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localized politics entrenched in negotiation with the landscape. A switchback road is both
a human imposition on difficult terrain, and a representation of that terrain’s resistance to
human inscription. To reach the “mountainside retreat of the Sisterhood of the Kunoichi
Attentives” (107), one of Vineland County’s several countercultural communities,
travelers must navigate a final ascent “over dirt roads vexing enough to those who arrived
in times of mud, and so deeply rutted when the season was dry that many an unwary
seeking was brought to a high-centered pause out in this oil painting of a landscape,
wheels spinning in empty air” (107). Here, as in the case of the weather-written parking
lot in the City of Vineland, an assemblage of actors—ridgelines, downpours, dry spells,
the road-building budget of the Kunoichi Attentives, a spiritual ideology that perhaps
embraces the challenge of difficult passage, the disoriented traveler, the ill-equipped
vehicle—converge on the authorship of space. Significantly, this authorship takes place
along both horizontal and vertical axes. The switchback is a technology of ascent and
descent, and up-down movement in this novel is central to its spatial economy. To leave
the ridgelines of the North Coast/Klamath bioregion is always to move “back down […]
all the way back inside the Mobility” (166). It is a move from dirt roads to freeways,
which are repeatedly situated “far below” (106), “tucked into the unfolding spill of land
toward ‘down there’” (155). Similarly, movement along the vertical axis encodes a slide
from transcendence of to implication within the quotidian. Kunoichi Attentive DL
imagines the worldly application of her martial arts skills as a movement “out of the
anterooms of clarity, back down the many levels to a malodorous, cheaply lit, nowhere-
up-to-code assortment of spaces” (176). However, the novel ultimately suggests that
being able to navigate these descents—not to reject the freeway as the “Lower Realm”
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(382) but to learn how to travel it so that “it didn’t feel like a descent” (383)—is an
essential component of switchback narrative survival strategy. The switchback traveler’s
ability to integrate into the contest over discursive space, rather than becoming alienated
or trapped in the phenomenological constraints of a particular framework, does the
political work of creating active and engaged human-nonhuman assemblies.
In Vineland, the ability to integrate a human community into a resistant bioregion
defines the battle between the region’s pot-growers—who rely, like the Sisterhood of the
Kunoichi Attentives, on “rolling, breaking terrain” (VL 108), troublesome to the “unwary
seeker” (VL 107), to protect their world—and federal agencies under pressure to produce
the next big drug bust for the campaigning Reagan administration. Part of Pynchon’s
introduction to Vineland County references the contested nature of this space: “at harvest
time, when CAMP [Campaign Against Marijuana Planting] helicopters gathered in the
sky […] North California, like other U.S. pot-growing areas, once again rejoined,
operationally speaking, the third world” (49). While Vineland County may read in one
sense, then, as the opposite of the Southern California cities from which its human actors
seek refuge—“a pastoral escape from the economic realities of L.A.” (Clarke 189)
because of “the natural seclusion offered by its rich forest” (Bumas 160)—Pynchon
makes sure that we note, too, the juridical grid of prohibition that overlays and encodes
even the most hidden and seemingly un-urbanized bioregional spaces.
Pynchon’s attention to the spatial politics of grids and zones is amply theorized.
In her work on views from above in Gravity’s Rainbow, Kathryn Hume writes that “the
grooves and grids seen in the [novel’s] aerial views are systems of control at work in the
cities and in human nature” (640). Here, Hume focuses on the city streets and buildings
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that form such aerial grids of infrastructural prohibition. However, in Vineland the
contest between competing systems is staged along more invisible lines of juridical and
economic authorship that overlay the outwardly off-the-grid pastoral of Vineland county.
While the area may be “extraordinarily tough” for law enforcement “to penetrate” (VL
221), it is nonetheless shot through with control systems, suggesting that when multiple
and competing assemblies of actors clash, it is most often in a contest over space. If the
agentic assemblage that is the ridges and valleys, fogs and floods of this region represents
a certain topographic resistance to infrastructural development, it also represents a space
that, vulnerable in its very status as the extra-urban, is uniquely susceptible to being
remade as “pacified territory—reclaimed by the enemy for a timeless, defectively
imagined future of zero-tolerance drug-free Americans all pulling their weight and all
locked in to the official economy” (VL 221-222). Overlaying the region, the “monster
program” (222) known as CAMP may not be a prison or a detainment center, but it
pervades the community with as much influence on the “civic atmosphere” (222) as an
electro-shock system on the landscape that can be switched on at any moment. The
switch that this grid flips is not so much physical as perceptual, countering the local
pothead resistance to a “zero-tolerance drug-free America” with a government-funded
mind-altering technology known popularly in Pynchon studies as “paranoia.”
4
As
paranoia overtakes the community—“seasonal speculation […] as to who might be
4
It is worth noting here that in Pynchon, drugs, and access to drugs, generally function as physical-
discursive economies of resistance to what Buell calls “grid-think” (84). Much like the fogs of Vineland
County and their unpredictable movement over the landscape, pot-smoke moves subversively. It is a joint
that sparks revolution in one of Vineland’s central scenes of hippie uprising. Like the music emanating
from the College of the Surf, “reaching like a fog through the fence” to “the sombre military blanckness at
its back” (204), at “the mere distant spice-wind scent of the Joint in the Plaza, other states of mind all at
once seemed possible” (206). What leaks through borders, what disrupts the spatial dominance of the grid,
is also an agent, “curls of smoke” (206) their own form of rebellious text.
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