Well then.

Mister Pynchon.

How beautifully you write about an America that might not be real but is absolutely, only possibly America. Only possibly an America in the 1960s and 1970s, with its flowing rivers of possibilities and confusion, and endless boundless imagined realities. How precisely you connect with the paranoia of an age but make it literary, dancing with metaphor and the ever-present threat of meaninglessness, making that paranoia potentially timeless despite its clear connection to place and translucent connection to time.

On first reading, though, I have to be honest. I'm not sure I haven't read these themes before, even if they were then handled much less originally and with less shimmer.

On first reading, I must wonder about your pacing and your layering, and about the precision of your metaphors. I must wonder about all the rabbit holes that you sent my desperate-to-unravel brain down. I must wonder if this was perhaps part of your intent, to make me paranoid that your book about paranoia was actually going to be about nothing. Which is isn't, just barely. But perhaps that is my desperate-to-unravel brain desperately unraveling something from nothing.

We do, after all, need metaphors to help us light our way.

Mister Pynchon.

I'm going to read this again some day. In fact, I almost started it all over again after having finished it but knew I needed a break. I suspect, though, that I'll be reading this again in the near future, and I hope that then I will be reading a slightly different book. One whose cadence and rhythms I can sensibly understand, and whose ideas, so primly discovered in the final five pages, are sprinkled delicately throughout. What a delight that will be.

Also, thank you for the laughs, Mister Pynchon.

Zaista je bilo tesko citati ovu knjigu. Preporuciti je nekome bio bi mac sa dve ostrice ali kao i svaki put ja biram onu ostriju. Iz tog razloga ovu knjigu preporucujem svakome ko voli dela koja imaju slojeve ispod slojeva. Tema oko koje Pincon gradi ovo delo je totalno luda, nacin na koji je realizuje je jos ludji! Podseca malo na Hantera S. Tompsona, samo malo ali dovoljno da ga se setim. Pincon je neverovatno inteligentan i kompleksan pisac.

So, here we have The Da Vinci Code as written by someone with self-awareness. And if that made you want to read this, you shouldn't. I liked this! I thought it was fun, and funny. I have only the barest sense of what it's about.

I get the conspiracy, I think. We have an underground, rebel mail system. As best I can figure, we're talking about protest here: the way the counterculture communicates and has always communicated, quietly, throughout history. I kept thinking about Howard Zinn as I was reading about this: he was writing the same book, except Zinn (years later) was actually writing it.

I was mystified about the names, though. They must mean something! One doesn't name one's protagonist after Oedipus for nothing. When you reference Oedipus, you mean someone who fucked his mom and killed his dad. Here the gender roles are reversed, so...okay, if we take Inverarity as her father figure, she did fuck him. I see no mother figure here, though - unless it's herself; at various times she plays mother, student, granddaughter. She inhabits different roles as they suit her investigation. But she certainly doesn't kill herself. So...I've confused myself.

And while we're at it, why name the stamp collector Genghis Cohen, a Jewish Genghis Khan? There's clearly a subtheme about Jews here (see: her shrink), but I can't put all that together either.

Cryng is obsessed with connections. As Amy Hungerford showed me, Oedipa is able to connect with different people in different ways. I noticed the recurrence of the word "circuit," as in mental circuits, or the way a city at night resembles a circuit board. Beautiful image, Pynchon.

And there are some wonderful images here. "Windows gagged each with its air conditioner" is one I underlined. What a terrific thing to say.

It's about faith, too: "Are you there, little fellow, Oedipa asked the Demon, or is Nefastis putting me on. Unless a piston moved, she'd never know." If you haven't read the book you don't know what the scene is, but you might get the idea. Such is faith: unless a piston moves, you never know.

It loses steam after the hallucinatory all-nighter she pulls around 2/3 through, for me. She seems to grow afraid of the mystery, and I grow bored because where are my answers? It's fine for Pynchon to leave the mystery bidder unidentified - this is a book about mystery and it's cool to end on one - but the bit leading up to that final unreveal is unsatisfying from a reading point of view; it feels like Pynchon lost interest, to me. He sets up these wonderful threads, and I don't expect him to pull them together, but I expect to feel that there's a pull, and I didn't.

It's a cool book, though. Fun to read; complicated enough to write a thesis about; there's even a truly weird sex scene. I dig it, man.

