Alpaca
Among Texas political novels, surely the oddest is H. L. Hunt's Alpaca, a utopian work possessed of certain charms and undeniable wackiness that was self-published by the author in 1960. Hunt could certainly afford it, for at that time he was one of the richest men in the world. He was also one of the most eccentric: He lived in Dallas in a house modeled on Mount Vernon, practiced avant-garde dietary habits, and pumped out propaganda for right-wing causes. The thin book sold for 50 cents a copy and, thanks to cheap paper and even cheaper glue, fell apart in the reader's hands. At one author's signing, two of Hunt's daughters helped promote sales by singing a version of a popular ditty of the era: "How much is that book in the window? The one that my daddy wrote."
The novel sketches the travels of Juan Achala, an idealistic and incredibly handsome young man who leaves his native land of Alpaca, dreamily located somewhere in South America, to journey to Europe. His mission is to develop a new constitution for his beloved country, which has fallen under the rule of a dictator. Juan visits Rome (which Hunt insists on calling "Roma"), Paris, Geneva, and London, talking with anybody he can about a new government. He lives and breathes political theory, except for when he spends time with the beautiful Mara Hani, whom he met on his voyage. They get married in a paragraph, and the honeymoon is one of those in which "the world stood still, and did not move at all."
Still, the romance plays second fiddle to the heart of the novel: the bloody constitution. Hunt develops a system whereby the number of votes a citizen can cast depends upon the taxes he pays. Those in the top bracket, for example, would have seven votes. (Bonus votes were available to those who turned down retirement benefits or more than half of their government salaries.) A patriot like Hunt would have been entitled to vote nine times; Austin slackers would be entitled to vote just once. Some other ideas found in Alpaca are perhaps surprising. Because Hunt valued education, teachers would be paid 30 percent more than "the highest average pay of the best-paid unskilled hourly or per diem wage earner in the area." Hunt would also ban all political discourse on radio and television, making print media and small discussion groups among citizens the only forums for politics. The office of the chief executive would consist of one president (who could serve no longer than two years) and two assistants who would perform important duties. The novel ends with the constitution being ratified by the citizens of Alpaca, the strongman having packed it in. 
Among Texas political novels, surely the oddest is H. L. Hunt's Alpaca, a utopian work possessed of certain charms and undeniable wackiness that was self-published by the author in 1960. Hunt could certainly afford it, for at that time he was one of the richest men in the world. He was also one of the most eccentric: He lived in Dallas in a house modeled on Mount Vernon, practiced avant-garde dietary habits, and pumped out propaganda for right-wing causes. The thin book sold for 50 cents a copy and, thanks to cheap paper and even cheaper glue, fell apart in the reader's hands. At one author's signing, two of Hunt's daughters helped promote sales by singing a version of a popular ditty of the era: "How much is that book in the window? The one that my daddy wrote."
The novel sketches the travels of Juan Achala, an idealistic and incredibly handsome young man who leaves his native land of Alpaca, dreamily located somewhere in South America, to journey to Europe. His mission is to develop a new constitution for his beloved country, which has fallen under the rule of a dictator. Juan visits Rome (which Hunt insists on calling "Roma"), Paris, Geneva, and London, talking with anybody he can about a new government. He lives and breathes political theory, except for when he spends time with the beautiful Mara Hani, whom he met on his voyage. They get married in a paragraph, and the honeymoon is one of those in which "the world stood still, and did not move at all."
Still, the romance plays second fiddle to the heart of the novel: the bloody constitution. Hunt develops a system whereby the number of votes a citizen can cast depends upon the taxes he pays. Those in the top bracket, for example, would have seven votes. (Bonus votes were available to those who turned down retirement benefits or more than half of their government salaries.) A patriot like Hunt would have been entitled to vote nine times; Austin slackers would be entitled to vote just once. Some other ideas found in Alpaca are perhaps surprising. Because Hunt valued education, teachers would be paid 30 percent more than "the highest average pay of the best-paid unskilled hourly or per diem wage earner in the area." Hunt would also ban all political discourse on radio and television, making print media and small discussion groups among citizens the only forums for politics. The office of the chief executive would consist of one president (who could serve no longer than two years) and two assistants who would perform important duties. The novel ends with the constitution being ratified by the citizens of Alpaca, the strongman having packed it in.
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