Vineland

Vineland by Thomas Pynchon (1990) Another odd Pynchon journey, for me, which is much more fun to write about than trying to synopsize or critically assess this book (which I don’t do anyway). Over the years, I’d try to read it, abandon it, come back to it, etc., countless times. I always loved the beginning, about Zoyd, who I relate to, but then the story goes to his ex and other characters—and I’d get bogged down. Finally, recently reading it through (at work—an okay read-at-work book!), I had the observation that there is something in the writing style (of this book, not Pynchon in general) that kept disconnecting me—though I’m not critically savvy enough to identify it. Likely, I’d’ve fared well with a well-narrated audio book and just let certain things slide by. Anyway, I did get to the end, and it was satisfying. I had read the rumor that Paul Thomas Anderson’s new movie is roughly based on it (or inspired by it?) so that’s a good incentive. And indeed, there are flashbacks to the time and place of Inherent Vice (2009), and it feels like it could be a semi-sequel to that book, though this was published way before, of course. The story here is set in 1984—so Reagan permeates it throughout (given time, shit can sell like nostalgia, so watch out). And it even feels a little like right now—or even tamped-down right now—at its most paranoid crazy, it doesn’t ratchet-up to our fucked-up times, at present—which is not a criticism, except of our times. On a happier note, I always loved the hardback dustjacket, for some reason—even though it’s just a b&w photo of a hill, on fire, I guess—but, I mean, the whole presentation, too. Maybe it’s just the nostalgia of books—that promise of a world—anyway, reading it hasn’t diminished either the joy of starting it over and over, or staring at the cover—though, sadly, I seem to have lost my dustjacket. It’ll turn up.

9.18.25