Fake Estate

Today's Report comes as a result of a story run yesterday by The Daily Beast:  F. Scott Fitzgerald's Baltimore home is for sale.  The 113 year old home sounds quite nice, but as the newsblurb says, it's not exactly the West Egg mansion of Jay Gatsby.  Even still, the Beast links to a list of Nine Illustrious Houses in Fiction, which includes Gatsby's mansion.  Interestingly, Gatsby's Mansion, incorrectly referred to as "West Egg" on the list, is the only one of the nine houses that doesn't have a formal name.  Pemberely, Brideshead, Tara... All these illustrious residences come with similarly illustrious names.  So what's going on there?  When did we stop naming our houses?
 
The Internet suggests that doing so is a distinctly British custom, as a quick search for the practice of doing so provides information on official methods of naming and this entertaining history of/guide for naming.  Where are the names of American homes?  Where are our Skyfalls and Manderlays?  Let's bring this practice back!  The question becomes, how do we pick the name?  Some sort of factor of the environment?  Mine could be Creaking Tree.  A combination of the names of its residents?  I'll check and see what my housemates think of Marshmolie. (Rhymes with Molly, not guacamole.)  Can we just name it Winterfell?
 
But: Let's circle back to literature for a moment.  Is it a function of the Britishness of naming houses that so many of literature's famous houses are British?  Consider the list above:  Six of the nine listings are from British literature.  Is it just because named houses are easier to reference?  Or is there a dearth of houses in American literature?  When I think about what houses were missing from the list, my mind goes straight from house to Holmes, and wonders about 221B Baker Street.  Then to Bag End.  Then, even though I haven't read it, on to Bleak House.
 
When I try to think of houses in American literature, I have much less success.  The first image my mind produces is the completely uninhabitable floating house the Huck and Jim find upon in the river.  When I finally arrive at an actual house, I think of Mark Z Danielewski's House of Leaves, but here the home is shifting and changing and impossible, bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.  The residences that I think of in American literature are of a more temporary nature:  The Overlook Hotel, the mental institution of Nurse Ratched, the Ennet House Drug and Alcohol Recovery House (sic)... Is it something about the nature of mobility and change that characterize American literature?  Is it because we name institutions and not houses?  Or is it because I'm just failing to think of any good examples, when really there are a whole bunch out there?
 
Readers, never before have I been so curious about what you have to say.  What would you name your house?  What should I name my house?  And where are the houses of American literature?

I promise something less academic and rambling tomorrow, but til then I'm thinking about my house (in the middle of my street).