>so, like, this woman has to execute a will and then starts seeing horns everywhere lol fuck the government
Pinecone was right. Crying of Lot 49 is utter dogshit.
Why can't people just accept that Pynchon made a mistake? Inherent Vice, Vineland, and Bleeding Edge are all better than this worthless shit.
that "mistake" is far better than anything you'll ever write
Nope.
kys, the only mistake was you making this thread
it's a metaphor for artistic paranoia.
it can be a mistake but still worth reading. I agree that all the works listed are better but TCOL49 is still a good book
The number 49 kinda looks like a person holding a horn.
Why is this book so underrated on Veeky Forums?
Harold Bloom loves it and ranks it with Mason and Dixon as two of Pynchon's best works. I personally like that judgment. Even the worst critic can't help but admit that the prose is amazing.
>It astonished her to think that so much could be lost, even the quantity of hallucination belonging just to the sailor that the world would bear no further trace of. She knew, because she had held him, that he suffered DT’s. Behind the initials was a metaphor, a delirium tremens, a trembling unfurrowing of the mind’s plowshare. The saint whose water can light lamps, the clairvoyant whose lapse in recall is the breath of God, the true paranoid for whom all is organized in spheres joyful or threatening about the central pulse of himself, the dreamer whose puns probe ancient fetid shafts and tunnels of truth all act in the same special relevance to the word, or whatever it is the word is there, buffering , to protect us from. The act of metaphor then was a thrust at truth and a lie, depending where you were: inside, safe, or outside, lost. Oedipa did not know where she was. Trembling, unfurrowed, she slipped sidewise, screeching back across grooves of years , to hear again the earnest, high voice of her second or third collegiate love Ray Glozing bitching among “uhs” and the syncopated tonguing of a cavity, about his freshman calculus; “dt,” God help this old tattooedman, meant also a time differential, a vanishingly small instant in which change had to be confronted at last for what it was, where it could no longer disguise itself as something innocuous like an average rate; where velocity dwelled in the projectile though the projectile be frozen in midflight, where death dwelled in the cell though the cell be looked in on at its most quick. She knew that the sailor had seen worlds no other man had seen if only because there was that high magic to low puns, because DT’s must give access to dt’s of spectra beyond the known sun, music made purely of Antarctic loneliness and fright. But nothing she knew of would preserve them, or him.
d e n s e
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>this woman has to execute a will
Dude... "execute" a "will" ...
If you don't understand the basic subtext that makes this novel work then you'll be hopeless going into his other works.
I can tell you probably started with Pynchon-lite, which is why you particularly mention them in your post (you haven't read Vineland) and now that you read the great Pynchon novels you didn't actually get it, so in a move of self-justification you claim the work is actually shit and not you reading comprehension capabilities. Don't even try to read GR.
...
That's a pretty extreme stretch, my man. Don't pull a muscle.
I mentioned those all because nobody denies that V, Gravity's Rainbow, Mason & Dixon, and Against the Day are better than TCoL49. I listed those because many wrongly think they are worse.
You would have understood this if you didn't have autism.
I've read V. and Mason & Dixon ... Is it all downhill from here?
Against the Day is his best so you have that to look forward to.
Fiction is utter dogshit.
This meme makes me want to only read fiction.
Gravitys Rainbow? Or do you just not like it?
>fiction is utter dogshit
>posting on lit
Really activates my almonds desu