Events and debates

Dual city: a muddy metaphor for a

quartered city
by Peter Marcuse

Talk of a dual city is popular of late. The metaphor appears in various forms.
Most frequently, it is used as a description of the increasing polarization of society
between rich and poor, haves and have nots. The formulations vary - dual city,
two cities, city of light and city of darkness, a two-class society, dualism in
the city, or by analogy, formal and informal sectors, sunbelt and snowbelt but the thrust is the same.
The concept is hardly new. It was perhaps given widest currency in recent years
by the 1968 Report of the National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders (the
Kerner Commission) which, looking at the urban riots of the preceding years,
put on the first page of its report: our nation is moving towards two societies,
one black, one white - separate and unequal (Report of The National
Commission on Civil Disorders, 1968: 1). But the concept is much older than
that: it was probably first popularized in Disraelis Sybil and the two nations
(1845), and has been used repeatedly ever since. Its most recent prominent use
in New York City has been in the Report of the Commission on the Year 2000,
which speaks of New York as a city divided . . . excluding those at the bottom
from the fullness of opportunity (Commission on the Year 2000, 1987: 4). In the
UK, the Thatcher approach to social issues has been called a two nations
strategy (Jessop, 1982; Dickens, 1988). Leonard Wallock, one of the few who
have paid attention to the phrase as such, writes: the metaphor of two cities is

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probably used in cycles extending all the way back to the mid-nineteenth
century . . . it has . . . come in and out of usage, particularly during periods of
crisis such as the 1870s, early 1890s, and the great Depression. He traces the
phrase back to Dr William Channing, Unitarian minister in Boston, in 1841: in
most large cities, there may be said to be two nations, [which] understand as little
of one another, having as little intercourse as if they lived in different lands.
(1988: 1).
The formulations and the focus of the dual city differentiation differ, but they
share a reference to a division of society (the county, the city, the economy) into
two parts, one doing well, one doing poorly, and make an implicit call for the
inequality to be evened out with the benefits of prosperity at the upper end shared
with those excluded from them at the lower end.
The concept is a muddy one. To the extent that it can be given precise meaning,
it is either wrong or badly incomplete, and its use, though often well-intentioned,
does more political harm than good. It has one advantage: it highlights a growing
inequality and sense of division in society. But it has at least seven things wrong
with it. It is a vague and shapeless metaphor; it suggests a continuum along a
single axis (consumption) with a quantitative rather than a qualitative division
between the parts; it is ahistorical, obscuring what is constant and what is new;
it ignores or mischaracterizes the position of the majority of the population; it
plays into the underclass fallacy and obscures the role of racism; it supports the
conclusion that redistribution, rather than changes in the causes of the undesired
distribution, is the appropriate solution; and it distorts the perception of the
coalition that might be formed to deal with those causes.
The one advantage of the dual city metaphor is that it points to a real
phenomenon. Polarization is indeed increasing in almost all western private
market societies, in most of the third world, and perhaps in some socialist
societies as well. There are indeed regional variations in prosperity, and they are
increasing in most countries. There are major differences in the types of work
being performed, and formal and informal capture a significant set of those
differences. And city of light and city of darkness are vivid portrayals of the
difference in living conditions among different groups, sometimes literally as well
as figuratively true. Elucidating these differences constitutes a critical task today
for those concerned with goals such as democracy, equity and justice.
The dual city goes but a short way in this direction. It suggests a shift in the
shape of our society; a recent change in direction. But it focusses on results, not
causes. It conceals the fact that something is being done by someone to someone
else. It stirs up the waters, but then it muddies them. Having shown the broad
outline of a change for the worse, the dual city metaphor can make addressing
its consequences more difficult. Let us consider its weaknesses in more detail.
The concept is so vague as to be shapeless. The most common meaning is
probably a literal one: cities are being divided into two parts, one for the rich
and one for the poor. A few historical situations may lend themselves to a literal
two cities description: the European quarters in the colonies of the third world,

