Do we carry our landscapes with us locked in our ice-hearts, and can we fit them over what was there just as we can clothe ourselves forever in the stiff and crackling cloaks that lie in the churchyard permafrost at Herjolfsness?

Only an American could have written this history of the first, failed (in as much as any such venture can succeed) colonization of America by Europeans (if the Old Norse can be considered such). The dream of striking out west, of already knowing what you will find there, and shaping whatever you do find to match your dream, changing the world to fit your own creator myth. Put on whatever shirt you need to get the job done and find how hard it is to get off afterwards.