Law and society scholars challenge the common belief that law is simply a neutral tool by which society sets standards and resolves disputes. Decades of research shows how much the nature of communities, organizations, and the people inhabiting them affect how law works. Just as much, law shapes beliefs, behaviors, and wider social structures, but the connections are much more nuanced—and surprising—than many expect. Law and Society Reader II provides readers an accessible overview to the breadth of recent developments in this research tradition, bringing to life the developments in this dynamic field. Following up a first Law and Society Reader published in 1995, editors Erik W. Larson and Patrick D. Schmidt have compiled excerpts of 43 illuminating articles published since 1993 in The Law & Society Review, the flagship journal of the Law and Society Association. By its organization and approach, this volume enables readers to join in discussing the key ideas of law and society research. The selections highlight the core insights and developments in this research tradition, making these works indispensable for those exploring the field and ideal for classroom use. Across six concisely-introduced sections, this volume analyzes inequality, lawyering, the relation between law and organizations, and the place of law in relation to other social institutions.

Abstract In this chapter, a number of issues discussed throughout the book return to the forefront. The chapter presents a final argument as to how policy knowhow is connected to an effort to bring synergy to the professional work of music educators. The chapter further explores these synergies and how they are present in the daily work of music teachers, offering some strategic ways to consider policy as a practice. The main message in this chapter is that schools and communities of learning are interdependent systems, dependent on what our contexts demand and offer. The chapter invites music teachers not to “close their doors” but rather to move toward local policy participation, discovering how they may contribute to the educational environment that surrounds them.

Reviewed by: Living on Campus: An Architectural History of the American Dormitory by Carla Yanni Patrick Schmidt Carla Yanni. Living on Campus: An Architectural History of the American Dormitory. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2019. 304 pp. Hardcover: $140. ISBN 978-1-5179-0455-5. Paperback: $34.95. ISBN 978-1-5179-0456-2 Though many readers of this review view the residence hall through the lens of professional practice, it takes a book like Carla Yanni's wonderful Living on Campus to wipe that lens clean of so much additional, accumulated haze: contemporary myths and propaganda, our own memories of formative experiences in residence halls and, perhaps most provocatively for the field, the ideologies and interests driving the incorporation of auxiliary services such as housing as an essential part of the "college experience". By bringing historical depth and an interdisciplinary sensitivity to the evolution of dormitories on campus, Yanni's elegant study will challenge scholars and practitioners to question their working assumptions. The title's declared focus on architecture shouldn't discourage readers about the author's ambitions. Yanni quickly establishes that hers is "a social history of a building type" (p. 2), and given her interest not only in how institutions have responded to a changing student body but how the idea of housing as a form of education has taken shape (figuratively and literally), her audience should be those working in university departments of residential life, student affairs, and facilities. Where such a volume could burden readers who may not be able to identify a "mansard roof", her crystal-clear writing makes the architecture complement, enlighten and illustrate a topic important to the field of higher education. Where some might mistake architectural history for the study of mere styles, for Yanni the agenda is "issues of inclusion, exclusion, class, and gender" (p. 7). And where some might write architectural history through the projects of visionary architects, Yanni understands the built environment as the manifestation of the ideas and interests of many parties in collaboration. To be sure, the heart of Living on Campus pays loving attention to dormitory architecture--the setting, project, plans, spaces, and details of residences. But the architectural historian differs from the enthusiast by not focusing on the dormitories that are merely striking, famous, or designed by celebrity architects. Rather, Yanni seeks to survey the influential, the typical, and at least something of the range. Landmark achievements (e.g., Princeton's Nassau Hall) anchor an account of evolving ideas and trends. Describing the "typical" is a dif ficult task given the diversity of institutions across variables such as region, public/private, small/large, university/college, and single-sex/co-ed. Even if she cannot always cover the waterfront, Yanni gives readers an efficient tool, framing the history as a competition between two enduring options: the double-loaded corridor (long hallways with rooms on both sides) and the staircase or entryway plan (each staircase having a doorway to outside). The shape of the building is a secondary choice; both corridors and staircases can be arranged along multiple footprints, from a rectangular block to a U-shape to a closed "donut" quad. Though in the 20th century high-rise construction created new possibilities along the third dimension, and Yanni considers some outstanding examples of creative, hybrid plans, a relatively straight line connects the design question of "corridor" versus "entryway" to a surprising range of issues. The double-loaded corridor provides superior surveillance and management; it is also more cost-efficient. The entryway dormitory, reminiscent of the graceful quads of Oxford and Cambridge, has appealed to generations of administrators who wanted to link their work to numerous values, from tradition to community. There is no leap at all, then, to seeing embedded in historical floorplans the types of co-curricular learning objectives that student affairs professionals now assume. In this way, architectural history is a history of ideas rendered into physical form. Buildings reveal how higher education has grappled with the "whole person", set against the backdrop of changing demographics and social norms. The periodization of this history into five chapters offers a tight canvas for the narrative and social variables at play. Chapter 1 and 2...

