Aug05
Here Comes Everybody: INHERENT VICE leads the pack
Last post I said there’s an incredible number of noteworthy books by good-to-great writers coming out in the 2nd half of 2009 & to keep a lookout here for this parade under the banner of Here Comes Everybody. Now it’s started & the grand marshall is Thomas Pynchon‘s INHERENT VICE, his stoned-soul beach-read of a detective novel, published today by Penguin Press. Before I launch into blurby verbiage, you should pause to sample the promo video from the publisher (voiced by the author?) via YouTube:
(A fellow Booklofter–thank you, Rick– told me of WIRED magazine’s interactive Google-mapped web article “The Unofficial Thomas Pynchon Guide to Los Angeles” where I clicked on ‘Pynchon’s home?’ & found the Penguin Press promo ad posted today, featuring a narrator sounding awfully like the Simpson’s Pynchon of several years ago.) Intriguing… & a really cool teaser/intro to the book, even if it’s not the author acting as his main character.
INHERENT VICE finds Thomas Pynchon back in California circa 1970. It’s not a baggy monster like his masterworks, but it has the same DNA (Do Nothing Average) as those awesome adventures & forms a loose trilogy as a hybrid of the psychedelic THE CRYING OF LOT 49 & the more sinister VINELAND. ‘Doc’ Sportello is our laid-back hippie P.I. narrator, on a breezy tour of beach shacks, surf-rockers’ mansions, Mansonized paranoia (you knew it would be here, didn’t you?) & the outer-limits hallucinations of America as it skews weirder from wonderful. The plot has shaggy-dog hairs all over it, but it ostensibly deals with the search for a missing billionaire, his shady real estate developments, dopers & detectives & assistant DA’s, with the odd resurrected surf sax player thrown in. It reads like Cheech & Chong & Chandler, & sounds like a classic Firesign Theatre record, i.e. stoned wordplay, ‘What’s Up, Doc?’ cartoony characters abound, with the heady, high-low, trademark Pynchon mix spiked with even more sex, drugs & surfin’ tunes. Enough… just dig this: Pynchon’s written a great summer beach read—Far out!
The critics are weighing in on this ‘lighter fare’ genre entertainment & I must say that I found another favorite writer Louis Menand‘s review in the August 3rd NEW YORKER to be especially illuminating about the Raymond Chandler private eye’s personal code of honor & other genre conventions & how Pynchon plays with them. Other reviewers invoke the Coen brothers’ THE BIG LEBOWSKI & that seems an entirely right-on comparison to me too. I’d be interested to hear how you view this Pynchonian ‘departure’ & how you think it compares to his other California novels.
The Enthusiast @ The Bookloft
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