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For the past five days, I have been reading Thomas Pynchon’s first novel, V., published in 1963. I’m on page 407, almost finished with the book, and I have to say it has been and still is an enjoyable read. It is a page-turner, which is a surprise to me. So far, the only chapter that made me read very slowly is Chapter Eleven, The Confessions of Fausto Maijstral. The tone of the prose, which is by the character Fausto, is a written letter found by one of the significant characters, Herbert Stencil, who is obsessively trying to find the identity of a woman (at least, I think it’s a woman), V., who had some relationship with his late father. I’m not going to go into the plot because I think part of the fun is for the reader to venture into the twists of this mental canyon of narrative twists and turns and so forth.
My first reaction, especially in V., is that there is a strong influence of Boris Vian’s novels Foam of the Daze and Autumn in Peking, two books that I published through my TamTamBooks. Pynchon shares a love of pop culture that is a very textural part of the narrative in his books with Vian. As far as I know, if Pynchon did read Vian, he must have done so in French because I don’t think his works were published in English until the late 1960s. Or it can be a coincidence, but since both Vian and Pynchon share a sense of conspiracy and paranoia, I will feel free to throw this in the mix here. I had a hard time trying to find a connection between Vian and Pynchon in Gravity’s Rainbow, but in chapter one of V., there is a song quoted in French, and I discovered that was the lyrics to Vian’s "Le Déserteur" ("The Deserter"). So that is a massive moment that, at last, I found evidence of Pynchon being aware of Boris Vian.
One of the novel's landscapes is from the 1950s lower Manhattan life among artists (The Whole Sick Crew) of that time. All fictionalized, of course, but there are traces of some known figures such as Mafia Winsome (Ayn Rand?), McClintic Sphere (either or both Thelonious Monk/Ornette Coleman), and this is a long stretch of mine. Still, I think of the painter Slab (painter of cheesecakes) as perhaps inspired by or is Wayne Thiebaud. I suspect all the characters in this novel are based on real people, but it will probably take a lifetime to find that out.
The fun part of Pynchon (and Vian) is the journey through their culture or how they portray something real and vital from their world. The length of this book is a meditative read. I don’t think anyone reads Pynchon for his plots, but for the textures he brings to the page. V. comes from the Jazz 1950s, and he expands the narrative into sections like a musician exploring a theme in a song. It’s a beautiful trip, and getting to the end is not the most crucial aspect of this journey. I’ll be finished sometime today, but then I think the destination will keep going in my head.
Great connection you make between Pynchon and Vian. Glad you're enjoy his first salvo.