رواية مجنونة وغامضة لكاتب مختلف وأكثر غموضاً
الترجمة الأولى إلى العربية لتوماس بينشون والقراءة الأولى له والتي تستفز القارئ ليقرأ له مجدداً
لا بد من شكر دار التنوير والمترجم المتميز إيهاب عبدالحميد على تقديم الجديد الأدبي للقراء العرب

შარშან, დეკემბრის 22-ში, ჩელენჯის დახურვამდე რამდენიმე წიგნიღა მაკლდა, როდესაც რატომღაც ამ წიგნს მოვკიდე ხელი და როდის დავასრულე თქვენ თავადაც ხედავთ.
ერთ-ერთი ყველაზე ცუდი წიგნია რაც წამიკითხავს. სულ სხვა მოლოდინებით შევხვდი მიუხედავად იმისა, რომ მრავალი უარყოფითი პოზიცია მქონდა მოსმენილი. როგორც გავიგე საკუთრივ პინჩონის უარესს წიგნს ვეღარასდროს ვთარგმნითო, მაგრამ ამ ავტორს მეორე შანსს ალბათ არ მივცემ (არ ვიცი).
წიგნის სიუჟეტში არცერთი მომენტი არაა, რომელიც მომეწონა, ჩამითრია ან რაიმე მსგავსი.
ტიპმა რაღაც ანდერძი მიიღო და მერე რაღაც სიმბოლო ნახა ტუალეტში და ჰოპ-ჰოპ დეტექტივი, ღალატი, ცხოვრების აზრი, ტყუილი, თეორია, სუციდი, ის, ეს :დ რავიცი, ძალიან, ძალიან ცუდი წიგნია, ან მე გამოვდექი ძალიან შეუსაბამო მკითხველი (თუმცა ეჭვი მეპარება ამ უკანასკნელში!!!)

Pues una recomendación de un genio... "La subasta del lote 49" de Thomas Pynchon, con una cercanía más que rotunda a la prosa de Joyce,nos deleita con una joya indescriptible, cargada de poesía, ambigüedad, multirreferencialidad, imaginación y extravagancias lingüísticas... adorable! Una obra maestra imprescindible.

Textual LSD

Pynchon je lud! Tko god bio, lud je do genijalnosti.
Vrlo teška knjiga za čitanje - pogotovo ako ju čitate prije spavanja. Oni koji žele bezbrižnu literarnu avanturu, neka ne uzimaju Pynchona u ruke. Taj momak nije za zajebanciju i misli vrlo ozbiljno. Jedan sam od onih romantika koji za književnost misle da je umjetnost i da dobar tekst nije "dobar materijal" ili "semantička preciznost", po meni dobar pisac mora uvijati, izvijati i emociju i rečenicu i cijeli roman mora imati putanju te iste emocije i poruke. Ovo je umjetnost u pravom smislu te riječi i dobar roman za sve one koji pisanje gledaju kroz prizmu dva trokuta, ravnala i šublera i nekih okvira iz kojih se "ne smije iskakati".
Vidi se da je Thomas nabrijan na SF, ako ne na SF onda na fantastiku sigurno jer atmosfera se mijenja kroz roman, od najnormalnije pristojne čovječne atmosfere, svojstvene za neki krimić, do mistične, mučne, tajanstvene atmosfere jeze koja prožima zadnji dio romana.
Možda me pogodilo i to što sam godinama djeci puno tumačio o Maxwellovom demonu i objašnjavao prekrasne principe "kršenja fizikalnih zakona" i drugog zakona termodinamike; pa je baš u ovoj knjizi glavna junakinja prikazana kao "demon" koji svjesno razbacuje molekule unutar sustava i "grije toplije tijelo na račun hladnijeg". Što nas dovodi do entropije kao temeljne ideje ovog romana; ali nije spomenuta niti jednom ali je majstorski opisana. Pa kako entropija informacija zaista izgleda možete vidjeti u samom tekstu jer kako odmičemo prema kraju informacije su sve teže i teže dostupne nama kao čitateljima i mozak gori u paklu neuronske buktinje.
Da ne kvarim čitanje...
Ideja „predmeta 49“ je kolosalna i zadire u najtajnije kutke magijskog realizma, ali i okultizma jer cijeli je roman duboko zamotan u religiju, ili barem kvazi-religijsko okruženje, tajna društva , a sve je pobuđeno i zvjerski napumpano LSD-om kao pokretačem svemira, gorivom za inspiraciju i utjelovljenje bitka. Edipa, glavna junakinja, napravljena je toliko površno da nam je bude zapravo žao, ali smisao njezine površnosti krije se u entropiji, jer kako roman odmiče, sam lik se pretvara u heroinu koja uopće ne zna što joj se sprema i, ono najvažnije, zašto joj se sprema.
Još jednom, oprez s ovom knjigom, peče mozak!

