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4.18 AVERAGE
4.18 AVERAGE
"What Machine is it,” young Cherrycoke later bade himself goodnight, “that bears us along so relentlessly? We go rattling thro’ another Day,— another Year,— as thro’ an empty Town without a Name, in the Midnight . . . we have but Memories of some Pause at the Pleasure-Spas of our younger Day, the Maidens, the Cards, the Claret,— we seek to extend our stay, but now a silent Functionary in dark Livery indicates it is time to re-board the Coach, and resume the Journey. Long before the Destination, moreover, shall this Machine come abruptly to a Stop . . . gather’d dense with Fear, shall we open the Door to confer with the Driver, to discover that there is no Driver, . . . no Horses, . . . only the Machine, fading as we stand, and a Prairie of desperate Immensity. . . .”
“These times are unfriendly toward Worlds alternative to this one”
A fake history full of truth, Mason & Dixon is the best novel I've read this year, and maybe ever. It's a shocking, hilarious, and moving account of the (possible) friendship between two astronomer-surveyors—Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon—as they observe the transits of Venus from Cape Town, and map the borders of Pennsylvania, Maryland, Delaware, and West Virginia.
From 1700s America, Pynchon excavates a manic, pre-dystopian circus filled with every type of character you could imagine—and several you couldn't, too. All of his novels are, like our lives, bursting with characters both important and negligible to the overarching scheme: there's the French chef Armand Allègre (whose name is a play on 'an arm and a leg'), exiled from France and pursued by Jacques de Vaucanson's Mechanical Duck; the ghost of Mason's wife, Rebekah, who seems always behind a corner, and the one-scene appearance of Lud Oafery, who interrupts Mason and Dixon's attempts at fishing by pretending to be a Pike, among (I'm not kidding) hundreds of others. Through these characters, Pynchon critiques the American project of slavery, observes the strange intermingling of religions and races on the frontier, and traces the competing political aims of various colonial powers.
All these things lie on the novel's surface, but underneath lies something more inscrutable: bright lights flashing at our outermost vision, noises in the night, a scheme involving everyone M&D meet along the way, or worse, involving none of them. In England, Africa, and America, we see glimpses of another world, a place of death, language, meaning, and most importantly, possibility. The question M&D ask of themselves is a practical one, which turns moral, and finally ontological: Why are we mapping this line? For whose interests? To what effect? The answers, like the questions, are several, often involving the free hand of the market (if they don't map it, someone else will) or their passion for astronomy and surveying (where not much other work can be done), but always resulting in the fact that they are changing the course of history with their work. The Mason-Dixon line, as it is now known, came to represent a divide in people, politics, and power. The reverberating consequences of our actions—how they always engender the creation of one world and the death of another—seems to be the novel's central problem, and it's a good one to unravel.
As happens with all novels of this length, many of the finer details and decisions were lost on me. However, I've come to accept that no matter how closely I read, the first reading of any 773-page novel will not illuminate all of its mysteries. Also, I mostly read the novel in two main chunks, requiring a break throughout the year for university reading and assignments.
“These times are unfriendly toward Worlds alternative to this one”
A fake history full of truth, Mason & Dixon is the best novel I've read this year, and maybe ever. It's a shocking, hilarious, and moving account of the (possible) friendship between two astronomer-surveyors—Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon—as they observe the transits of Venus from Cape Town, and map the borders of Pennsylvania, Maryland, Delaware, and West Virginia.
From 1700s America, Pynchon excavates a manic, pre-dystopian circus filled with every type of character you could imagine—and several you couldn't, too. All of his novels are, like our lives, bursting with characters both important and negligible to the overarching scheme: there's the French chef Armand Allègre (whose name is a play on 'an arm and a leg'), exiled from France and pursued by Jacques de Vaucanson's Mechanical Duck; the ghost of Mason's wife, Rebekah, who seems always behind a corner, and the one-scene appearance of Lud Oafery, who interrupts Mason and Dixon's attempts at fishing by pretending to be a Pike, among (I'm not kidding) hundreds of others. Through these characters, Pynchon critiques the American project of slavery, observes the strange intermingling of religions and races on the frontier, and traces the competing political aims of various colonial powers.