Journal of Law and SocietyVolume 47, Issue 2 p. 351-356 Book Review The Democratic Courthouse: A Modern History of Design, Due Process and Dignity by Linda Mulcahy and Emma Rowden ( London: Routledge, 2019, 370 pp., £36.99) Margaret Moran, Margaret Moran mmoran1@macalester.edu Department of Political Science, Macalester College, 1600 Grand Avenue, St. Paul, MN, 55113 USASearch for more papers by this authorPatrick Schmidt, Patrick Schmidt schmidtp@macalester.edu Department of Political Science, Macalester College, 1600 Grand Avenue, St. Paul, MN, 55113 USASearch for more papers by this author Margaret Moran, Margaret Moran mmoran1@macalester.edu Department of Political Science, Macalester College, 1600 Grand Avenue, St. Paul, MN, 55113 USASearch for more papers by this authorPatrick Schmidt, Patrick Schmidt schmidtp@macalester.edu Department of Political Science, Macalester College, 1600 Grand Avenue, St. Paul, MN, 55113 USASearch for more papers by this author First published: 05 May 2020 https://doi.org/10.1111/jols.12226Read the full textAboutPDF ToolsRequest permissionExport citationAdd to favoritesTrack citation ShareShare Give accessShare full text accessShare full-text accessPlease review our Terms and Conditions of Use and check box below to share full-text version of article.I have read and accept the Wiley Online Library Terms and Conditions of UseShareable LinkUse the link below to share a full-text version of this article with your friends and colleagues. Learn more.Copy URL Share a linkShare onFacebookTwitterLinkedInRedditWechat Volume47, Issue2June 2020Pages 351-356 RelatedInformation

This chapter is framed from an entrepreneurship standpoint. The aim is to offer an interpretative view of policy as an ongoing affair that is not only about advice/influence or implementation/resistance but also, and perhaps as important, concerned with the construction and maintenance of relations among stakeholders. The chapter presents entrepreneurship as a kind of grass-roots disposition, demonstrating how it may become an important tool to push back and respond to external pressures, such as intensification of labor and performativity, as they continue to affect educational spaces. The chapter offers an analysis of music entrepreneurship, using multiple examples to highlight how they have acted as policy practices, generating changes in music education language, thinking, and practice.

