Pynchon

Some might already know, many might not care, but recently Thomas Pynchon released his latest novel, "Against the Day." (I'm slightly embarrassed to admit that I already have it. Judging from the readability of its first five pages, I should be able to deliver an opinion on the entire book in half a decade or so. There's also the looming possibility that it could suck.) To celebrate the arrival of this 1,000+ page monstrosity, I offer a passage from "Gravity's Rainbow" as a reminder of how good the man can be when he's smoked the proper amount of weed before putting pen to paper.


Well, if the Courterforce knew better what those categories concealed, they might be in a better position to disarm, de-penis and dismantle the Man. But they don't. Actually they do, but they don't admit it. Sad but true. They are as schizoid, as double-minded in the massive presence of money, as any of the rest of us, and that's the hard fact. The Man has a branch office in each of our brains, his corporate emblem is a white albatross, each local rep has a cover known as the Ego, and their mission in this world is Bad Shit. We do know what's going on, and we let it go on. As long as we can see them, stare at them, those massively moneyed, once in a while. As long as they allow us a glimpse, however rarely. We need that. And how they know it--how often, under what conditions....