I’ve been reading the comments right after I finish each section and that is such a rich dang experience. Thanks for the hellos, for the nuanced takes, for the fact checking and the flights of fancy. And thanks to Pynchon for sunken bones, floating heads, a courier’s tragedy (controversial to our crew), and a quick call-back to Metzger’s hairpiece.
Lots to think about. But the standout for me right now is the sense so many have that this reading experience is designed to trigger some firsthand discomfort and paranoia. How it is, somewhere near its core, a song sung by and to a band of paranoids
When we Meandered White Noise, many of us felt the plot was mirroring what we were living through day to day (2020). And it looks like late 2025 is a good time to tackle TCoL49.
“Is that real?” “Where have I heard that name?” “How does this fit together?” “What’s up with this grand communication conspiracy?” It’s all a little on the nose. But in a good way.
And if Pynchon seems to be sometimes having a little too much fun, I’m enjoying picturing him pause after a particular bit to giggle. The room is full of smoke, or maybe a couple kinds of smoke. It’s a thing.
This coming week: Speaking of pausing, this week we are going to catch our breath in the middle of a chapter. I know I know! Page 89 (HP), mid-Chapter 5. Please add your comment below when someone asks, “How’d you get a name like Arnold Snarb?” Thanks for your indulgence!
Not relevant to this particular section, but last night we went to see “One Battle After Another,” which apparently at one point was supposed to be an adaptation of TP’s “Vineland.” As far as I can tell no trace of that book remains – except maybe a vague connection to Humboldt County – but it has a very Pynchonesque sensibility. There’s characters named “Perfidia Beverly Hills” and “Steven Lockjaw” and a shady organization called the “Christmas Adventurer’s Club.” It’s a big time investment but gets my thumbs up, FWIW.
This passage could well describe the modern workplace — the notion of signing away one’s rights to the company and, in the process, stamping out individuality and pride of ownership.
… “they found they had to sign over all their rights to a monster like Yoyodyne; got stuck on some ‘project’ or ‘task force’ or ‘team’ and started being ground into anonymity. Nobody wanted them to invent—only perform their little role in a design ritual, already set down for them in some procedures handbook.“