All these things lie on the novel's surface, but underneath lies something more inscrutable: bright lights flashing at our outermost vision, noises in the night, a scheme involving everyone M&D meet along the way, or worse, involving none of them. In England, Africa, and America, we see glimpses of another world, a place of death, language, meaning, and most importantly, possibility. The question M&D ask of themselves is a practical one, which turns moral, and finally ontological: Why are we mapping this line? For whose interests? To what effect? The answers, like the questions, are several, often involving the free hand of the market (if they don't map it, someone else will) or their passion for astronomy and surveying (where not much other work can be done), but always resulting in the fact that they are changing the course of history with their work. The Mason-Dixon line, as it is now known, came to represent a divide in people, politics, and power. The reverberating consequences of our actions—how they always engender the creation of one world and the death of another—seems to be the novel's central problem, and it's a good one to unravel.
As happens with all novels of this length, many of the finer details and decisions were lost on me. However, I've come to accept that no matter how closely I read, the first reading of any 773-page novel will not illuminate all of its mysteries. Also, I mostly read the novel in two main chunks, requiring a break throughout the year for university reading and assignments.
This book is pretty long and kind of hard to read sometimes but it has some great scenes like the talking dog, and the cheese wheel, and the mechanical duck and also this is when Pynchon was still cool
DNF- stopped about halfway through.
I wish I liked this book... but I just do not. The character work is magnificent, but there is almost no world building at all. The book is primarily made up of archaic dialogue. Maybe I will try it again some time, but for now, I am going to set it aside.
I wish I liked this book... but I just do not. The character work is magnificent, but there is almost no world building at all. The book is primarily made up of archaic dialogue. Maybe I will try it again some time, but for now, I am going to set it aside.
You have to try very hard to bump into a poorly written Pynchon book. Mason and Dixon is what you'd expect from Pynchon, a literate adventure book complete with imaginative diversions. The style will be off-putting to anyone who doesn't have the patience to read anything outside normative writing. I'm going to read this one again, and again, because the book says I have to or I will explode.
adventurous
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
adventurous
challenging
emotional
funny
informative
mysterious
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I want to read this book again.
Mason & Dixon was unlike anything I had read before, and experiencing it was a true pleasure. It grew on me and blossomed.
The book follows the joint efforts of historical figures Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon during the 2nd half of the 18th century while they plot the transit of Venus across the sun and draw the lines between British colonies (which today carry their names). Along the way they meet various famous persons, including Benjamin Franklin and George Washington, as well as many not-so-famous-but-just-as-real people from the time and place. But the book is not strictly historical fiction, and falls into absurdity between facts: there is a Learned Talking Dog, a conversation between two clocks, a traveling electric eel show, and adventures in the Hollow Earth. Conspiracies abound (most having to do with the Jesuits) as do ghosts and characters with names like the Reverend Cherrycoke and Mrs. Eggslap.
In fact, Cherrycoke is the book's narrator, and he spins this 773-page tale as an entertainment for his hosts. Their conversations, questions, and comments interrupt, illuminate, and inspire the story. At one point in the novel, Cherrycoke's story is completely derailed by a spicy captured-by-Indians story from some 18th century pulp fiction his listeners are secretly reading. The captive woman tale bumps into Cherrycoke's story, further blurring the lines of truth and fiction, reason and absurdity. Seeing as the book takes place during the Enlightenment as modern science is born, it only seems fitting that the labor pains include wild ideas like geomancy or a town stuck in the 11 days lost when England switched calendars in 1750.
This reality/silliness playing is just one of the pleasures of the book. People also break into humorous songs; characters muse on the philosophies of politics, geography, and astronomy; and tales within tales are spun 1001 Nights-like to further entertain Cherrycoke's listeners and Pynchon's readers.
The book did require a fair amount of concentration, as it is written in a way to mimic the slang, abbreviations, and style of the late 1700s. (The book went down much easier when I wasn't reading it before bed.) But it was not a difficult read—just a very rich one. It made me excited about reading.
Mason & Dixon was unlike anything I had read before, and experiencing it was a true pleasure. It grew on me and blossomed.
