Happy 83rd birthday to Thomas Pynchon, whose novels have meant a great deal to me for over twenty years. There are a handful of writers whose stuff makes me want to stop reading right then and there and go write, and Pynchon may be foremost among them (Philip K. Dick, William Gibson, and William S. Burroughs also come to mind). Fortunately—mainly for any would-be readers, not so much for me with my now long-dormant delusions of literary grandeur—I figured out early on that I lack the talent, the eye, the humor, and the depth of thought required to successfully emulate, or at least take useful cues, from Pynchon, so it's been a long while since I tried my hand at writing that sort of detailed, intensely aware shit. Still, the idea is always there, and I'm not likely to give up on it entirely, seeing as how I have a permanent reminder of Pynchon's influence in the form of a W.A.S.T.E. tattoo.
I can't remember if I first read about Thomas Pynchon in Steamshovel Press, which published a good review of Mason & Dixon in 1998 or '99, or in this interview with William Gibson, which I read in 1998 or so and the actual existence of which I was unsure of until recently (hence my being stoked at finding that link, and seeing that the "reading Gravity's Rainbow in jail" memory I've had all these years wasn't just some neat misremembering or implanted memory). Whatever the case, it feels like fate, or at least in line with the idea that you find something when you're meant to. What I do know is that I started Gravity's Rainbow in the spring of '99 and was utterly overwhelmed, so returning it (in that blown-out orangey hardcover edition from, I think, the '70s) to the SHSU library for the summer break wasn't so bad. Over the next year and change, before I graduated, I finished it and read V., The Crying of Lot 49 (which I still re-read on a regular basis; it's a great way to spend a day otherwise blown off), Slow Learner, Vineland, and Mason & Dixon. Then came the latter-day books—Against the Day, Inherent Vice, and Bleeding Edge, plus the cinematic version of Inherent Vice, which I saw as soon as I could, and while properly high. I got all the books the day they came out, much like I've done with Gibson's novels since All Tomorrow's Parties.
My take on almost everything has been shaped by Pynchon's work. His ongoing themes of entropy and paranoia have influenced my thinking, but don't define it; as Sortilege mentions in Inherent Vice (the book, not the film), shikantaza, the Zen practice of just sitting, plays the part of a corrective to all the bummer vibes of life in this sad-ass crumbling empire we call America. The relationship between the titular characters of Mason & Dixon remains my favorite depiction of friendship, and continues to buttress my belief that choosing to care about certain people because we want to, because we have a mutually-chosen bond, is more meaningful than caring about someone because they're simply related by blood. I don't fully share Zoyd Wheeler's status as a burnout holdover from days of revolution and hope, but I think I have an idea of what it feels like. My take on what little time I've spent in California (including San Narciso's probable inspiration/doppelgänger) has been influenced by the adventures of Oedipa Maas, Doc Sportello, and the rest. Etc. etc.
Anyway, Thomas Pynchon rules, and I wanted to say a little something as to why I think so. I hope he's enjoying his birthday with beer, tacos, and a joint of Acapulco Gold. I won't even do that thing where I hope for another novel, because writers don't owe us anything, and even if they did, he paid that debt decades ago.
DAS
5.8.20
“Fate does not speak. She carries a Mauser and from time to time indicates our proper path.” — Thomas Pynchon, Against the Day
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