Thomas Pynchon is one of those cult writers that you feel you must read sometime, so I unwisely have started with Inherent Vice, his latest novel.
Clearly he is not a crime writer. While there is great humour and pathos to be had in reading Pynchon's surreal rendering of the dying days of hippie-era California (and many funny moments with potheads doing stupid pothead things), the crime story at the centre of the novel is meandering and poorly constructed and detracts from what could have been a successful satire on American paranoia at the height of the Manson-era America.
Still, this book makes me want to give earlier Pynchon fiction a go, which I hope is not dragged down by similar clumsy graftings of crime noir onto psychedelic whimsy. Why bother with Inherent Vice, when we have any number of Chandler novels that are truly crafted stories, or even Michael Connelly if you want to be contemporary.
There are cultural references aplenty (particularly to do with LA surf music) and Pynchon seems to re-enter the world of LA pothead culture with much affection for its characters. There is also a palpable poignancy in his writing about this era, a feeling of something culturally fresh succumbing to corruption and venality. But I simply struggled to maintain interest in the story as a whole, regardless of the occasional amusing vignette of the protagonist, Doc, and his drug buddies.
Clearly he is not a crime writer. While there is great humour and pathos to be had in reading Pynchon's surreal rendering of the dying days of hippie-era California (and many funny moments with potheads doing stupid pothead things), the crime story at the centre of the novel is meandering and poorly constructed and detracts from what could have been a successful satire on American paranoia at the height of the Manson-era America.
Still, this book makes me want to give earlier Pynchon fiction a go, which I hope is not dragged down by similar clumsy graftings of crime noir onto psychedelic whimsy. Why bother with Inherent Vice, when we have any number of Chandler novels that are truly crafted stories, or even Michael Connelly if you want to be contemporary.
There are cultural references aplenty (particularly to do with LA surf music) and Pynchon seems to re-enter the world of LA pothead culture with much affection for its characters. There is also a palpable poignancy in his writing about this era, a feeling of something culturally fresh succumbing to corruption and venality. But I simply struggled to maintain interest in the story as a whole, regardless of the occasional amusing vignette of the protagonist, Doc, and his drug buddies.
No comments:
Post a Comment