The Vance Fan, Part II: The Dutch
The average Vance fan is a Dutchman. Vance’s books, after they are translated into the grotesque Dutch language, sell better in the Netherlands than in any other place.
Once, many years ago, I, Pulsifer, lived and worked for six months in a small city, which we shall call T-burg, in the Netherlands. Ever since that time the sound of Dutch being spoken causes the hair at the back of my neck to stand up.
Never mind that it rained every single day of those six months. Never mind that Dutch food is inedible. Never mind that the concept of ventilation of houses was unknown---in my apartment it consisted of a hole through the ceiling above the shower in the bathroom. The covering of this hole had long since blown away, which meant that year-round you could see the sky through it. In T-burg, walking through the streets at night, you could immediately tell which the most popular restaurants in town were---they were the ones you could not see into because of the condensation on the windows.
No, never mind all that. It is the people I want to talk to you about. The Dutchmen, as a collective, epitomize the disturbing characteristics of the Vance fan that I discussed in my earlier essay on the topic. They are, to a man, provincial fools of below-average intelligence who nonetheless consider themselves superior to all other nationalities. Can you name a prominent and internationally famous Dutch scientist, artist, or writer? I thought not. But the Dutch themselves think it is only a matter of time before the world lies at their feet.
The Dutch pride themselves on what they like to think of as their enlightened social ideas, and to some extent they have the world fooled as well. It is common to hear the Netherlands spoken of as if it were some kind of libertarian paradise. Many have heard of the relaxed views of the Dutch regarding, e.g., prostitution or matters of sexual orientation, and of the “coffee-shops” where cannabis may be sold and consumed legally. But in fact these and other examples of Dutch “tolerance” have nothing to do with carefully thought-out reasoning about the rights of the individual. The simple truth is that the Dutchman is, at best, indifferent about the activities of other people. At worst, he is actually happy to allow others the opportunity to screw up their lives and in so doing afford him confirmation of the correctness of his own bourgeois lifestyle. After all, this is a country where until recently it was not considered proper to have curtains in your windows, and the major Sunday pastime was to walk around town looking into other people’s living-rooms.
Do I have some kind of personal grudge against the Dutch that prompts me to say these things? Perhaps. But you will have one, too, if you live long enough. For the Dutch, in their minds, own the world. Consider the sobering story of the time when I was leaving Lisbon, Portugal, after a brief visit. I had made arrangements for a ride to the airport well in advance, as I was catching an early flight. On the morning of my departure the driver mentioned that some other people had just spoken to him and wanted to come along: A Dutch family. The parents presently arrived, and looked me over with obvious disapproval, but they were missing their teenage son, who was still busy putting on his make-up or something. Eventually, when after twenty minutes the son had still not shown up, but his parents were blatantly unconcerned, I mentioned that I was somewhat pressed for time and worried about missing my flight. The Dutch lady did not care to address me directly, but pointedly told the driver that “If our guest will only be patient a little longer, I am sure we shall be able to leave shortly.”
Oh, I could go on and on.
Once, many years ago, I, Pulsifer, lived and worked for six months in a small city, which we shall call T-burg, in the Netherlands. Ever since that time the sound of Dutch being spoken causes the hair at the back of my neck to stand up.
Never mind that it rained every single day of those six months. Never mind that Dutch food is inedible. Never mind that the concept of ventilation of houses was unknown---in my apartment it consisted of a hole through the ceiling above the shower in the bathroom. The covering of this hole had long since blown away, which meant that year-round you could see the sky through it. In T-burg, walking through the streets at night, you could immediately tell which the most popular restaurants in town were---they were the ones you could not see into because of the condensation on the windows.
No, never mind all that. It is the people I want to talk to you about. The Dutchmen, as a collective, epitomize the disturbing characteristics of the Vance fan that I discussed in my earlier essay on the topic. They are, to a man, provincial fools of below-average intelligence who nonetheless consider themselves superior to all other nationalities. Can you name a prominent and internationally famous Dutch scientist, artist, or writer? I thought not. But the Dutch themselves think it is only a matter of time before the world lies at their feet.
The Dutch pride themselves on what they like to think of as their enlightened social ideas, and to some extent they have the world fooled as well. It is common to hear the Netherlands spoken of as if it were some kind of libertarian paradise. Many have heard of the relaxed views of the Dutch regarding, e.g., prostitution or matters of sexual orientation, and of the “coffee-shops” where cannabis may be sold and consumed legally. But in fact these and other examples of Dutch “tolerance” have nothing to do with carefully thought-out reasoning about the rights of the individual. The simple truth is that the Dutchman is, at best, indifferent about the activities of other people. At worst, he is actually happy to allow others the opportunity to screw up their lives and in so doing afford him confirmation of the correctness of his own bourgeois lifestyle. After all, this is a country where until recently it was not considered proper to have curtains in your windows, and the major Sunday pastime was to walk around town looking into other people’s living-rooms.
Do I have some kind of personal grudge against the Dutch that prompts me to say these things? Perhaps. But you will have one, too, if you live long enough. For the Dutch, in their minds, own the world. Consider the sobering story of the time when I was leaving Lisbon, Portugal, after a brief visit. I had made arrangements for a ride to the airport well in advance, as I was catching an early flight. On the morning of my departure the driver mentioned that some other people had just spoken to him and wanted to come along: A Dutch family. The parents presently arrived, and looked me over with obvious disapproval, but they were missing their teenage son, who was still busy putting on his make-up or something. Eventually, when after twenty minutes the son had still not shown up, but his parents were blatantly unconcerned, I mentioned that I was somewhat pressed for time and worried about missing my flight. The Dutch lady did not care to address me directly, but pointedly told the driver that “If our guest will only be patient a little longer, I am sure we shall be able to leave shortly.”
Oh, I could go on and on.
posted by Pulsifer | 3:19 PM
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