Although I hesitate to admit it, I think I’ll just be delving into Pynchon’s whole oeuvre. Last year I read his debut novel, V and this week, I finished his third book Gravity’s Rainbow and, I thought I might as well reread his second publication, the novella The Crying of Lot 49, just to complete Pynchon’s first phase. The wacky zany one which morphed into a more controlled and human with later publications.

The Crying of Lot 49 may only consist of 126 pages but there’s enough ideas to get the reader reflecting for quite a while. Unlike his thicker novels, Pynchon squishes the whole plot and creates an interlinking chain of events.

The book begins with Oedipa Maas receiving a call stating that she is the executrix of a former fling and multi millionaire Pierce Inverarity’s estate. Once she starts touring the property she discovers an underground mail system called The Trystero and she wants to investigate it. At this point the only clue she has is the Trystero horn and a mailing group called W.A.S.T.E (Radiohead fans take note). Oedipus wonders is this system is connected to Pierce and whether Trystero really did exist.


As Oedipa delves further in this mystery she discovers the Trystero is connected to the following things.

A Jacobean revenge play called The Courier’s Tragedy

An underground group who collected bones from dead people and market them as filters

Another underground group called Inamorati Anonymous

Another private mailing company called Turns and Taxis

Pierce’s stamp collection

Pierce’s entire estate.

As Oedipus continues her search, her knowledge about The Trystero improves but at a cost. All her living links are dying or running away and she is suffering from acute paranoia, mainly caused by conspiracy theories. However the final clue lies within Lot 49 which is the auction number of Pierce’s stamp collection, which has been bid by another enigmatic character. As she attends the auction she waits for Lot 49 to be called out (or cried – hence the title) by the auctioneer, eagerly looking out for the bidder.

The main theme here is modern America descending into a state of paranoia ; Oedipus’ breakdown exemplifies this, so does a faux British band called The paranoids. A lot of the characters are either scared, hide details or worry that someone is out to get them. At one point Oedipus’ psychiatrist Dr. Hilarius (who feeds LSD to his patients), goes haywire, claiming that he prefers to stay drug free because he wants to keep on being paranoid as a sort of punishment for his past actions, however Oedipus’ husband, who is one of Dr. Hilarius’ drug subjects is equally unhinged. Whether you’re on drugs or not, paranoia is going to get you.

Other themes include entropy, which ties into the paranoia theme. Drug culture, the music business and Wittgenstein’s theory of names. Then there are the puns and funny names, although the rude humor is toned down, the only real scene that could be considered in bad taste is Oedipus entering a deaf/mute centre and wondering is giving the finger is a form of sign language.

As far as Pynchon novels go, The Crying of Lot 49 is accessible. It flows, and although Pynchon piles the themes on top of each other, it’s fun seeing how they link. I can’t help thinking that it is a bit restrained but i don’t mind. The fun element is still there. I can’t help thinking though that ..Crying was just a little stopgap to keep people happy, while the following novel, Gravity’s Rainbow is the book readers should really pay attention to.

For years I have said that The Crying of Lot 49 is probably not the best Pynchon to start with as his full potential is only exposed in tiny crumbs but I have second thoughts. This is definitely works as a taster, especially thematically but it is not fully representative of his first and second novels.

Oh I guess I’ll be reading Slow Learner next.

n  Such a captive maiden, having plenty of time to think, soon realizes that her tower, its height and architecture, are like her ego only incidental: and what really keeps her where she is is magic, anonymous and malignant, visited on her from outside and for no reason at all. Having no apparatus except gut fear and female cunning to examine this formless magic, to understand how it works, how to measure its field strength, count its lines of force, she may fall back on superstition, or take up a useful hobby like embroidery, or go mad, or marry a disc jockey. If the tower is everywhere and the knight of deliverance no proof against its magic, what else?n

Dropping the ball of 50% virgin wool 50% yak, Karensky Poshlust watched it roll out through the heavy glass doors to the garden to be snatched immediately by a passing magpie who flew with it to the top of the larch tree next door. Squirrels took up the merry game and tossed it from larch to lilac, back down through the crumbling brown blossoms of the hydrangea, forming a pattern, which, when viewed from an upstairs window spelt AGVOURD, precisely the letters at present sitting on her rack in the game of scrabble she was playing with an acronym in a different time zone on a small hand-held device that now set up a plaintive bleating noise. The noise resembled the sound of the telephone so closely that Karensky's noise processing centre, a troubled being at the best of times, was fooled into spurring her to pick up the receiver and warily attend to the crackle and pop within. Memories of childhood breakfasts sent her reeling, but these were interrupted by the voice of her mother who immediately launched into a catalogue of her achievements that morning, leaving Karensky not the space of a breath to interrupt or join in any kind of two way communication. As she bent her ear to the monologue devoted to cleaning and cooking, her eye was caught by the name of the manufacturer of the telephone, embossed into the cradle beneath the usual resting position of the receiver, and thus invisible to the eye when the phone was not in use: AVGOURD. Now certain that a message was being relayed to her she opened up the search engine of her laptop and typed in AVGOURD. The results were disturbing: the Mini AV Gourd is a three piece magic massager stick for adult games.....