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for instance, or the black and white cities of South Africa. But in most situations
there is some gradation between these two categories.
The best image, then, is perhaps that of the egg and the hourglass: the
population of the city is normally distributed like an egg, widest in the middle
and tapering off at both ends; when it becomes polarized the middle is squeezed
and the ends expand till it looks like an hourglass. The middle of the egg may
be defined as intermediate social strata, as it is in the paper from which the egg
and hourglass image is taken (Boter et al., 1988). Or if the polarization is between
rich and poor, the middle of the egg refers to the middle-incomegroup. But of
course one can divide any population into as many parts as one wants, and make
the parts big or little, equal in size or grossly uneven, depending on where one
draws the lines between the parts, but fail to indicate why only two have been
chosen, or where and how the line between them is to be drawn.
The metaphor is not of structural dividing lines, but of a continuum along a
single dimension, whose distribution is becoming increasingly bimodal. The scale
along which the distribution is laid is most often income or wealth. But the
distribution is not in fact bimodal; it is rather becoming flatter. Nor is bimodal
the right description of differentiation along most of the dimensions that separate
groups standing in a structural relation to each other in a multidimensional
reality. What the dual city characterization implies about all this is unclear.
Certainly the dimension with which it is concerned is one of consumption, rather
than production; a current Japanese formulation refers to the Age of the
Divided Masses and a new pattern of stratified consumption (quoted in
Douglas, 1988: 441), which should find its reflection in forms of collective
consumption in the city as well as in the private sphere.
The dual city formulation is also ahistorical. Contrasting rich with poor goes
back to well before biblical times. Paradise and hell (the dual world?) are ancient
divisions; purgatory dates back to at least 1130 AD. Mam spoke of the two major
classes of society 140 years ago (using definitions much more complex than simply
ownership of wealth or income), and Engels described the spatial pattern these
created in his first major published work in 1845.
In one sense, of course, there is a continuity in this history. Marxs comment
of 1848 that all history has been the history of class societies is still true. Then,
and still, there are those that have property and power and exploit others, and
there are those from whose labour the holders of property and power benefit. If
that were what dual city was meant to reflect, it might be a useful new
formulation of an old idea, and might shed light on how this long-term historical
relationship manifests itself in cities today. But clearly dual city carries no such
radical connotation in its prevalent use today.
Unlike the Kerner Commissions original two societies formulation, or its later amendment by
a report in the New York Times, 19 February 1988: 20 years after the Kerner Report: three
societies, all separate. The third society is in this use Hispanics. That division of society, along
lines of race and ethnic origin, is, whatever its limitations, at least clear in where it is drawing
lines and why.

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Most who use the concept today mean to designate by it a change from some
earlier period. From just when is hard to say - perhaps since the second world
war, or perhaps the end of the postwar boom. Certainly it is not the same
phenomenon as Disraeli described. The relations of interdependence between the
residents of the slums of Manchester and its factory owners are very different
from the relationships between the residents of the south Bronx and the masters
of New York City today. The differences have to do with shifts from
manufacturing to services, the rise and fall of the welfare state, regional
differentiation, the internationalization of national economies, and so on. The
dual city concept has to do with these changes, but it hardly illuminates them.
Indeed, by using a phrase that is at least equally applicable to societies far distant
in time and space, it obscures, rather than clarifies, what is happening.
The dual city metaphor thus puts a layer of timeless muddy words over a set
of very specific historical circumstances, circumstances that have reshaped and
resharpened divisions that are indeed age-old. It covers over both their long-term
historical roots and their shorter-term historical specifics. If the task is to explain
why there is (again?) an increasing tendency to polarization along many
dimensions in our societies, the dual city concept does not help.
In fact, where most of us live in the dual city is not clear. Lost in the dual
city, Elliott Sclar suggests as the appropriate phrase for the majority. Most
people in the countries or cities to which the phrase is most generally applied are
neither very rich nor very poor. But neither are most people parts of some
amorphous middle class between the very rich and the very poor; there are very
significant differences among groups. The reality is neither one of duality nor of
arbitrary plurality; there are definable, structural, differences, along definable
lines of cleavage, with definable inter-relationships, among groups and the
individuals that belong to them. The task of defining these differences is hardly
an easy one. The dual city metaphor hinders the task.
If the dual city metaphor does place the majority of us somewhere - it misplaces
us. If there are only two cities, most who read or hear or talk about such ideas
undoubtedly consider themselves personally to be in the city of light. Their
relation with the city of darkness may be one of fear or perhaps one of sympathy
and charity, but the residents of the city of darkness are the others, different
from the speakers, perhaps even an underclass, certainly a separate population.
The feeling of superiority is not an inherent part of the concept, but is hard to
avoid.
The reality for most people is quite different. The large majority, at least in
the developed economies, are neither very rich nor very poor. Their feelings
about their place in the city are determined, not only by where they live, but also
by where they work and in what social relationships - i.e., their class position.
The relationship between residence and work, consumption and production, is a
very close and complex one. I suggest very tentatively a quartered city
formulation at the end of this paper; whether it is adequate or not, the dual city
formulation hardly helps to advance the debate.

