SINGAPORE: Ed Poole, an American architect living in Singapore, has some of the city's most enviable views. On a clear day, he can stand on the terrace of his 37th-floor penthouse and gaze across the tiny, tropical city-state to neighboring Malaysia and Indonesia.

Inside, the Chicago native also has envy-inducing floor space: nearly 372 square meters, or more than 4,000 square feet, spread over three levels.

 

For Poole, 47, the value of his penthouse does not lie just in its views, floor space, five-meter-high ceilings or prime location, but also in the building itself: Pearl Bank Apartments.

 

Constructed in the late 1970s, Pearl Bank was Singapore's tallest residential building in its day and was hailed as a pioneer in high-rise living, with interlocking, split-level units and a distinctive, circular shape. Today, although air-conditioners and mismatched windows mar its once-gleaming, smooth facade, it continues to be an iconic residential building, according to local architects and preservationists.

 

"When you look back at the 1970s, this was a very daring architectural solution," said Poole, who bought his apartment in 2000 for slightly less than a million Singapore dollars, or $656,000, and has spent nearly 400,000 dollars on renovations.

 

But come July 1, Poole may be in danger of losing his home. That is the deadline for fellow residents who are trying to put the 272-unit building up for sale to acquire the needed votes.

 

Although he could make a capital gain of more than a million Singapore dollars by agreeing to the sale, Poole is adamantly against it because the building would almost certainly be razed and Singapore would lose a piece of its heritage.

 

Pearl Bank "represents the transition from a colonial past to a modern future," he said.

 

And Pearl Bank Apartments is not the only modern icon that is under serious threat in Singapore, which actually has one of Asia's best track records for preservation.

 

Since 1999, a sale can go through if it is approved by 90 percent of the owners in a building less than 10 years old and by 80 percent in a building that is older. The market for these sales - known as collective or en bloc sales - has been exploding since 2005 thanks to the robust economy. According to the Jones Lang LaSalle real estate agency, the total value of the collective sales in Singapore last year skyrocketed to 7.75 billion dollars, compared with 161 million in 2002. As of early May, the total value for 2007 already was nearly 6.4 billion dollars.

 

At first, nobody seemed to object to what developers and real estate agents say solves the problem of urban decay and pressure for space in Singapore, which totals only 693 square kilometers, or 268 square miles. Speculators and residents have enjoyed enormous windfalls, sometimes making returns of more than 80 percent, according to real estate agents.

 

In recent months, though, concerns have emerged. People have reportedly lost their homes in sales that they did not know about or have been inadequately compensated because the cost of renovations and mortgage interest were not factored into the sale price. Maintenance and renovations have slipped in some buildings because owners are reluctant to invest in something that might be demolished. Neighbor has turned against neighbor because of differences over sales.

 

Meanwhile, with years to go before some new residential complexes are finished, real estate values in central Singapore have soared by as much as 100 percent, surprising some owners who, once they sell, find they cannot afford to buy again in the same neighborhood.

 

There is the question of whether some buildings - admired or not - should be preserved.

 

"It doesn't apply to every building because there were a lot of not-very-nice buildings that were built in the 1970s," said Dinesh Naidu, 32, a local architect and writer who is working on a book about modern architecture in Singapore. "Solving the rights of the minority who don't want to sell is one issue. But over and above that, we should have a sense of buildings that need to be protected."

 

Cities in Europe and the United States have been grappling with similar questions since the 1980s. Buildings constructed during the mid- to late-20th century are often called eyesores, structures that never should have been built. But enthusiasts of the style argue that noteworthy examples need to be saved not only for their aesthetic and architectural merit, but also for their historical and political significance.

 

In recent years, they have been gaining ground, said Dennis Sharp, a London-based architect who heads the British branch of Docomomo, a worldwide movement to save modern buildings.