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A review by bookishwendy
Mason & Dixon by Thomas Pynchon
3.0
I occasionally finish long books in a rush of affection not unlike Stockholm-syndrome, or perhaps beset by that ecstatic glow of endorphins that hits a few minutes after stumbling across a marathon finish line.
"That was some book!" I exclaim (I'm laid out on my back on the floor at this point, because the effort of reading an 800 page book, or even holding it upright, has become too much). Fresh in my memory are all the really good parts: the characterization, the warm buddy-chemistry between the two leads, the hilarious nautical bits near the start, that giant wheel of cheese, the giant wilderness-vegetables (is this a theme?), the astronomy quirks (Maskelyne's footie-astronomer suit? feather beds for the instruments?), that epic bit with Dixon and the whip, the tear-jerking ending to our heroes' life stories.
By now I've conveniently forgotten the other 600 pages packed full of...well, something. There was definitely *something* but...but...well I couldn't tell you what exactly, it was such hypoxic wordage, and the reading had put me into such a detached state, that I could spend chapters feeling unsure of what was going on. I'd check some online notes (thanks, Dinn's notes!) and realize I *DID* actually *get* more or less what those other readers *got*, but only in the microscopic sense. I could see the individual pine-needles (and appreciate them for what they were) but as for the forest...well there's certainly a picture of sorts that has been reflected back into my subconscious from reading the book. I'll let you know when I figure out what, exactly, that picture IS.
(I'm still lying on my floor. I lied, I read the e-book version and it's STILL too heavy for me to hold up anymore, and I have a permanent crease across the top of my index finger from propping it up. I think I'll be sore tomorrow. Time for some marathon-reading recovery and a protein drink.)
"That was some book!" I exclaim (I'm laid out on my back on the floor at this point, because the effort of reading an 800 page book, or even holding it upright, has become too much). Fresh in my memory are all the really good parts: the characterization, the warm buddy-chemistry between the two leads, the hilarious nautical bits near the start, that giant wheel of cheese, the giant wilderness-vegetables (is this a theme?), the astronomy quirks (Maskelyne's footie-astronomer suit? feather beds for the instruments?), that epic bit with Dixon and the whip, the tear-jerking ending to our heroes' life stories.
By now I've conveniently forgotten the other 600 pages packed full of...well, something. There was definitely *something* but...but...well I couldn't tell you what exactly, it was such hypoxic wordage, and the reading had put me into such a detached state, that I could spend chapters feeling unsure of what was going on. I'd check some online notes (thanks, Dinn's notes!) and realize I *DID* actually *get* more or less what those other readers *got*, but only in the microscopic sense. I could see the individual pine-needles (and appreciate them for what they were) but as for the forest...well there's certainly a picture of sorts that has been reflected back into my subconscious from reading the book. I'll let you know when I figure out what, exactly, that picture IS.
(I'm still lying on my floor. I lied, I read the e-book version and it's STILL too heavy for me to hold up anymore, and I have a permanent crease across the top of my index finger from propping it up. I think I'll be sore tomorrow. Time for some marathon-reading recovery and a protein drink.)