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The current underclass debate illustrates the treacherous footing a dual city
formulation provides2 Underclass definitions vary widely: They use criteria
ranging from position in (or out of) the labour market (McLanahan et al., 1988),
values and norms (Ricketts and Sawhill, 1988), passivity and poverty (Auletta,
1982), to race; William Wilson (1987), for instance, refers to the ghetto
underclass, and Walter Stafford writes that most of the recent definitions . .
relate only to lower-income blacks, even though the concept includes whites and
Hispanics (1989: 8). But the underlying concept, not just the particular definition
(or lack of it) is treacherous. Is society divided into a single underclass and an
overclass? Is the division between those (relatively few) who are out of the
labour market, and everyone else who is in? Are there those who are victimized
by a culture of poverty, and does everyone else share a culture of prosperity?
And, with particular reference to race, if there is a growing economic division in
society, must the implication be the declining significance of race, as if there can
be only one line dividing society into only two parts?
Finally, the dual city metaphor suggests the wrong solution because it starts
from the wrong problem. It begins with the skewed distribution of the benefits
and burdens of living in the city. Typically, the evidence for the existence of a
dual city is found in statistics on income distribution, housing quality, educational
attainment, or some other indicator of prosperity, wealth or personal achievement. Redistribution then appears the plausible answer, whether that redistribution is direct, as in charitable giving, or indirect, as in tax-funded special
education programmes, in subsidized housing, or in health care. The rich should
give to the poor, to phrase it in the discredited terms that nevertheless cling to
the metaphor today, as they did in Disraelis time. Give to the neediest, is the
headline the New York Times gives to the campaign it mounts each Christmas.
The implication is that there are the neediest, and there are the rest of us: we
should be the givers, they the receivers.
A good argument can be made for such redistribution. It can ameliorate some
of the worst consequences of the inequalities in our society; many would be much
worse off without redistributive programs. Better a safety net, even one with
holes, than no net at all. But better still to prevent falling than to have a safety
net. Redistribution is at the level of symptom, not cause. Rich and poor refer
not simply to more or less of something, but to characteristics of groups whose
sources of money are very different, whose relationship to each other is a
necessary element of their definition. The city of light creates and depends on
the city of darkness: those asked to be the biggest givers have already been the
biggest takers. The two cities metaphor describes a result, not a relationship. It
fails, critically, because both cities need to be called into question, not the
residents of one brought to live in the other. The dual city metaphor, in pointing
to symptoms rather than causes, also points to palliatives rather than cures.

1 owe much in my understanding of this issue to the work of John Jeffries, William Goldsmith,
and Walter Stafford. See in particular Stafford, forthcoming.

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Leonard Wallock makes the point historically:

I am struck by the fact that it was middle-class and upper class social reformers who coined
and popularized the term, rather than more radical labor reformers and working-class
advocates. By pointing to the class schisms of industrial capitalist society, conservative
reformers hoped to heal the emerging breach between the classes and to forestall revolution.
Thus, I think by its very conception, the reference to two cities implies the possibility and
necessity of achieving one city through a process of amalgamation, not transformation
(1988: 1).

Homeless policy is an example. There are 75 000 homeless living on the streets
or in the shelters of New York City today: national estimates for the USA range
as high as three million (Marcuse, 1988a; forthcoming a). Three policy
approaches are possible: 1) ignore the problem (difficult because of its high
visibility); 2) recognize it for what it is, a manifestation of the inevitable inability
of a profit-driven private housing sector to provide adequate housing for the poor,
and thus embark on a large-scale programme of public provision of housing; or
3) and this is where the dual city view leads, consider it a problem of the other
city, a special problem separate from the general problem of housing, and adopt
special housing programmes only, restricted to the immediately homeless
(Marcuse, 1988b). The Reagan administration, and now the Bush administration,
takes this third position. Funds for housing programmes in general are cut to the
bone, but a special Emergency Housing for the Homeless Act gets passed.
The natural community of interest between those ill-served by the housing
market, certainly including most working people and many middle-class people
as well, is broken by the simple duality housedhomeless. The need for political
coalitions is obscured, partial measures are adopted, and threats to the
relationships really causing the problem are avoided. One of the results of the
dual city approach is thus to handicap political efforts to address causes. The
organizations of the homeless and their advocates are aware of the ploy, and most
have consistently linked their demands to the general demand for housing for
low-income households. Some charitable, philanthropic and business groups,
however, see homelessness as, indeed, a special problem of the other city, rather
than as a consequence of what they are doing in theirs.
All of these criticisms do not apply to every use of the dual city concept.
Polarization is indeed increasing, the rich are indeed getting richer and the poor
poorer. To highlight that point with a picturesque phrase may be useful as the
beginning of a discussion. But is dual city the best phrase with which to begin?
I suggest the quartered city as a substitute. A quartered city reflects the reality
that most people encounter in the cities in which they live; it mirrors the deep
sense of division that is prevalent throughout society. Quartered also suggests an
action, a condition that has been brought about by some agency, rather than a
static or natural state of affairs; the overtone of tortured derived from the feudal
use is not inapposite. The opening image in Foucaults Discipline and punish is
of such a quartering.
The quartered city formulation has some drawbacks. The first is that it can be

