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A review by trilby001
Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon
5.0
The dust jacket blurb: "in this lively yarn, Pynchon, working in an unaccustomed genre, provides a classic illustration of the principle that if you can remember the 60s, you weren't there. . .or. if you were there, then you. . .or wait, is it. . ." This is a good entree into the novel, a mystery/satire of life in California in the '60s. Although I never visited California during that decade, I lived through all the hippie craziness spun out of it.
I readily admit to being a Pynchon cultist. On my car is a bumper sticker that reads: "My other car is a Pynchon novel." I couldn't wait for the 104 people in front of me in the queue for the library copies, so I bought the book. I was not disappointed. In fact, I was rather surprised that this Pynchon novel turned out to be quite accessible (unlike "Gravity's Rainbow" or "V").
The title refers to a legal term meaning the quality of certain property or goods that makes them difficult to insure. This theme of
fragility or evanescence permeates the L.A. landscape. Characters die or come close to death, get disoriented or abducted, lose their way, are resurrected, shift shapes and identities. This is a world on the verge of extinction, fading away into the Nixon presidency.
The common element underlying the lives of all is popular culture: the suburban developments, shopping malls, cars, TV shows, movies, clothing, and music that defined the era. Characters frequently break into song, commenting, often ironically, on the situation at hand.
Set in the spring of 1970, the novel is an oblique spoof of the tough-guy L.A. detective genre. Larry "Doc" Sportello, the protagonist, is a kinder, gentler stoner Sam Spade. He's usually blitzed on pot or hash, a condition that frequently lands him in tight spots. But like Spade, he is no fool and somehow manages to wriggle his way out.
Maybe it's just me and my experience of the 'Sixies, but I found this an hilarious, yet darkly evocative portrait of the time when the people now running this country were coming of age. I can easily recall a dozen Larrys of my acquaintance who were born 1935-1950.
But Sportello is more than Everyhippie. His eyes might look like targets, but his head's on straight. Like Chandler's detective, he has an integrity notably missing in the police, drug lords, developers, rock musicians and attorneys that populate this book.
On Facebook, I belong to a group dedicated to awarding Pynchon the Nobel Prize. . . although he never will get it, nor would he go to pick it up if he had. "Inherent Vice" is not a maze of postmodernist ironic allusions like Pynchon's early works, but it still displays his unerring mastery of the American-English language. In my opinion "Gravity's Rainbow" is the Great American Novel. "Inherent Vice" ain't half-bad, either.
I readily admit to being a Pynchon cultist. On my car is a bumper sticker that reads: "My other car is a Pynchon novel." I couldn't wait for the 104 people in front of me in the queue for the library copies, so I bought the book. I was not disappointed. In fact, I was rather surprised that this Pynchon novel turned out to be quite accessible (unlike "Gravity's Rainbow" or "V").
The title refers to a legal term meaning the quality of certain property or goods that makes them difficult to insure. This theme of
fragility or evanescence permeates the L.A. landscape. Characters die or come close to death, get disoriented or abducted, lose their way, are resurrected, shift shapes and identities. This is a world on the verge of extinction, fading away into the Nixon presidency.
The common element underlying the lives of all is popular culture: the suburban developments, shopping malls, cars, TV shows, movies, clothing, and music that defined the era. Characters frequently break into song, commenting, often ironically, on the situation at hand.
Set in the spring of 1970, the novel is an oblique spoof of the tough-guy L.A. detective genre. Larry "Doc" Sportello, the protagonist, is a kinder, gentler stoner Sam Spade. He's usually blitzed on pot or hash, a condition that frequently lands him in tight spots. But like Spade, he is no fool and somehow manages to wriggle his way out.
Maybe it's just me and my experience of the 'Sixies, but I found this an hilarious, yet darkly evocative portrait of the time when the people now running this country were coming of age. I can easily recall a dozen Larrys of my acquaintance who were born 1935-1950.
But Sportello is more than Everyhippie. His eyes might look like targets, but his head's on straight. Like Chandler's detective, he has an integrity notably missing in the police, drug lords, developers, rock musicians and attorneys that populate this book.
On Facebook, I belong to a group dedicated to awarding Pynchon the Nobel Prize. . . although he never will get it, nor would he go to pick it up if he had. "Inherent Vice" is not a maze of postmodernist ironic allusions like Pynchon's early works, but it still displays his unerring mastery of the American-English language. In my opinion "Gravity's Rainbow" is the Great American Novel. "Inherent Vice" ain't half-bad, either.