The book follows the joint efforts of historical figures Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon during the 2nd half of the 18th century while they plot the transit of Venus across the sun and draw the lines between British colonies (which today carry their names). Along the way they meet various famous persons, including Benjamin Franklin and George Washington, as well as many not-so-famous-but-just-as-real people from the time and place. But the book is not strictly historical fiction, and falls into absurdity between facts: there is a Learned Talking Dog, a conversation between two clocks, a traveling electric eel show, and adventures in the Hollow Earth. Conspiracies abound (most having to do with the Jesuits) as do ghosts and characters with names like the Reverend Cherrycoke and Mrs. Eggslap.
In fact, Cherrycoke is the book's narrator, and he spins this 773-page tale as an entertainment for his hosts. Their conversations, questions, and comments interrupt, illuminate, and inspire the story. At one point in the novel, Cherrycoke's story is completely derailed by a spicy captured-by-Indians story from some 18th century pulp fiction his listeners are secretly reading. The captive woman tale bumps into Cherrycoke's story, further blurring the lines of truth and fiction, reason and absurdity. Seeing as the book takes place during the Enlightenment as modern science is born, it only seems fitting that the labor pains include wild ideas like geomancy or a town stuck in the 11 days lost when England switched calendars in 1750.
This reality/silliness playing is just one of the pleasures of the book. People also break into humorous songs; characters muse on the philosophies of politics, geography, and astronomy; and tales within tales are spun 1001 Nights-like to further entertain Cherrycoke's listeners and Pynchon's readers.
The book did require a fair amount of concentration, as it is written in a way to mimic the slang, abbreviations, and style of the late 1700s. (The book went down much easier when I wasn't reading it before bed.) But it was not a difficult read—just a very rich one. It made me excited about reading.
Work of sublime genius and about 200 pages too long.
This is the most pleasant tome I've read yet. With other large books, I've been just as focused on the page count as the content itself– I have no idea how Mason & Dixon escaped this and managed to flow so casually and coherently. I didn't even perform my ritual of noticing when I pass 1/5th, 1/4th, 1/3rd-ways through the book, either. Thanks to the first sentence, I had assumed for a long time that Mason & Dixon was one of Thomas Pynchon's most impenetrable novels– all just a run-on, incoherent Finnegans Wake-esque soup of outdated grammar and slang– but I ended up not even noticing the capitalized nouns two pages in.
The text is still dense, however, and it was difficult to read for more than 20-page chunks at a time. Solution? Make several 20-page chunks throughout the same day!
It's clear that Thomas Pynchon didn't write Mason & Dixon just to be cute and post-modern and overly dense (coughcough). He's just telling a great story, and all of the dense parts are just a side effect of Thomas Pynchon's massive brain working towards achieving that goal. I actually found this an easier read than [b:The Crying of Lot 49|2794|The Crying of Lot 49|Thomas Pynchon|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1327917732s/2794.jpg|1477756], but I might be alone in that opinion. Sometimes I would be reluctant to read every day ("Do I want to read this today? No, I don't want to read this today."), but my frustrations are more at my own attention span than at Pynchon. Every time I actually picked up the book, I thoroughly enjoyed (giggled at, snickered at, beamed stupidly at, etc.) what I read. There's no umlaut explosions, there's no characters in two places at once, heck, the plotting is even completely linear.
Some sections and discussions were a little too much for me. But thankfully, they often had no serious plot significance, and ended several pages later. If I was ever in a rough spot, instead of rereading and rereading and trying to understand, I just kept going, to no loss. There are hundreds of characters, but it's clear who you need to pay attention to and who's just standing in the background not serving any purpose.
Mason & Dixon is very spiritual. Thomas Pynchon has a unique, imaginative way of seeing the world. His old, buzzed-out paranoia has been replaced here with a spiritual, supernatural, philosophical, and often magical sense of awe. What I can't decide is if Thomas Pynchon is just an expert at creating the feeling of the dawn of the Age of Reason, or if he's grown more spiritual with age. Reading the book, I'm convinced that Thomas Pynchon is either Christian to whatever extant, or very skilled at understanding and replicating Christian views of the world. He never critiques Christianity or people's religions in general (well, except maybe the Jesuits), and seems respectful enough of everyone's cultures and humanity. While it is a reverand who narrates the story, it still takes a deep understanding of the spiritual mindset to write it as well as he manages... Pynchon manages to make a sermon out of the most mundane things. Pynchon would make a great pastor. Nothing is spared a religious connection– breadmaking, geometry, the bad taste of every succeeding cup of coffee after the first pour– nothing.