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taken merely as substituting four divisions for two, but leaving the other
weaknesses of the dual city formulation intact. It must be coupled with continuing
emphasis on the essential relations among the divisions. Whether the divisions
are two, four, or some other number, the separate cities are dependent on each
other, defined by their relationship to each other. A second is that, in one
fundamental sense there are two major divisions in society, not between the very
rich and the very poor, as the dual city phrase suggests, but between the rulers
and the ruled, the exploiting and the exploited, those who produce less than they
get and those who produce more. But that point is not evident in everyday
experience, in which most people both exercise some power and are subject to
others power, exploit and are exploited. In trying to understand such intermediate positions, the fundamental cleavages run the risk of being forgotten
(Goldsmith, 1989: 1).
Finally, the focus of the quartered city argument is not, at this point, on how
many quarters there are: in fact, what is suggested below is five divisions. The
focus is on the complexity and ambiguity of the dividing lines, but on dividing
lines that are, nevertheless, theoretically based and limited in number, rather
than the results of an indeterminate pluralistic cataloguing. It would be neater if
the quartered city had only four quarters, but the relevant definition of a quarter
here is, a particular division or district of a city . . . appropriated to a particular
class or race of people (Oxford English Dictionary 1971: 2388).
Divisions in society exist along many lines: relations of production, consumption, race, income, ethnicity or colour, gender, household composition, age and
housing tenure. In US cities, the divisions that are deepest, and most congruent
in space, are those of economic class and race (Poulantzas, 1975; 1985; Callinicos,
1985; Katznelson and Zolberg, 1986, Savage et al., 1988). As residential
locations, the quarters of the modern city might almost be described as being four
separate cities, coexisting in time and space, inter-related with each other and
often directly related as well with outside spaces (the users of the World Financial
Center in New York City have as direct a relationship with the City of London
or the hallways of Washington as they do with the Bronx or Harlem, even though
they may be responsible for many of the problems of these other parts of their
own city).
If we were to divide the city into parts based on who used them, what would
those parts look like?
The luxury city, the city of the wealthy, is less important to its users as a
residential location than as a location of power and profit. For the wealthy, the
city is first and foremost a profit-making machine. They profit from the activities
conducted in the city, or (increasingly) from the real estate values created by
those activities. They may also enjoy living in the city, but have many other
options. If they reside in the city, it is in a world insulated from contact with
nonmembers of their class, with leisure time and satisfactions carefully placed and
protected. If the city no longer offers profit or pleasure, they can abandon it; it
is a disposable city for them. Many years ago they were concerned to protect their

