New York State once produced 106 different kinds of apples, and each one looked and tasted different. This variety no doubt pleased apple-lovers, but it proved quite inefficient from the point of view of the market. It would be much more sensible if there were only three or four types of apple. Appearance and shelf-life would be important, but not flavour. In fact, favour must be eliminated because different people like different flavours. This is "irrational." If all apples taste alike and look alike, however, and if they all taste pretty much like raw potatoes and look like Jungian archetypes, then soon everyone will forget that apples ever tasted different. Most important in this process is image. The Apple has become part of the body of the Image, the global imaginaire, the universal unchanging mystical vortex of control, of hegemony, of separation. The Apple transcends the mere accidental bodies of random russets, winesaps, pippins, this windfall or that sour green one, good for pie, or this bruised one, good for cider. The wizards of genetics triumph, and soon there is only one pure Apple. New York State's orchards go to seed and are overgrown by scrub, or ripped out to build housing developments. Of the 106 varieties, how many survive?
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