Inherent Vice: A Novel

I am perhaps the odd person here in that I'd never gotten around to reading Pynchon until Inherent Vice. So, I can't say much about how it relates to the rest of his canon. That's a canon, though, that I soon hope to explore after reading this novel. Having finished it and digested it for about a week, I've come to the conclusion that Inherent Vice is just a startling book, one of the best novels I've read in years.There's so much to say about it, but I'll just highlight two key reasons for why I loved it. First, it is a fun read. A lot of reviewers have described Inherent Vice as a beach read because of its ubiquitous humor, the vibrant rhythm of the dialogue and storytelling, the nostalgic feel of 1960s California, a likeable and mysterious central character (Doc), and a loose but amusing plot centered around a hippy detective's quest to solve a case (that's not even the case he starts out investigating). It does possess all of those aspects. That said, I wouldn't call it a beach read. I'd think you might call it a beach read if you've only been reading Pynchon's previous novels and the like. But the novel's too philosophical, it frustrates the conventions of the detective genre too much, and its plot is hardly coherent and easily grasped--it's just not a beach read. But all of those entertaining qualities are still present. What it is is a fun *and* literary read. I just think people are a little shocked at those two qualities being combined for once.Second, the more I think about the novel, the more I think that it has a sad and beautiful thematic center. One aspect of the plot concerns the character Coy Harlingen and his family. Coy and his wife Hope had been heroine addicts unable to keep from destroying their own lives and the life of their daughter Amethyst. I won't give away any details, but Coy has been estranged from the family (in a way that helped Hope to get clean and set up a more solid livelihood for Amethyst), leaving them saddened with only some pictures to remember him by. At some point, Doc thinks of Amethyst and thinks that she "deserves something more than faded polaroids to go to when she gets the little-kid blues." Doc sets out to find Coy.I think that image sums up a lot of what's going on in the novel. There's a hard hitting critique of our late capitalist American culture that we have traded the image for the thing. Somehow, we've lost our ability to connect to the world (it's a shifting, decaying natural world in the novel), to others, and to our most natural desires. We've lost sense of the real. And so we face a future in which authentic livelihoods can barely be remembered and can hardly be accessed... The novel attempts to articulate something of that loss and to look for a way out of the fog...It's a fun read. But don't think it's just a fun read.

Big Foot Bjornsen, Sancho Smilax, Glen Charlock, Shasta Fey Hepworth, Tarig Khalil, Aunt Reet, Scott Ouf, Coy Harlingen, Fritz Drybeam, Agents Flatweed and Borderline, Burke Stodger, St. Flip of Lawndale, Flaco the Bad, Zigzag Twong, Farley Branch, Elmina Breeze, Boris Spivey, Puck Beaverton, Jason VelVeeta, Shiny MacMcNutley, Dr. Treeply, Japonica Fenway, Mr. J. Krishnamurti, Arther Tweedle, Leonard Loosemeat, Adrian Prussia, Knucklehead Jack, Petunia, Trillium Fortnight and Chlorinda. These misanthropes, and a dozen more weaved throughout this tale are enough to make Charles Dickens, Kurt Vonnegut, Tom Robbins, W.C Fields and the Firesign Theatre green with envy.Also checkout the locations, Club Asiatique, Chryskylodon, Arrepentimiento, The Plastic Nickel, The Portola, The Price of Wisdom, Waste-a- Perp Target Range and Dr. Tubeside's Energy Shop. The author mixes the mundane with the mysterious as he transports the reader through an abstracted doper/ surfer world of Southern California in the late 60's. What an ideal combination of Pynchon's creativity applied to the pulp fiction genre.The author channels little dabs of Dashill Hammett and Mickey Spillaine in his own unique literary blend. This story, as all of this authors work, is very rewarding on several levels. Perhaps, a little less challenging then some of his previous novels, but very satisfying none the less. Highly recommended to fans as well as newcomers to Thomas Pynchon's fiction.Finally, it would be remiss not to recognize and share an appreciation for the extremely creative jacket design and image courtesy of Tal Goretsky and Darshan Zenith.

