This generation of scholars — my own generation, which I will liberally define as including anyone in graduate school in the ’80s, ’90s, or ’00s — has shown little interest in classification schemes or in comparative methods which, we believed, long ago lost their vigor. Under the influence of critical theory, we were trained to focus on the roots of Banister Fletcher’s tree of architecture, on 'geography, geology, climate, religion, social and political, history,' and not on the stylistic branches those roots produced. If we’ve paid these taxonomies any attention at all, it’s been mainly to interrogate their biased construction and to dismantle their canonical assumptions, to analyze them as discourse rather than to accept them as gospel.
An atomised society cannot have an architectural style.
There was a line beyond which 'the historian should not go,' namely attempting to describe things 'which belong to our own day and not to history yet.' All one could do ... was to apply 'the principles of historical analysis as far into the problems of the present day as they can safely be applied.'
The man who changed the face of America had a gizmo, a gadget, a gimmick — in his hand, in his back pocket, across the saddle, on his hip, in the trailer, round his neck, on his head, deep in a hardened silo.
The author is now a producer of diverse content (clearly text is a wildly inadequate term) in diverse media and formats, distributed across diverse platforms. To find all this rapidly proliferating content has become an ever more complex task, and for those of us who also produce content in order to generate knowledge, the task is even more fraught as we use our multiple devices to sift through tens of thousands of results that may or may not be authoritative, verifiable or even remotely useful, much less organized according to our own research interests or priorities.