A recurring theme in the history of the United States, beginning with the settlements of Europe's religious dissenters, has been a compulsion to start over. Whether this manifests itself in antipreservationist sentiments in older cities or in the postwar romanticization of suburban sprawl, Americans have long displayed a distinct optimism about newness and growth. In City on a Hill: Urban Idealism in America from the Puritans to the Present, Alex Krieger, an urban design professor at Harvard and a practicing urban planner, makes this spirit—indeed, a utopian sentiment, he believes—the unifying thread for a new account of urbanism in America. Even as the frontier has closed and Americans have little choice but to improve the cities they have, Krieger argues, we must see the trajectory of the American landscape in terms of the “fundamental idealism” (356) by which planners, architects, presidents, and pundits have constantly yearned to begin anew.The scope of Krieger's project is formidable, not least because his subtitle points to the historical reach of his ambition. Add to it that Krieger really means to account not only for America's cities but for its vision for the country's rural and suburban fabric as well. As he underscores in his introduction, America's urban idealism contrasts to what John-Paul Sartre described as the stifling, changeless cities of Europe: the New World is restless and experimental, none of which would be possible without a canvas of soil with which to imagine new varieties of community. Americans often idealize the urban through its inverse, the vast expanse of a continent, on which trends of growth, demise, decentralization, sprawl, and digitization are sometimes pulling in different directions simultaneously. Krieger's answer to this problem is to twist chronology through nineteen richly illustrated chapters, collectively encyclopedic, that consistently ask how optimism and ambition lay at the heart of Americans’ endeavors. While his tone is critical, it's also appreciative: the cities built of bygone dreams and failed ideals may not have been elysian, but Krieger's hope is to “rekindle the dream” (353) and refocus the energy to new purposes.Since by the end Krieger has made clear his embrace of the utopian imagination, he appropriately begins by exploring the sources and motivations of America's fixation on “reinvention.” Despite the elegance of the subtitle, he declares his intention to scramble a simple chronology. The first figure we meet in chapter 1 is Thomas Jefferson, whose vision for the republic implanted traditions of town grid, gardens, and the “middle landscape” set between unruly nature and urbane civilization. The genius of Jefferson's University of Virginia and home at Monticello remain edifying, but here already Krieger signals his intention to critique, noting how the built environment with a view toward natural paradise creates a template for suburbs and the constant desire to escape society by spreading to the new and better place. The first chapters that follow tend to hold cities at arm's length, instead emphasizing the opposite: the vast unsettled land that inspired Jefferson's agrarianism and the ideal of the citizen's autonomy and freedom. Drawing powerfully on the paintings of Thomas Cole and the ideas of the Transcendentalists, Krieger's account of American anti-urbanism finally settles (no pun intended) into urban history in chapter 4, which takes on the small town ideal and “sentimental utopianism” of the New Urbanists.This quick jump to the modern age, echoed in the next chapters, such as chapter 5's account of the “company town” from the Lowell Mill to Amazon's Seattle offices, emphasizes that as Krieger unfolds his account of American development, the animating approach is to understand the contemporary landscape through the study of historical origins. Not only is he a practicing urban planner and author of city design guides, but this dynamic, thematic approach matches the publicly available syllabus for the course he has taught for decades at Harvard, currently titled Designing the American City: Civic Aspirations and Urban Form. That explains why individual chapters sometimes sit oddly next to one another—such as when the reader turns from a study of the rise of the contemporary suburb, in chapter 6, to a compelling account of the Oklahoma land rush, nineteenth-century homesteading, and federal land grants in chapter 7. The pedagogical impulse beneath the book also benefits the reader in multiple ways, first by leaving us with nonlinear text into which one can dive opportunistically and then by rendering the chapter narratives into eminently well-rehearsed and clear prose.Distilled, the varied chapters of this attractive volume take one of two types. The first is to introduce the central topics surrounding urban planning, including chapters on parks, automobiles, suburbs, and urban renewal. Krieger is at his most engaging when he links the intellectual milieu to developments at the city level, such as in chapter 8, “Making Nature Urbane,” where Frederick Law Olmstead's ideas touch down in Buffalo, Boston, and Kansas City. In such material, it's a simple matter for Krieger to note the resonances between the evolving urban forms and the lasting influence of Jefferson's middle landscape, “geographically positioned between nature and civilization” (19). Also belonging among the chapters of this type are Krieger's consideration of the most self-conscious utopianism in the American tradition, making use of a long tradition of extended studies.1 Chapter 9, for example, links the literary utopias of Edward Bellamy and William Dean Howells to the City Beautiful movement and the reform efforts of Jane Addams. Chapter 13 likewise embraces connections between the “communitarian journeys” of the Mormons and Owenites and the starry-eyed youth in 1960s communes, the twentieth-century successors of this tradition. In such chapters, Krieger never wants to let too much distance open up between avowed utopians and those who are engaging in direct, social action out of high-minded ideals.The second dominant approach among the volume's chapters is to trace the planning problems and continuing struggles of notable American cities. Chicago, Washington, D.C., Las Vegas, New Orleans, and Walt Disney's EPCOT Center headline five chapters, while the author's own Boston receives several focused discussions. The inclusion of EPCOT here is no mistake; Krieger persuasively links Disney's