Somewhere between Lewis Carroll's Alice and Allen Ginsberg's Howl lies Pynchon's 1966 novel The Crying of Lot 49. Part brilliance personified and part stream of consciousness, this novel is out of the ordinary. It is a parody of modern American life and filled with conspiracies and paranoia. It takes our heroine Oedipa Maas down the rabbit hole and where she will end up we barely know. The plot matters but little. Much more important is her journey into selfhood, losing contact with her real life as she ventures outside reality and stares at the fabric of the universe. Forty years since the first time I read this and I still can't say I have much insight into what Pynchon wanted the reader to discover.

Ξεχωριστή περίπτωση σημαίνει ότι δεν είναι απλώς καλός συγγραφέας αλλά μοναδικός: κάτι παρόμοιο με τον τρελό του χωριού που είτε τον συμπαθείς, είτε τον φοβάσαι, είτε τον θαυμάζεις, είτε τον περιφρονείς, αντιδράσεις που συχνά συγκλίνουν στην ταυτόχρονη «αναγνώριση» και «απώθηση» της παραδοξότητας, του αλλόκοτου, του ανοίκειου. Η κυρίαρχη αποτύπωση αυτής της εμπειρίας συνοψίζεται στην αίσθηση ότι κάτι συμβαίνει εδώ. Το «κάτι» δε σημαίνει «οτιδήποτε» αλλά «ιδιαίτερο», «παράξενο»: σαν αίνιγμα που ζητά να αναμετρηθούμε μαζί του. (Δημήτρης Δημηρούλης, πρόλογος από την έκδοση «Η συλλογή των 49 στο σφυρί»-Thomas Pynchon, εκδ. Gutenberg 2017 σ. 30)

Πρώτη φορά που διαβάζω Πίντσον, σε μια συνανάγνωση με την καλή μου φίλη τη Νένε (Το Άσχημο). Το βιβλίο το διάβασα στη μετάφραση του Δημήτρη Δημηρούλη από τις εκδόσεις Gutenberg στην υπέροχη σειρά Aldina. Θα προτιμούσα βέβαια να το διαβάσω στο πρωτότυπο αλλά η μετάφραση ήταν αξιοπρεπέστατη, αν και χάνονταν αρκετά πράγματα κυρίως από λεκτικά παιχνίδια που αποδίδονται κάπως «απονευρωμένα» στο ελληνικό κείμενο. Το ίδιο το βιβλίο όμως είναι εξαιρετικό, ένα υπέροχο δημιούργημα ενός εμπνευσμένου, μυστηριώδους δημιουργού.

Η Οιδίπα Μάας είναι μια νέα παντρεμένη γυναίκα, μικροαστή Αμερικανίδα της δεκαετίας του ‘60 σε μια φανταστική πόλη, το Κίνερετ-αμόνγκ-δε-πάινς. Το βιβλίο ξενικά με την Οιδίπα να επιστρέφει από μια επίδειξη τάπερ και να μαθαίνει πως ορίστηκε συνεκτελέστρια της διαθήκης του Πιρς Ινβεράριτι (Pierce Inverarity) -τα ονόματα έχουν μεγάλη σημασία- ενός μεγιστάνα πρώην της, που έμενε μόνιμα στο Σαν Ναρκίσο, μια πόλη κοντά στο Λος Άντζελες. Είναι παντρεμένη με τον Μάτσο Μάας και ζει έναν συμβατικό βαρετό γάμο με τον αδύναμο και σχεδόν άβουλο σύζυγό της. Μόλις φτάνει στο Σαν Ναρκίσο αρχίζει να ξεδιπλώνεται μια ιστορία που θα μας απασχολήσει σε όλο το βιβλίο.