Mason & Dixon is practically wholesome. There's some comical enticements, a man pissing his name into the snow, but nothing beyond a PG-13 rating. Being able to get all of the joys of Thomas Pynchon without having to experience some squicky sex scene every few pages is surprisingly refreshing.
All in all, this novel a treasure chest. There are thousands of things to laugh at– some subtle, some obvious. Mason dangling off a window- obvious. The word "sandwich" always being in quotes– subtle! I always smiled when I saw that. I would give more examples of the particularly entertaining and surprising stories that are cropped up throughout the course of the novel, but the less you know going into the book, the better. I couldn't do Pynchon's humor justice, anyway.
"Read it at the Risk of your Self-Esteem." (p. 726)
Actually, just read it.
The text is still dense, however, and it was difficult to read for more than 20-page chunks at a time. Solution? Make several 20-page chunks throughout the same day!
It's clear that Thomas Pynchon didn't write Mason & Dixon just to be cute and post-modern and overly dense (coughcough). He's just telling a great story, and all of the dense parts are just a side effect of Thomas Pynchon's massive brain working towards achieving that goal. I actually found this an easier read than [b:The Crying of Lot 49|2794|The Crying of Lot 49|Thomas Pynchon|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1327917732s/2794.jpg|1477756], but I might be alone in that opinion. Sometimes I would be reluctant to read every day ("Do I want to read this today? No, I don't want to read this today."), but my frustrations are more at my own attention span than at Pynchon. Every time I actually picked up the book, I thoroughly enjoyed (giggled at, snickered at, beamed stupidly at, etc.) what I read. There's no umlaut explosions, there's no characters in two places at once, heck, the plotting is even completely linear.
Some sections and discussions were a little too much for me. But thankfully, they often had no serious plot significance, and ended several pages later. If I was ever in a rough spot, instead of rereading and rereading and trying to understand, I just kept going, to no loss. There are hundreds of characters, but it's clear who you need to pay attention to and who's just standing in the background not serving any purpose.
Mason & Dixon is very spiritual. Thomas Pynchon has a unique, imaginative way of seeing the world. His old, buzzed-out paranoia has been replaced here with a spiritual, supernatural, philosophical, and often magical sense of awe. What I can't decide is if Thomas Pynchon is just an expert at creating the feeling of the dawn of the Age of Reason, or if he's grown more spiritual with age. Reading the book, I'm convinced that Thomas Pynchon is either Christian to whatever extant, or very skilled at understanding and replicating Christian views of the world. He never critiques Christianity or people's religions in general (well, except maybe the Jesuits), and seems respectful enough of everyone's cultures and humanity. While it is a reverand who narrates the story, it still takes a deep understanding of the spiritual mindset to write it as well as he manages... Pynchon manages to make a sermon out of the most mundane things. Pynchon would make a great pastor. Nothing is spared a religious connection– breadmaking, geometry, the bad taste of every succeeding cup of coffee after the first pour– nothing.
Mason & Dixon is practically wholesome. There's some comical enticements, a man pissing his name into the snow, but nothing beyond a PG-13 rating. Being able to get all of the joys of Thomas Pynchon without having to experience some squicky sex scene every few pages is surprisingly refreshing.
All in all, this novel a treasure chest. There are thousands of things to laugh at– some subtle, some obvious. Mason dangling off a window- obvious. The word "sandwich" always being in quotes– subtle! I always smiled when I saw that. I would give more examples of the particularly entertaining and surprising stories that are cropped up throughout the course of the novel, but the less you know going into the book, the better. I couldn't do Pynchon's humor justice, anyway.
"Read it at the Risk of your Self-Esteem." (p. 726)
Actually, just read it.