original plan for a pollution-free pedestrian community—no mere amusement park—to the New Town movement. The greater surprise is how well Krieger's accounts, compiled from secondary sources and painted in broad strokes that will be familiar to many readers, hang together on the hook of urban idealism. Connections between, say, the blueprint capital of Washington, D.C., and the sprawling fantasyland that is Las Vegas might not be obvious at first; but with Krieger's narration, their origin stories and superficial differences fade to the background. Instead, the common struggle for success and sustainability comes to the fore, each as an expression of “utopian inclinations,” what Krieger identifies as the yearning “to start fresh, yet again, to overcome or ignore limits, to idolize the new, to disperse innocently if recklessly across the land, [and] to depend on technology to overcome environmental shortcomings” (319).In these sinews lie the limits and success of Krieger's approach. For students of utopianism, Krieger elides many people and movements that might otherwise belong under the distinctive banners of optimism, ambition, idealism, and utopianism. Declining a definition that would tie his hands, Krieger begins with only a nod to “the strong disposition Americans have to think differently about places to live,” aiming at “imaginative horizons across the country's history” (xiii). His interpretative account of American urban life unifies so much of the cities we see as artifacts and expressions of past idealism. This is a framework not designed to narrow or focus his scope; but he does use utopia as a muse, finding opportunities to explicate its meaning in more poetic moments, such as when he likens the utopianism of New Orleans to “those existential attributes assigned by Camus to Sisyphus: a sense of purpose found in devotion to a place, dedication to the arduous task of perseverance, and happiness, or at least contentment, attained as a consequence of that perseverance” (330). Though the meaning of utopias in the built environment has received theoretical attention, Krieger leaves the work of locating utopia “to philosophers” (xiii).2Rather, Krieger seeks to expose the utopianism of city planning to a wider readership, and judging by where this book has received initial attention, he is reaching an audience that spans practitioners and the interested public. The focus on utopianism functions as his way of calling into question a set of aspirations and cultural touchstones that we often don't want to examine. Citing with approval Oscar Wilde's dicta that “progress is the realization of utopias” (356), Krieger's tonic for the American city is the call to confront the utopian imagination that continues to pull citizens and cities in the wrong directions: to the sanitization of cities, out to sprawling suburbs, away from environmental stewardship, to new heights of inequality, and away from the common good. His critical stance unfolds most powerfully in the last chapters. In his exploration of New Orleans in chapter 17, for example, Krieger seems to appreciate the city's “quixotic” attachment to place but challenges urban planners to radically redefine “resilience” in the face of existential climate threats. (Spoiler: building better levees won't be enough.) In the Big Easy, utopianism appears at its most naive, now as a palpably irrational impulse to push “hazardous forces of nature aside and [hope] they won't return with a vengeance” (333). Note who bears the consequences for planning failures: Krieger rightly links this vanity to the racial and economic injustice that plagues the city's residents and which Hurricane Katrina only exposed most abjectly. A practitioner reading City on a Hill from beginning to end should find mounting evidence—such as in the “industrial utopia” of Pullman, Illinois (chapter 5) and the construction of federal highways (chapter 14)—of the double-edged sword that utopian thinking always wields. The pursuit of a middle landscape and an escape to nature, true to Jefferson's complicated legacy, has only ever been possible for some citizens. We cannot dodge that “in trying to civilize, sanitize, and increase the appeal of the city,” city planners and theorists “ignore or displace those for whom the city is most essential” (65). Having made explicit the oft-exclusionary nature of America's urban fixations when he discusses affordable housing and “slum” clearances in the twentieth century, by his postscript Krieger is ready to quote Langston Hughes in calling for Americans to remake America.One suspects that there were yet other opportunities to observe the impact of race in America's pursuit of urban ideals, and Krieger's final accounting for the environmental impact of America's “dream of a nature's nation” (353) similarly is sharpest at the last. When, in chapter 6, he identifies the “environmental critique” of suburbia as the most compelling reason to question sprawl, he balances that value with the affordability that has made it into “a paradise for more than a few” (131). Perhaps the slow unfolding of what he believes reflects, too, the book's origins: lest Krieger risk losing his students early in the semester, decades of Harvard students would hear him fault the waste, consumption, and excesses of (their) American homes only on the last day. Even then, he comforts those who are inclined to ambition with a salve, that rejecting “unworthy utopias” does not mean abandoning the “fundamental idealism” that has drawn people to the United States for centuries (356). Instead, Krieger offers the opportunity to “refocus” now that there is no longer an opportunity to escape to an unpopulated frontier or a land of seemingly inexhaustible resources. His final call, then, is for a utopian predisposition to be resolved “to stay, and improve.”That slow reveal and softened blow befits a narrative so sweeping. With so many histories—of ideas, movements, cities, and social forces—at play, it would be too much for one accessible, formidable, and gratifying volume for Krieger to dismiss it all brusquely. Having stitched together history, theory, and practice with an erudition that allows him to quote Thomas Paine as easily as he invokes Jane Jacobs, Krieger has produced a volume that should be essential reading for any student or practitioner of urban planning. What's more, by holding up a mirror to the utopian imagination at the heart of the American project, City on a Hill will long speak to citizens, too.

