Vinland Megalopolis & George

[Terrance]

During MDDM we discussed the Graenlendinga Saga and the hostile
encounters between the
"colonists"  and the native "Skraelings." 

Pynchon's use of the name "Vineland" suggests the possibility of an
alternative, non-Columbian, non-Puritan genealogy for America because it
is an echo of "Vinland", the name that Leif Erikson gave to the
continent. True to its description in an 1851 survey map, Vineland
proves to be "A harbor of Refuge to Vessels that may have suffered on
their way North from strong headwinds that prevail along the coast from
May to October." 

Pynchon, however, recognizes the precariousness of the haven that is
Vineland, and the novel makes clear that the battle to lay claim to the
values of individuality, family, and community (not to mention idealism,
justice, and truth) is far from over. In the time that Zoyd and Prairie
have lived there, Vineland has been discovered not only by "idealistic
flower children looking to live in harmony with the Earth" but also the
Tube (in the form of cable TV companies) and by real estate developers
who will one day transform the area into "a Eureka-Crescent
City-Vineland megalopolis." 

The kids didn't like the development much, didn't like it being called
"estates" when each lot was only fifty by a hundred feet, nowhere near
the size of the old Gilded Age estates, real ones, that surrounded the
old town the way the creatures in dreams surround your bed, higher and
hidden. ...  there was nothing about the little, low-rambling, more or
less identical homes of Northumberland Estates to interest of to haunt,
no chance of loot that would be any more than ordinary, waking-world
kinds of cops hauled you in for taking; no small immunities, no
possibilities for hidden life or otherworldly presence; no trees, secret
routes, shortcuts, culverts, thickets that could be made hallow in the
middle--everything in the place was out in the open, everything could be
seen with a glance; and behind it, under it, around the corners of its
houses and down the safe, gentle curves of its streets, you came back,
you kept coming back, to nothing; nothing but the cheerless earth. Carl
was one of the few kids that lived there that the old-town kids could
get a long with. 


The Republican Presidential nomination of James G.
 Blaine resulted in a political revolt such as the nation
 had not known. Blaine was immensely popular, but he
 had many enemies in his own party. There were strong
 suspicions of his being connected with doubtful
 financing -- enterprises, more or less sensitive to
 official influence, and while these scandals had become
 quieted a very large portion of the Republican
 constituency refused to believe them unjustified. What
 might be termed the intellectual element of
 Republicanism was against Blaine: George William
 Curtis, Charles Dudley Warner, James Russell Lowell,
 Henry Ward Beecher, Thomas Nast, the firm of Harper
 & Brothers, Joseph W. Hawley, Joseph Twichell, Mark
 Twain -- in fact the majority of thinking men who held
 principle above party in their choice. 

 On the day of the Chicago nomination, Henry C.
 Robinson, Charles E. Perkins, Edward M. Bunce, F. G.
 Whitmore, and Samuel C. Dunham were collected with
 Mark Twain in his billiard-room, taking turns at the
 game and discussing the political situation, with George,
 the colored butler, at the telephone down-stairs to report
 the returns as they came in. As fast as the ballot was
 received at the political headquarters downtown, it was
 telephoned up to the house and George reported it
 through the speaking-tube. 

 The opposition to Blaine in the convention was so strong
 that no one of the assembled players seriously expected
 his nomination. What was their amazement, then, when
 about mid-afternoon George suddenly announced through
 the speaking-tube that Blaine was the nominee. The butts
 of the billiard cues came down on the floor with a bump,
 and for a moment the players were speechless. Then
 Henry Robinson said: 

 "It's hard luck to have to vote for that man." 

 Clemens looked at him under his heavy brows. 

 "But -- we don't -- have to vote for him," he said. 

 "Do you mean to say that you're not going to vote for
 him?" 

 "Yes, that is what I mean to say. I am not going to vote
 for him." 

 There was a general protest. Most of those assembled
 declared that when a party's representatives chose a man
 one must stand by him. They might choose unwisely, but
 the party support must be maintained. Clemens said: 

 "No party holds the privilege of dictating to me how I
 shall vote. If loyalty to party is a form of patriotism, I am
 no patriot. If there is any valuable difference between a
 monarchist and an American, it lies in the theory that the
 American can decide for himself what is patriotic and
 what isn't. I claim that difference. I am the only person in
 the sixty millions that is privileged to dictate my
 patriotism." 

 There was a good deal of talk back and forth, and, in the
 end, most of those there present remained loyal to
 Blaine. General Hawley and his paper stood by Blaine.
 Warner withdrew from his editorship of the Courant and
 remained neutral. Twichell stood with Clemens and
 came near losing his pulpit by it. Open letters were
 published in the newspapers about him. It was a
 campaign when politics divided neighbors, families, and
 congregations. If we except the Civil War period, there
 never had been a more rancorous political warfare than
 that waged between the parties of James G. Blaine and
 Grover Cleveland in 1884. 


But a costume ball in a house I remember so well, it really did have a
face, settled it.