Ze Jenny and I did some calculations on the basis of this Villagey thing and found the whole situation to be patently impossible, so perhaps I shall share them heyahh.
DO NOT READ FURTHER UNLESS YOU EAT TOES^h^h^h^h^h^h^h^hHAVE SEEN THE MOVIE:
The area containing the Village is located in Pennsylvania, and is quite large. Improbably, likely impossibly large. For example, it is a half-day's walk to the road, and perhaps another hour, who knows, to the wall. Assuming a leisurely average walking speed of 2 miles per hour, and 8-12 hours depending on your definition of half-day, then the Village preserve is 16-24 miles in radius. 32-48 miles on a side. This is a huuuuuuuge piece of land in the middle of a state renowned for its very high property taxes. Combine that with the fact that there is simply no way you could buy such a large piece of continuous geography in Pennsylvania. I doubt you could do it in Wyoming. Likely Nevada, but you'd have to go to the government for that.
So the Village area is quite large. Impossibly so. Real estate values alone would probably exhaust even a billionaire's resources to purchase such a slice of land. Then you have the other costs.
This area is, as I said, and assuming central placement of the village in the territory, between 32-48 miles on a side. This makes a perimeter of between 120 and 200 miles, roughly, to be patrolled regularly by guards, one of whom so fortuitously shows up immediately at just the right moment. The guard says that there are guardposts every 10 miles, which means at least 12 posts, which seem to be manned by a dispatcher and X number of guards, so we're talking at least 24 men a shift, plus vehicles, electricity, taxes, road maintenance, medicinal supplies, etc. At *least* 24 men a shift. Huge expense, fixed costs, ouch mommy it hurts.
Aside from the financial impossibilities, you have the many other problems with the Village that should have led anyone inside to figure out the ruse quite quickly, assuming it was possible at all. For example: their lamp oil situation.
They have innumerable oil lamps, especially the ones around the forbidden whoosits, that burn all night long. We're talking many gallons of oil per DAY. There is no way that you can naturally generate that much oil in such a confined space, short of a well. Pre-industrial societies could have used whales or ground up huge volumes of seed to make oil; neither would work here. Either they have a stockpile to rival the saudis, or it's a crock.
There are also the monuments in the graveyard; the valley is green and undisturbed, so where do they dig, and I mean you have to really DIG, to get building-grade limestone, a relatively rare resource, which is what the monuments looked to be,? Are they so fortunate as to live on a vein of marble or some other such material they can easily hew out? It's absurd. Nobody living in such communities had tombstones of that sort.
And then there's the clothing, especially the Yellow clothing. Puh-leease. Where do they get all of this striking yellow dye? Hmm? Think about it: pre-industrial faken town means no artificial dyes and no running to the Sherwin Williams for paint. They're somehow making BUCKETS of yellow paint and similar dye on their small property. Pfft.
Then there's the drinking water. Impossible. Considering their town's small size and compactness, and the fact that nobody can ever go in the woods to crap, the stench of it must reach the heavens, but more importantly, their water supply is irredeemably contaminated unless they have a very, very deep well. Oops, can't; such wells require mechanical pumps, and that'd be a giveaway.
Then there's the "Tom Factor", named for our urban exploring friend Tom. People want to poke around areas they're not allowed to be. Considering the perimeter and the laughable protective measures, they'll get in.
Then there's the idea Jenny had. What about Terraserver? Satellite maps? Someone curious will simply look up a shiny satellite picature. You can order high-resolution prints of anywhere in the US from private firms. It's easy. Just have your credit-card handy.
no subject
DO NOT READ FURTHER UNLESS YOU EAT TOES^h^h^h^h^h^h^h^hHAVE SEEN THE MOVIE:
The area containing the Village is located in Pennsylvania, and is quite large. Improbably, likely impossibly large. For example, it is a half-day's walk to the road, and perhaps another hour, who knows, to the wall. Assuming a leisurely average walking speed of 2 miles per hour, and 8-12 hours depending on your definition of half-day, then the Village preserve is 16-24 miles in radius. 32-48 miles on a side. This is a huuuuuuuge piece of land in the middle of a state renowned for its very high property taxes. Combine that with the fact that there is simply no way you could buy such a large piece of continuous geography in Pennsylvania. I doubt you could do it in Wyoming. Likely Nevada, but you'd have to go to the government for that.
So the Village area is quite large. Impossibly so. Real estate values alone would probably exhaust even a billionaire's resources to purchase such a slice of land. Then you have the other costs.
This area is, as I said, and assuming central placement of the village in the territory, between 32-48 miles on a side. This makes a perimeter of between 120 and 200 miles, roughly, to be patrolled regularly by guards, one of whom so fortuitously shows up immediately at just the right moment. The guard says that there are guardposts every 10 miles, which means at least 12 posts, which seem to be manned by a dispatcher and X number of guards, so we're talking at least 24 men a shift, plus vehicles, electricity, taxes, road maintenance, medicinal supplies, etc. At *least* 24 men a shift. Huge expense, fixed costs, ouch mommy it hurts.
Aside from the financial impossibilities, you have the many other problems with the Village that should have led anyone inside to figure out the ruse quite quickly, assuming it was possible at all. For example: their lamp oil situation.
They have innumerable oil lamps, especially the ones around the forbidden whoosits, that burn all night long. We're talking many gallons of oil per DAY. There is no way that you can naturally generate that much oil in such a confined space, short of a well. Pre-industrial societies could have used whales or ground up huge volumes of seed to make oil; neither would work here. Either they have a stockpile to rival the saudis, or it's a crock.
There are also the monuments in the graveyard; the valley is green and undisturbed, so where do they dig, and I mean you have to really DIG, to get building-grade limestone, a relatively rare resource, which is what the monuments looked to be,? Are they so fortunate as to live on a vein of marble or some other such material they can easily hew out? It's absurd. Nobody living in such communities had tombstones of that sort.
And then there's the clothing, especially the Yellow clothing. Puh-leease. Where do they get all of this striking yellow dye? Hmm? Think about it: pre-industrial faken town means no artificial dyes and no running to the Sherwin Williams for paint. They're somehow making BUCKETS of yellow paint and similar dye on their small property. Pfft.
Then there's the drinking water. Impossible. Considering their town's small size and compactness, and the fact that nobody can ever go in the woods to crap, the stench of it must reach the heavens, but more importantly, their water supply is irredeemably contaminated unless they have a very, very deep well. Oops, can't; such wells require mechanical pumps, and that'd be a giveaway.
Then there's the "Tom Factor", named for our urban exploring friend Tom. People want to poke around areas they're not allowed to be. Considering the perimeter and the laughable protective measures, they'll get in.
Then there's the idea Jenny had. What about Terraserver? Satellite maps? Someone curious will simply look up a shiny satellite picature. You can order high-resolution prints of anywhere in the US from private firms. It's easy. Just have your credit-card handy.