Maybe we've had enough of studies of gay men and urban centers, tracing out the similarities from one place to the next. Japonica Brown-Saracino bucks the trend, giving us the first in-depth study of lesbians (and bisexual/queer women more generally), showing how four contrasting communal cultures have shaped their identity. Individual lesbian residents shape the culture of sexual identity they embrace, based at the same time on the prevailing culture in the city they inhabit. And the consequence is that the same woman will develop a different version of lesbian identity depending on which of the four cities she moves into. Those cities are: Ithaca, New York; San Luis Obispo, California; Greenfield, Massachusetts; and Portland, Maine. She identifies them in the book (a rare move for ethnographers), thus insuring a coast-to-coast readership, with lots of debate. This book advances, in almost equal measure, sexuality and gender studies, theories of identity, theories of place, and urban sociology. Each city has its own loose bundles or connections between residents, whether it's the taste-based ties in Ithaca, or the ties in San Luis Obispo that cut across demographics, or the conversations about identity that prevail in Portland, or the emphasis Greenfield on other dimensions of the self (e.g., profession, politics, or life stage, such as motherhood). Along the way, Brown-Saracino poses a set of questions from urban sociology about migration, residential choice, and community change processes that students of cities rarely apply to sexual minority populations.

We may not realize it, but truth and place are inextricably linked. For ancient Greeks, temples and statues clustered on the side of Mount Parnassus affirmed their belief that predictions from the oracle at Delphi were accurate. The trust we have in Thoreau’s wisdom depends in part on how skillfully he made Walden Pond into a perfect place for discerning timeless truths about the universe. Courthouses and laboratories are designed and built to exacting specifications so that their architectural conditions legitimate the rendering of justice and discovery of natural fact. The on-site commemoration of the struggle for civil rights—Seneca, Selma, and Stonewall—reminds people of slow but significant political progress and of unfinished business. What do all these places have in common? Thomas F. Gieryn calls these locations “truth-spots,” places that lend credibility to beliefs and claims about natural and social reality, about the past and future, and about identity and the transcendent. In Truth-Spots, Gieryn gives readers an elegant, rigorous rendering of the provenance of ideas, uncovering the geographic location where they are found or made, a spot built up with material stuff and endowed with cultural meaning and value. These kinds of places—including botanical gardens, naturalists’ field-sites, Henry Ford’s open-air historical museum, and churches and chapels along the pilgrimage way to Santiago de Compostela in Spain—would seem at first to have little in common. But each is a truth-spot, a place that makes people believe. Truth may well be the daughter of time, Gieryn argues, but it is also the son of place.