Vineland is my second Pynchon novel, and it left me with mixed feelings. I loved the first 100 pages or so of this book, but I started losing interest as Pynchon started cycling through layer after layer of characters and story-in-story construction in an 62 page monster chapter. After that I never really completely reengaged in the story, but I still found a variety of things to like about it.

Reading Pynchon is often hard work, but hard work with a payoff that justifies the effort. I suspect that his books are ones that can be re-read several times, with new things clicking into place each time. He seems to be one of those authors who inspire strong reaction pro and con; I have to put myself squarely in the pro column. This is dense, funny, ambitious storytelling of the highest order leavened with generous portions of smart absurdity; even when it falls short it’s still a fun ride.

Vineland gives us lots of colorful characters, but seldom focuses on any one of them for long. My favorite was Zoyd, the aging drug-addled hippie who periodically has to convince Authority that he’s still crazy to continue to qualify for government handouts. To the extent that there is a single protagonist for the book, I suppose it’s got to be Frenesi, a tragic character whose motivations I never really understood (beyond the fact that authority figures turned her on in a big way). She is a character whom we primarily see through others’ eyes, especially in the first half of the book.

Vineland clearly is trying to say something about what’s happened to the US since Vietnam. Somehow it feels much scarier after eight years of the G.W. Bush administration than it would have felt previously (which is not to deny that Bush’s immediate predecessor seems to have thought primarily with the same part of his anatomy that drives this book’s villain’s actions).

I’ll definitely plan to read more by Pynchon. I suppose I should put Gravity’s Rainbow on the wishlist. ( )

'Kay, this was really boring, and annoying, and Thomas Pynchon, you are a very strange man. Bad book. Or at least a very dislikable one, in my mind. ( )

The first chapter or two will not prepare you for the rest of this book. Maybe it was because I had just finished books by Jasper Fforde and Christopher Moore (fine writers with a sense of humor and a touch of the absurd) that made me think that this would be a similar “romp”. I mean, what can you expect when the book begins by talking about an ex-hippie who is afraid he will miss his appointment with the media so that the annual event of throwing himself through a store front window will hit the evening news? But, without losing that absurdity, without losing the feeling that you are enjoying every aspect and every story within this tale, the book moves from lightness to a density that sneaks up on you. This is not a quick summer read. This is a tale of stories within stories within stories where you have to pay attention, or you’ll lose just who’s talking about whom. (I didn’t keep accurate count, but I would bet that, at one point, the book reached a fourth level of story within story, and still dug its way back out with satisfaction.) There is a touch of paranoia here, and that is to be expected when radicalism meets Nixonism and Reaganism. There is also a touch of absurd – for example, female ninja-types killing with long deaths. There are complex characters – ones you root for, but are not convinced you like. And the layers of story complexity mesh nicely with the complexity of characters and with the complex layers of society affecting those characters. Pay attention – there is a lot going on here. But it is well worth the effort. ( )

http://nhw.livejournal.com/950551.htm...

Sorry, this just doesn't do it for me. Writing style too convoluted, characters wacky in a rather uninteresting way, plot non-existent. One or two flashes of good description among the plodding. ( )

A friend of mine gave up on Vineland about halfway through, and the only thing she could remember about the book was wondering to herself, "Where did the ninjas come from?" What she didn't realize is that Pynchon is one of the great living masters of where-did-the-ninjas-come-from fiction. If that's your thing you'll appreciate the particular brand of disorientation he puts forth here. Vineland is not the best of the lot, but still pretty damn good. ( )