The mystery of Thomas Pynchon is not Pynchon himself, but why, in this age of the 21st century, is there no contemporary photograph of him? Privacy is pretty much gone, or even the definition of privacy has changed, yet, for some odd reason, Thomas Pynchon is not photographed or even documented. And then there is his writing, mostly a paranoid historian's view of the world, but also one who has done amazing research on California and elsewhere. Pynchon also reminds me of Boris Vian, both in his Vian novels and under his other name, Vernon Sullivan. Both artists are absurd, with touches of paranoia, but also witty. And they play with identity as if it’s an imaginative approach to life and, of course, in writing.
The Crying of Lot 41 is his novel from 1967, and it is very much a work from that era. The presence of The Beatles as being overlooked in pop culture is very much in place, but the fragmentation of culture is taking place. The plot or storyline is not as important as the mood of the work, and it does remind me of Terry Southern in parts here and there, a hipness in the work that conveys the 1960s. It’s interesting to compare The Crying of Lot 41 with Vian’s L’ecume des jours (Foam of the Daze) or Autumn in Peking, both works written in France during the late 1940s. At the time of his writing this book, I don't think Pynchon was aware of Vian, but there must have been something in the air, or perhaps artists can pick up the dread of the 20th century as if they were in a sweet shop smelling chocolate.
Tied with J.G. Ballard as my favorite writer of fiction.
Thanks Tosh. I never could get into his books. I guess they have little relevance for me. Even as I say that, I recognize my lack of curiosity. Ah well, I can’t read everything. Choices make the person I suppose.