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separate space in the city by public instrumentalities such as zoning (Toll, 1969);
today, each private high-rise condominium has its own security system, and
elsewhere walls protect the enclaves of the rich from intrusion. The new
architecture of shopping malls, skywalks, and policed pedestrian malls is a
striking physical mirror of social separation (Marcuse, 1988c; Barnett, 1989). The
clarity of the separation is startlingly evident in the obsequiousness with which a
city like New York rushes to evict the homeless from the streets or transportation
centres that serve the luxury city, removing the homeless from the sight and
sensibility of the rich to the distant ghettos of the poor. While the luxury city
depends on other quarters of the city for its services and support, it dominates
and is separate from them.
The gentrified city serves the professionals, managers, technicians, yuppies in
their twenties and college professors in their sixties: those who may be doing well
themselves, yet work for and are ultimately at the mercy of others. The frustrated
pseudo-creativity of their actions leads to a quest for other satisfactions, found
in consumption, in specific forms of culture and in urbanity, devoid of their
original historical content and more related to consumption than to intellectual
productivity or political freedom (Htiusserman and Siebel, 1987; Marcuse,
forthcoming b). The residential areas they occupy are chosen for their
environmental or social amenities, their quiet or bustle, their history or fashion
- gentrified working-class neighbourhoods, older middle-class areas, new
developments with modem and well furnished apartments, all serve their needs.
Locations close to work are important, both because of long hours and because
of the density of contacts they permit.
The suburban city of the traditional family, suburban in tone if not in structures
or location, is sought out by better-paid workers, blue and white collar
employees, the lower middle class, the petit bourgeoisie. It provides stability,
security, the comfortable world of consumption. Owner occupancy of a single
family house is preferred (depending on age, gender and household composition),
but co-operative, condominium or rental apartments can be adequate, particularly if subsidized and/or located near to transportation. The home as symbol of
self, exclusion of those of lower status, physical security against intrusion,
political conservatism, comfort and escape from the work-a-day world (thus often
substantial spatial separation from work) are characteristic. The protection of
residential property values (the home functioning as financial security and
inheritance as well as residence) are important. Archie Bunker is the pejorative
stereotype. The proud and independent workerkitizen is the other side of the
coin (Rose, 1980).
The tenement city must do for lower-paid workers, workers earning the
minimum wage or little more, often with irregular employment, few benefits,
little job security and no chance of advancement. Their city is much less
protective or insular. In earlier days their neighbourhoods were called slums:
today they are threatened by abandonment and/or by displacement, by service
cuts, deterioration of public facilities and political neglect. Because these workers

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are needed for the functioning of the city as a whole, however, they have the
ability to exert some political pressure, to get public protections: rent regulation
and public housing legislation was passed largely because of their activities,
although aid was often siphoned up to higher groups after the pressure wore off.
When their quarters were wanted for higher uses, they were moved out, by
urban renewal or by gentrification. The fight against displacement, under the
banner of protecting their neighbourhoods, has given rise to some of the most
militant social movements of our time, particularly when coupled with the
defence of the homes of their better-off neighbours.
The ghetto, economic and, in the USA, racial, is the abandoned city, the place
for the very poor, the excluded, the never-employed and the permanently
unemployed, the homeless and the shelter residents. A crumbling infrastructure,
deteriorating housing, and domination of outside impersonal forces, direct streetlevel exploitation, racial and ethnic discrimination and segregation and the
stereotyping of women, are everyday reality. The spatial concentration of the
poor is reinforced by public policy; public (social, council) housing, more and
more, becomes ghettoized housing of last resort (its better units being privatized
as far as possible), drugs and crime are concentrated here, education and public
services neglected.
The boundaries separating the quarters of the city are permeable. Certainly for
purposes of work: people living in some areas service others. But they are also
permeable for residence purposes; there is mobility among social groups and
there are shifts in the composition of residential areas. Economically, movement
will rarely be between more than one quarter. Spatially, borders and islands of
contrasting uses (Marcuse, 1985) are especially likely to see shifts in patterns of
occupancy. The boundaries are established by the market, and solidified by it
over time, but state action rationalizes the process and reinforces it. The policy
of triage advocated by Roger Starr and others for New York City, for example,
by which public investment is deliberately channelled so as to strengthen certain
parts of the city and weaken others, is state action quartering the city in the
mediaeval as well as the contemporary sense of the word (Marcuse, 1983).
Other changes in urban patterns can be explained through the use of the
quartered city concept, as they cannot with the dual city. Race and gender, for
instance, figure differently in each of the quarters. In the luxury city, women who
live there appear as wives and minority group members rarely appear at all except
as service workers. In the gentrified city, ability (based of course on educational
opportunities and family) plays a much greater role; singles often predominate
(the majority of households in Manhattan today are single), women are accepted
as parts of the workplace, blacks and Hispanics equipped to play the game are
admitted. The city of the traditional family is segregated, with exceptions, since
the market alone will not provide enough racial separation, both informal and
formal government measures may be used to maintain white neighbourhoods.
Many more, proportionately, in any event, are white than nonwhite. Women,
though regularly employed, are also traditionally mothers and help-mates;

