CHATHAM

ARCHITECTURE of the Cape Cod Summer: The Work of Polhemus Savery DaSilva: New Classicists is blessed with a terrifically appealing title. Nevertheless, this new book will be a disappointment to readers hoping for a nostalgic return to New England’s premier vacation place. Part of a series devoted to a gratuitously named school called the New Classicists, this oversized, expensive, sumptuously illustrated coffee-table book is primarily a catalog of houses on Cape Cod and the Islands by the Chatham-based firm of Polhemus Savery DaSilva.

The summer referred to here is that of the very rich. The houses shown generally offer a more-than-ample 4,000 square feet of living space, although one achieves a bloated 11,000. Most have prime waterfrontage, overlooking beach, pond, or marsh. They have enormous porches, multiple garage spaces and lots of sod. Their skylines are cluttered with an abundance of towers, turrets and dormers; some roofs have dozens of different pitches — hardly the wind-cheating profile needed to face hurricanes.

Inside, there is a lot of polished wood, model sailboats and the comfortable uniform chintz sofas and whipped cream antiques of high-end interior decoration. One looks in vain for the relaxed beach furniture of the seaside cottage. Posed photographs of many of the clients are included, giving the production the feel of a Ralph Lauren advertising spread in The New Yorker.

Yale architecture dean Robert Stern asserts that these houses “beautifully meld the traditions of New England with the way we live today.” If so, the tradition is that of the nouveau riche hedge-fund manager and not that of the modest Cape Cod farmer or fisherman who built the beloved cottage and saltbox. Inimical to everything that the practical and environmentally sensitive Cape Cod cottage stands for, these massive faux-Shingle-Style megamansions could not be more insensitive to the fragile ecology of the Cape. In a sense, Architecture of the Cape Cod Summer should serve as a lesson about what not to build. The only old photograph in the book is ironically labeled “Recently demolished ‘farmhouse’ in the neighborhood was inspiration.”

The chief designer of the firm, John DaSilva, apparently never met a style he did not like. He unashamedly borrows details from architects he admires, such as Edwin Lutyens, H.H. Richardson, Frank Lloyd Wright, Stern, and Postmodern guru Robert Venturi. For his own house, he raided the style bins of turn-of-the 20th Century San Francisco Bay Area designers Bernard Maybeck and Julia Morgan, as well as Englishman C.F.A. Voysey. All of those noted architects are worthy of emulation, but the Chatham eclecticist fails to understand the underlying tectonic principles of those giants’ work. The most egregious composition is Sand Dollars, a sprawling schizophrenic house (8,500 square feet) in Chatham that has no idea what it wants to be. A real 1770s Cape makes up a small part, but the entrance front emulates an English Georgian manor, while the water side combines details from American Victoriana and the English Arts and Crafts movement.

Despite endorsements by DaSilva’s teachers at Princeton and Yale and former employers (one wonders if any of them actually visited the houses; were they just seduced by glossy photos?), the book is nothing more than a very expensive advertisement, a paean to excess. Even the usually perceptive Michael Crosbie, onetime professor at Roger Williams University, goes all mushy when faced with describing these extravaganzas: “Each house is a wish — a place of tranquility by the sea, where memories are made with families and friends.”

It is accepted practice in architectural publishing that many monographs are underwritten by the architects themselves. Very few presses are willing to take chances on publishing books about how we shape our physical environment, an esoteric subject compared to such blockbuster topics as politics and sex. Architects often can only get their work published through buy-backs, wherein they agree to purchase much of the print run. Rather than going to libraries or architecture students, the resultant books are used by the firm as glorified brochures to be given to prospective clients.

The sad thing is that there are so many books that are not being published about worthwhile architects struggling to create houses that will respect the land and justify their presence. The Cape and Island do not need any more McMansions with Sasquatch-sized carbon footprints.

William Morgan, an occasional contributor, is a Providence-based architectural historian and the author of The Cape Cod Cottage.