Inherent ViceBob Gelms “The sign on his door read LSD Investigations, LSD, as he explained when people asked, which was not often, standing for Location, Surveillance, Detection. Beneath this was a rendering of a giant bloodshot eyeball in the psychedelic favorites green and magenta, the detailing of whose literally thousands of frenzied capillaries had been subcontracted out to a commune of speed freaks who had long since migrated up to Sonoma. Potential clients had been known to spend hours gazing at the ocular maze work, often forgetting what they’d come here for.” That’s how it starts. It’s 1969 and everybody has become intimately acquainted with Maui Wowie, Panama Red, Michoacán, Acapulco Gold, Boo, Black Bart, Ganja, Thai Stick, Reefer, Colombian, Weed, Sinsemilia, Jamaican, Mary Jane or just plain old Pot. It’s a book, and the third in a series of unrelated novels about California, by America’s resident professor of American Studies, Thomas Pynchon. The book is called Inherent Vice and our intrepid Private Eye, Larry “Doc” Sportello, is personally familiar with all of them. He smokes so much weed it’s a wonder he doesn’t stumble through the whole book. Well, on second thought, he does stumble through the whole book but not before getting himself involved in a most outrageous and dangerous adventure. The eventual dead bodies attest to the danger. Doc is a Private Investigator and his ex old-lady wants him to find out what’s up with her current boy friend, the boyfriend’s wife and the wife’s boyfriend. After all it is California and that’s the entrance into a whole rainbow of colors, man, er, um, I mean, interconnected plot lines. Yeah, that’s it, interconnected plot lines. I haven’t had this much fun reading a novel since I read Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle. I bumped into this reading Rolling Stone Magazine, “Radiohead guitarist Jonny Greenwood is becoming an essential component to any Paul Thomas Anderson film. After scoring the director's last two movies — There Will Be Blood and The Master — Greenwood has signed on to compose music for Anderson's upcoming film Inherent Vice, according to Film Music Reporter. The film is based on Thomas Pynchon's 2009 crime novel of the same name. Set in Los Angeles in the 1960s, the movie centers around a detective looking for a kidnapped girl. Joaquin Phoenix, star of Anderson's The Master, will reunite with the filmmaker in the main role of Larry "Doc" Sportello. Inherent Vice also stars Josh Brolin, Owen Wilson, Reese Witherspoon, Benecio del Toro and Maya Rudolph.” This would be the first real movie made from a Pynchon book. There was an attempt at filming Gravity’s Rainbow and an aborted attempt at filming The Crying of Lot 49. Apparently, the screenplay for Inherent Vice has Mr. Pynchon’s blessing. Trying to describe a Thomas Pynchon plot is like trying to pick up a ball of mercury. It squishes out and runs all over the place. Inherent Vice, as simple as I can make it, is about Doc Sportello investigating a missing person; possibly a kidnapping; possibly a murder. Just when you think you have that down it turns out someone else was kidnapped and someone murders the wrong person. The plot really doesn’t matter. What matters is the collision of all these characters in a plume of drug besotted humor. It’s a very funny book; particularly if you were part of the 60’s and can’t remember a whole lot of it because, well, because, you know. “‘What goes around may come around, but it never ends up exactly the same place, you ever notice? Like a record on a turntable, all it takes is one groove's difference and the universe can be on into a whole 'nother song.’” Now about the title, most, if not all, Mr. Pynchon’s titles are enigmatic. Until you run across them in the book because he usually explains them, sort of. The term inherent vice is found in a number of his other works but only once in Inherent Vice. “It was like finding the gateway to the past unguarded, unforbidden because it didn’t have to be. Built into the act of return finally was this glittering mosaic of doubt. Something like what Sauncho’s colleagues in marine insurance liked to call inherent vice.” It calls to mind one of Mr. Pynchon’s enduring motifs, that of entropy. Basically everything devolves into chaos, everything falls apart because of the nature of what IS falling apart. Here is an example, the inherent vice of paper is the acid in the paper which will eventually destroy it. Read the book you will see what I mean. Thomas Pynchon is a supremely gifted writer with a reputation for being a difficult read. His two latest books should not be counted among the difficult ones like Gravity’s Rainbow, Against the Day, or Mason & Dixon. Inherent Vice and Bleeding Edge are very approachable and the humor is right on the surface. They both come highly recommended, especially Inherent Vice.

While 'Inherent Vice' takes us on a wild, psychedelic journey, it doesn't quite hit the high notes that e.g. 'The Crying of Lot 49' does. Pynchon's signature complexity is there, but the narrative feels more tangled than intricate. It's like a jigsaw puzzle with a few pieces missing - intriguing, but ultimately unsatisfying.

First novel I've read of Thomas Pynchon. Loved everything about it. Style took some warming up to, but I think it ultimately draws the reader in as opposed to alienating them.

Una novela policíaca pero al estilo de Pynchon lleno de personajes y de distintas conspiraciones y tramas que siempre estarán ocultas, pero que es una buena forma de adentrarse al mundo de Pynchon

Ottimo prodotto. Grazie

Magnifique en anglais, une langue qui vibre ,on respire Los Angeles ,de la décoration 50s au PacifiqueLa luminosité des boulevards , les policiers transpirants