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again, both informal and formal discrimination are operative. In the tenement
city, women play a larger and more independent role: they more often head
families, run households, their work is essential to economic survival. The lower
the pay, the higher the proportion of minorities; governmental policies and
private racism combine to limit the possibilities of advancement. At the bottom,
on the streets, in a city like New York, 87% of the homeless are black or
Hispanic. Homeless families are disproportionately headed by women. As far as
possible, their residents are swept into the most rundown parts of the tenement
city, increasingly in tension with their neighbours, often separated by barbed
wire. Drugs and crime are a constant temptation; the dangers and the threats to
health of living in the abandoned city are higher than in any other quarter.
The quarters of the city are intuitively treated as decisive by those who
dominate public policy. The spatial aspect of homeless policy, for instance, is to
remove the homeless from the streets of the luxury and the gentrified city, avoid
their relocation to the city of the traditional family, and put them in the tenement
city or, if at all possible, in its least desired comers, the abandoned but occupied
ghetto.
Another example: public housing. The luxury city has never needed to be
concerned with public housing: costs always precluded its construction there. It
did exist in some gentrifying neighbourhoods: conversion to higher uses is the
optimum solution there. If it existed in the city of the traditional family (which
it rarely did, largely because of racism), privatization is the policy of preference.
The tenement city was the location of most public housing in the USA. When
those eligible for such housing were working people, it became a source of pride
for its neighbourhoods. As it was converted to housing of last resort for the very
poorest only, it became the best of the housing still standing in otherwise
abandoned ghettos; and so it is in many cities today.
Where the dual city concept is ahistorical because its generality covers widely
divergent historical social formations, a more differentiated formulation permits
the searching out of what is particular to a specific historical time. The existence
of relationships of domination and oppression is constant. Their form and their
participants vary significantly. The relative sizes of the quarters of the city, and
their contribution to these relationships, has changed. Changes in the nature of
the economy - manufacturingkervices, internationalization, etc. - and changes
in the balance of power between classes explain many of the changes. More and
more people are both exploited and exploiting. Most workers, residents of the
city of the traditional family, feel their own lack of power and resources, but
believe their position is substantially superior to that of those below them. That
division, following lines of race and gender and nationality as we11 as income and
tenure, is deep, and constitutes one of the major political obstacles to change in
the private-market developed economies today.
The harm a dual city formulation can do is substantial. If there are only two
cities, the majority see themselves in the better-off of the two. The suburban city
will identify with the gentrified city and with those of power and profit. Its

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residents interests will seem to be to keep out, ward off, minimize contact with,
the abandoned city, and (depending on race, gender, background, context) with
the tenement city as well. Under stress if the city is split in two, residents of the
tenement city also prefer the upper city to the abandoned ghetto. New York
Citys policy, and that of the conservative national regimes as well, can be
accurately called one of divide and siphon, dividing the middle from the
working class, the working class from the very poor (Marcuse, 1988d). The dual
city plays into the hands of that policy by melding the interests of all but the
poorest together and thus obscuring the real relationships of power and profit in
the city.
Columbia University, USA
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Events and debates

1988d: Divide and siphon: New York City builds on division. City Limits 13,3,8-11.
forthcoming a: Isolating homelessness from housing. In Caton, C. editor,
Homelessness in America, New York: Oxford University Press.
forthcoming b: Gentrification and labor markets. In Housing Afluirs X , 00-00.
McLanahan, S., Garfinkel, I. and Watson, M. 1988: Family structure, poverty, and
the underclass. In McGeary, M . , and Lynn, L., editors, Urban change andpoverty,
Washington: National Academy Press.
Oxford English D i c t i ~ ~ tcompact
y,
edition, 1971: Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Poulantzas, N. 1975: Classes in contemporary capitalism. London: New Left Books.
Report of the National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders, 1968: New York:
Bantam Books.
Ricketts, E. and Sawhill, I. 1988: Defining and measuring the underclass. Journal of
Policy Analysis and Management 7, 316-25.
Rose, D. 1980: Toward a re-evaluation of the political significance of home-ownership
in Britain. In Housing Construction and the State. London: Political Economy of
Housing Workshop, Conference of Socialist Economists.
Savage, M., Dickens, P. and Fielding, T. 1988: Some social and political implications
of the contemporary fragmentation of the service class in Britain. International
Journal of Urban and Regional Research 12, 45-76.
Sharp, W. and Wallock, L. forthcoming: Tales of two cities: gentrification and
displacement in contemporary New York. In Campbell, M. B. and Rollins, M.,
editors, Begetting images: studies in the art and science of symbol production, New
York: Peter Lang.
Stafford, W. forthcoming: Political dimensions of the underclass concept. In Gans,
H., editor, American Sociological Association Presidential Series.
Toll, S . I. 1969: Zoned American. New York: Grossman.
Wilson, W. J. 1987: The truly disadvantaged. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Wright, E.O. 1985: Classes. London: Verso.