The inequality and populism of the present age, as well as the challenges to the United States’ global leadership, have spurred new perspectives on the past, from the Founders to fascism. To this, ...

abstract:Utopianism faded in the postmodern era as a source of inspiration for architecture, just as it declined as a source of literary and political ideas. Theorists have attempted to create space for its return by reenvisioning its requirements. The discourse of sustainability provides the most promising window, and a combination of environmental, social, and economic concerns has given rise to a generation of Danish architects who claim to be the inheritors of the utopian tradition. This article examines the work of two leading firms, the Bjarke Ingels Group and 3XN, and assesses their work and ambition against recent theoretical horizons. In this light, we critique Bjarke Ingels Group's invocation of utopianism but find in 3XN the hallmarks of architectural utopianism. This inquiry points out just how demanding and elusive sustainability is but, in so doing, reinforces why sustainability is fertile ground for the return of the utopian imagination to the architectural field.

Abstract Policy as Practice: A Guide for Music Educators explores how policy impacts the lives of teachers, arguing that policy participation can matter greatly to how educational experiences are constructed. Articulating a progressive view of policy and its intersection with music education, the book helps the reader to see how policy as a concept and practice has permeated the deepest recesses of civil society and has had particular impact on the lives of those who are actively connected to the educational process. Indeed, for teachers, policy often evokes images of a forbidden or alien environment; it has been seen as above their pay grade, beyond their duties and responsibilities, or outside the reach of their capacities. Nothing, however, could be further from the truth. Challenging these assumptions, the book serves as a guide to those interested in the potential of policy and concerned with rethinking its meaning. Just as critically, it aims to help music teachers understand policy more broadly while providing doorways into policy practice. The goal is not to add policy conceptualization and practice to the myriad other requirements that befall teachers today. Rather, the book aims to position policy thinking and practice as already part of what they do and value, providing tools for music educators to own their place as participants and contributors to the policy process. The book offers a measured argument, providing conceptual and research-based findings in balance with practical exemplification, strengthening music teachers’ impact within learning and professional communities.

Law & Society ReviewVolume 53, Issue 2 p. 614-616 Book Review The Poverty of Privacy Rights. By Khiara M. Bridges. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2017. Heidi Affi, Heidi Affi heidisaffi@gmail.com Department of Political Science, Macalester CollegeSearch for more papers by this authorPatrick Schmidt, Patrick Schmidt schmidtp@macalester.edu Department of Political Science, Macalester CollegeSearch for more papers by this author Heidi Affi, Heidi Affi heidisaffi@gmail.com Department of Political Science, Macalester CollegeSearch for more papers by this authorPatrick Schmidt, Patrick Schmidt schmidtp@macalester.edu Department of Political Science, Macalester CollegeSearch for more papers by this author First published: 15 April 2019 https://doi.org/10.1111/lasr.12405Read the full textAboutPDF ToolsRequest permissionExport citationAdd to favoritesTrack citation ShareShare Give accessShare full text accessShare full-text accessPlease review our Terms and Conditions of Use and check box below to share full-text version of article.I have read and accept the Wiley Online Library Terms and Conditions of UseShareable LinkUse the link below to share a full-text version of this article with your friends and colleagues. Learn more.Copy URL Share a linkShare onFacebookTwitterLinkedInRedditWechat No abstract is available for this article. Volume53, Issue2June 2019Pages 614-616 RelatedInformation

Scale has risen to greater prominence in the study of sustainable transitions, as efforts to understand the diffusion of innovation seeks to take account of place-specific effects. Long a contested concept in geography, a transdisciplinary account of scale focuses greater attention on ways in which conditions emerge as limits to transitions when considered vertically. This article advances such an account and demonstrates the importance of the approach through three case studies in Denmark: the municipally and island of Samso, Copenhagen, and the Danish nation as a whole. The rise of these locales as global leaders in environmentalism obscures unsolved problems and under-emphasized caveats that in some instances appear intractable. Individually, these cases raise a number of factors representing insights from different disciplinary concerns; together, the cases suggest that scale effects impose more severe constraints and even limits on the development of sustainability transitions.