Realty check

WITOLD RYBCZYNSKI, architect, professor and author of more than a dozen books, made a name for himself in the late 1980s as a man who brought architectural criticism to the masses, who could explain to readers the inner world of designers and builders and bring us all to question (and then accept) the tropes we live by: the comfort of our homes, in his 1986 book, "Home"; our habit of lying about on Sundays, in 1991's "Waiting for the Weekend"; and our great respect for grand city parks, in "A Clearing in the Distance," his 1999 biography of Frederick Law Olmsted.

But Rybczynski's books have never gone very deep. Instead, they skim and skate and often, in the end, leave you wondering exactly what it is you've just read. In his latest, "Last Harvest: How a Cornfield Became New Daleville," Rybczynski has not only given up depth completely but also surrendered critical thinking in exchange for marketing. As you descend with him into the dark world of the residential subdivision developer, you might begin to mistake yourself for a potential client checking out pre-fab houses. "Last Harvest" is about as rich with genuine inquiry as a four-color brochure for a time share in Vegas.

RYBCZYNSKI'S new book is a developer's-eye view of subdivisions -- specifically, the rising exurb of New Daleville in the rural township of Londonderry, Pa. As a "neotraditional development," New Daleville differs from other residential plans both in its greater density and its architectural diversity: Each lot occupies a mere eighth of an acre, on which sits one of six separate models of $300,000 two-story houses, about as much architectural diversity as builders dare allow and a striking departure from suburban-development uniformity. As the author's friend, residential developer Joe Duckworth, puts it: "When people buy a house, they want to be able to sell it.... They want what everyone else has."

Duckworth himself is a proponent of neotraditionalism, believing that density fosters a stronger sense of community. He takes over the development of the obsolete cornfield after a less progressive developer, Dick Dilsheimer, fails to win over Londonderry's mercurial planning commission. (Dilsheimer's plan called for a whole acre per house.) But even with Duckworth's high-minded ideals, securing civic approval proves a maddening business for his three-man company, Arcadia, which includes his son and a rambunctious lawyer. Much of "Last Harvest" follows the company's struggle to shake off the meddling interest of one of the township's indecisive commissioners, a landscape architect named Tim Cassidy.