accusations of cultural anti-urbanism.Secondly, an inherent American idealism and optimism about a better future, has played an important and near continuous role in the creation of the metropolitan American landscape. The idealism may at times have been misguided or unwarranted, but instrumental nonetheless. It arrived with the arrivals from the old world, was fortified in concert with a body of ideals that became fundamental to the European Enlightenment, and intensified during the explosion of urban growth arriving with the Industrial Revolution.

The cities in America just taking shape, rather than old European cities needing to adapt (with considerable difficulty) to the cultural, political, and technological transformations of the seventeenth through the twentieth centuries, heralded the arrival of the modern age. And even during eras of ambivalence about the large city, such as during the massive suburbanization at mid-20th century, optimism about future possibilities still characterized innovations in the built environment.

At the dawn of the third decade of the 21st-century America is home to fewer optimists, much less utopians. That inherent idealism—embodied in the Constitution with the phrase “to form a more perfect Union”—is seemingly in remission. Concerns about growing social and economic inequalities; political partisanship and resulting inaction; climate change accelerating environmental harm; and even about diminished standing around the word, are subjects of near-daily conversations from living rooms to classrooms to board rooms.

Given its long gestation in a classroom, the book was not undertaken as a call for our old aspirational angels to spring forth again. However, as the chapters introduce each pursuit at constructing more perfect unions, at least in the shaping of towns and cities, readers may conclude that a return of American idealism may be useful in mitigating present anxieties. As we increasingly become, worldwide, an urban species, additional imagination with which to manage our expanding urban footprints will be necessary.