5 Write a critical appreciation of this passage, relating your discussion to
your reading of dystopian literature. [30]
In this passage, a team of European explorers in 2114 have sailed to the
now-deserted USA. Their exploration has led them across the country to Las
Vegas, now accompanied by some native ‘Indians’ they met on their travels.
And so they arrived at the electric paradise. Dusk had fallen as they drove
the last miles, down through the mountains to Las Vegas. Wayne sat forward,
hands gripping the rear windshield of the Chrysler, listening to the beat of
pistons and valve-gear echo among the dark trees. He was gazing across the
forest canopy below them, when a huge crown of pink and golden light
blazed through the trees as if from an open furnace hatch. A lake of neon
signs formed a shimmering corona, miles of strip-lighting raced along the
porticos of the casinos, zipped up the illuminated curtainwalling of the hotels
and spilled over into mushy cascades. Under the ultramarine sky, so dark
now that the tone had left their faces, the spectacle of this sometime
gambling capital seemed as unreal as an electrographic dream.
Wayne stood up in the rear seat, letting the blaze of light illustrate his shirt
and hands, emboss his forehead with its crystal glimmer. Anne reached
forward to hold his arm. Her face flickered anxiously in the first reflections
from the skyline signs of the big hotels. He pressed her hand, trying to
reassure himself as much as her.
‘Wayne, it’s wonderful - but who are they... ?’
‘Anne, I don’t know yet. Perhaps the Gamblers. Whoever they are, they’ve
certainly struck it rich.’
Heinz had cautiously cut the Chrysler's speed to walking pace. The old nomad
peered with evident suspicion at the neon signs, now and then reaching
across to brush the reflected light from McNair’s shoulder. Pepsodent’s
Galaxy and GM's Buick were bumper to bumper behind them, the awed faces
of the Indians pressed against their windshields like those of beggars at a
banquet.
‘Come on, Heinz,’ Wayne urged. ‘Pour on the steam. Let’s show them we're
here. Anne, can you see the hotels? Caesar’s Palace and the Desert Inn.
They’re all there along the Strip, the Dunes, the Flamingo, the Sahara. Heinz,
those are your star-ships in the sky...’
‘But, Wayne, who's staying in them? The whole place looks empty.’ Anne
touched her hair, peering at her reflection in the rear windshield. ‘And why
hasn’t anyone known about them before?’
‘Because we're the first to cross the Rockies.’ Wayne felt his confidence
return. ‘No one else has ever crossed America. McNair, think of that!’
‘Wayne, I am... You've told us a hundred times a day.’
your reading of dystopian literature. [30]
In this passage, a team of European explorers in 2114 have sailed to the
now-deserted USA. Their exploration has led them across the country to Las
Vegas, now accompanied by some native ‘Indians’ they met on their travels.
And so they arrived at the electric paradise. Dusk had fallen as they drove
the last miles, down through the mountains to Las Vegas. Wayne sat forward,
hands gripping the rear windshield of the Chrysler, listening to the beat of
pistons and valve-gear echo among the dark trees. He was gazing across the
forest canopy below them, when a huge crown of pink and golden light
blazed through the trees as if from an open furnace hatch. A lake of neon
signs formed a shimmering corona, miles of strip-lighting raced along the
porticos of the casinos, zipped up the illuminated curtainwalling of the hotels
and spilled over into mushy cascades. Under the ultramarine sky, so dark
now that the tone had left their faces, the spectacle of this sometime
gambling capital seemed as unreal as an electrographic dream.
Wayne stood up in the rear seat, letting the blaze of light illustrate his shirt
and hands, emboss his forehead with its crystal glimmer. Anne reached
forward to hold his arm. Her face flickered anxiously in the first reflections
from the skyline signs of the big hotels. He pressed her hand, trying to
reassure himself as much as her.
‘Wayne, it’s wonderful - but who are they... ?’
‘Anne, I don’t know yet. Perhaps the Gamblers. Whoever they are, they’ve
certainly struck it rich.’
Heinz had cautiously cut the Chrysler's speed to walking pace. The old nomad
peered with evident suspicion at the neon signs, now and then reaching
across to brush the reflected light from McNair’s shoulder. Pepsodent’s
Galaxy and GM's Buick were bumper to bumper behind them, the awed faces
of the Indians pressed against their windshields like those of beggars at a
banquet.
‘Come on, Heinz,’ Wayne urged. ‘Pour on the steam. Let’s show them we're
here. Anne, can you see the hotels? Caesar’s Palace and the Desert Inn.
They’re all there along the Strip, the Dunes, the Flamingo, the Sahara. Heinz,
those are your star-ships in the sky...’
‘But, Wayne, who's staying in them? The whole place looks empty.’ Anne
touched her hair, peering at her reflection in the rear windshield. ‘And why
hasn’t anyone known about them before?’
‘Because we're the first to cross the Rockies.’ Wayne felt his confidence
return. ‘No one else has ever crossed America. McNair, think of that!’
‘Wayne, I am... You've told us a hundred times a day.’