Ο Πίντσον δημιουργεί ένα κείμενο αριστοτεχνικό συνδυάζοντας τη σύγχρονη ζωή στην Αμερική με την τηλεόραση και την ταύτισή της με την πραγματικότητα, την ποπ κουλτούρα, τις μπάντες των «επαναστατημένων» νέων, τα ναρκωτικά (χόρτο, LSD), τους περιθωριακούς που ζουν εξαθλιωμένοι σε μια Αμερική που υπόσχεται ευημερία σε όλους (βλ. Κεφ. 1 αφήγηση Μάτσο Μάας για την καθημερινότητα στη μάντρα αυτοκινήτων). Το ζουμί της υπόθεσης είναι μια συνωμοσία (;) που γίνεται εμμονή της Οιδίπας όταν βλέπει το σύμβολο μιας τρομπέτας με μια σουρντίνα (https://i.imgur.com/Fohchoj.jpg) και τη συνδέει με διάφορα γεγονότα για να καταλήξει στην ύπαρξη του Τρίστερο ή Τρύστερο, μιας ομάδας που δρα υπογείως για να αντικαταστήσει τα ταχυδρομεία (ή μήπως όχι;).

Αυτή είναι πάνω-κάτω η υπόθεση σε πολύ αδρές γραμμές καθώς αδυνατώ να αποτυπώσω το μεγαλείο της γραφής, καλύτερο θα ήταν να δοκιμάσει κανείς μόνος του να αναμετρηθεί με τον συγγραφέα. Η γραφή λοιπόν του Πίντσον είναι πολύ ιδιαίτερη. Το συγκεκριμένο έργο του εκδόθηκε το 1966 και είναι το δεύτερο βιβλίο (πρώτο ήταν η «V.») του μυστηριώδους αυτού συγγραφέα που γεννήθηκε το 1937. Έχει μια γραφή ολόδική του που μπορεί κανείς να την αναγνωρίσει εύκολα, χαρακτηρίζεται μεταμοντέρνα, και σου τρελαίνει το μυαλό. Αμέτρητα λογοπαίγνια, ονόματα χαρακτήρων που σου κλείνουν το μάτι, παράλογοι χαρακτήρες, αλλόκοτα περιστάτικα, συνωμοσίες που υφαίνονται από τον δαιμόνιο Πίντσον και σε κάνουν να πιστεύεις πως συμβαίνουν καθώς και να αναρωτιέσαι αν όλα συμβαίνουν στη φαντασία σου όπως η ίδια η ηρωίδα, γίνεσαι ο ίδιος ένας πιντσονικός χαρακτήρας! Επίσης οι εμμονές του συγγραφέα εξίσου πολλές, ο Θεός, η ιεροφάνεια, τα ναρκωτικά, η επικοινωνία και κυρίως η έλλειψή της, οι έννοιες της αποκάλυψης και της επιφοίτησης που φωτίζουν και συσκοτίζουν τα μυαλά των ηρώων και των αναγνωστών. Ένα βιβλίο εθιστικό, παιγνιώδες, με περιπέτεια, αρκετή τρέλα δουλεμένη με μαεστρία κι ένα έργο που δε θα ξεχαστεί από κανέναν. Στο μέλλον (να συνέλθω πρώτα!) θα αναζητήσω σίγουρα και άλλα έργα του Τόμας Πίντσον.

Τέλος, η ανάγνωση του Πίντσον μαζί με τη Νένε έγινε κάτω από περίεργες συνθήκες. Όπως ο Πιρς Ινβεράριτι οδηγεί τη ζωή της Οιδίπας (ή έτσι νομίζει εκείνη) από το επέκεινα, έτσι κι εμάς μάς οδήγησε στον Πίντσον ένας παλιός φίλος που δεν είναι πλέον στη ζωή. Έγινε κάπως έτσι: μόλις πληροφορήθηκα τον θάνατό του (αρκετά καθυστερημένα ομολογώ) θυμήθηκα την εμμονή του με τον Τ. Πίντσον και αποφάσισα αμέσως να τον διαβάσω, μετά μπήκε στην ανάγνωση και η Νένε κι έτσι κολλήσαμε και οι δύο με τη γραφή του αλλόκοτου αυτού συγγραφέα, όπως ήταν και η γραφή του Λευτέρη, αλλόκοτη, σαγηνευτική. Θα ήθελα λοιπόν να κλείσω με κάποιους στίχους που συνάδουν με το περιεχόμενο του βιβλίου και το λινκ από το μπλογκ του.

Κι αν τη μέρα φτύνεις γράσο, αιθάλη, λιωμένο λάστιχο και άσφαλτο, τη νύχτα μου μιλάς γι απόκρυφα με κώδικες και σύμβολα...

Και το λινκ για το μπλογκ του: http://rainmansway2.blogspot.com/