At 700+ pages a bucket of literary elbow grease was required for this one. What a right old slog. But when you get Pynchon'd by the Reverend Wicks Cherrycoke—what a name!, inventions like Vaucanson's mechanical duck (here—in typical Pynchon fashion, with a consciousness of its own, pursuing an exiled Parisian chef across America), and passages of writing at times that simply take one's breath away, it was an epic picaresque rambling slog of a journey worth taking. I don't put this on the same level as Gravity's Rainbow—for me, it doesn't even come close—but it's definitely one of his better novels. So much to take in I really don't know where to start, nor do I have the time, but I will say that when it comes to an historical novel set in the eighteenth-century it's in a league of its own.

This is a magnificent novel, immense in its scope. It is not an easy read being set in the eighteenth century; Pynchon uses the language, idiom and spelling of the day. Hence very careful reading is required; it is more Fielding than Richardson. The story involves Jeremiah Dixon and Charles Mason (of Mason/Dixon line fame and follows them from England to South Africa (Transit of Venus) to St Helena, on to America to map the aforesaid line, back to Britain and so on.
Pynchon mixes real historical figures with fantastic creations, oddities, rumour, and myth and in the centre of it all is the portrayal of a friendship in the form of a glorified road movie. The narrator is a Revd Wicks Cherrycoke, an offbeat and slightly disreputable clergyman. The choice of names is truly amazing (anyone met a Mrs Eggslap?).
Historical figures slip in and out of the story; Boswell and Johnson towards the end, Washington (our heroes smoke pot with him), Jefferson, Maskelyne (Astronomer Royal and something of a villain), Franklin and Emerson, to name a few.
The odd and fantastic populate the pages with some abandon. There is a museum devoted to the War of Jenkins Ear (1739, I remember this from A level history); complete with ear. A talking dog pops up on several occasions, as does a talking mechanical duck! The Lambton worm even makes an appearance.
This is a people’s history and Pynchon draws in all levels of society, including slaves and Native Americans, and all have a contribution. America seems full of Jesuits and the Chinese. There is much musing on religion, life after death (Mason sees the ghost of his wife), Feng Shui (I kid you not), lots of Astronomy (as you would imagine), suggestions of alien abduction, myth from a variety of cultures. The part concerning the giant vegetables reminded me of the Biblical story of the promised land flowing with milk and honey, where everything grew prolific(k)ally. Normal human activities also take their place; there is plenty of drinking, carousing, fighting, cooking, eating, sex, seduction and lots and lots of coffee.
The language is stunning and the start of the book is beautiful “Snowballs have flown their Arcs, starr’d the Side of Outbuildings” and so on. Some of the phrasing can be surprising and very clever, “imps of apprehension”.
Pynchon asks lots of interesting philosophical questions; there is a passage about enlightenment and trees linking Adam and Eve, Buddha and Newton. A mere review cannot do this justice and eventually (probably when I retire) I will have to read it again.
At heart it’s a simple tale of two friends and the birth of a nation narrated by Cherrycoke (very American!) and laced with fantastical humour and philosophical musings

For those of you with aspirations of writing the great American novel, you may want to find a new goal for the next century or so. Mason & Dixon was written recently enough that the news may not yet have caught on (how long did it take for Moby Dick?), so I will tell you now that it is the book. Upon finishing Pynchon's novel, I was seized by no desire greater than to turn back and read it again. I'm not sure why I have thus far resisted, as I don't think that anything I've read since has affected me as much as a second reading almost certainly would. I must confess, however, that Pynchon takes a lot out of me and I require long breaks consisting of reading "easier" books. I don't like propagating the rumor that reading Pynchon is difficult when it is, in fact, joyous. But, like any great novel, it requires as much from you as you hope to take from it.
I miss Mason & Dixon. I miss the unique awkwardness between the title characters. I miss the mechanical duck who is becoming god or a planet or both. I miss the were-beaver. Pynchon's wackiness is as good as it gets and it will make you wonder why you bother reading anything else written in the last 50 years. My advice is to read it and not to worry.

Easily one of the best books I've ever read. Pynchon's blending together of fact, fiction and fantasy is utterly exquisite, and the characters he has created are unforgettable. It's an absolute beast of a book, but every page was pure magic.

I'm writing this review with about 20 pages left to go. I don't usually do this, but so what. [Update: the last 20 pages are some of the best]

This is a unique book: the writing is beautiful at times, and opaque at others, and both often. I would say it took about 200 pages before I really found my groove, and that involved using Wikipedia's  List of Mason & Dixon Episodes  to help me figure out just what the fuck was going on. I had assumed going in this would be a historical fiction with some silly Pynchon flair thrown in every now and then. Instead I'd say it is mostly the other way around: more silliness, less history and character study. Although, it must be admitted that Rv. Cherrycoke is taking a lot of his silly anecdotes from historical examples (The Duck!)

I don't know how to say it, but I guess I expected this to be more like Vollmann's  Argall, but it turned out to be more like Barth's  The Sot Weed Factor. However, unlike Barth, Pynchon can fall back on the fact that this is a story told by a Narrator, with an audience that changes and often directs the tale through explicit and implicit means. And that's a pretty powerful narrative trick. I mean, I'm not all that interested in ghostly mechanical ducks, or feng-shui, or talking dogs. I didn't truly 'get' why I was reading so much about these silly things. Perhaps they are entertaining on their own? I couldn't help but try to read the deeper meaning in these things. If there is one, then hats off to Pynchon for being so very very smart. If not... then, well, personally I'm just not that much of a  Tom Robbins kind of guy. However, with the fact that we know who Rv Cherrycoke's audience is, all of a sudden it gives reason for these fanciful tales. And I start to enjoy it all the more for this very reason.

Some highlights are: Rebekah; the actual history (transit of venus, revolutionary fervor, the Line); the incestuous cousins; the Reverend and his interrupting audience; Mason & Dixon as people and as companions ("There is a fragility to Dixon now, a softer way of reflecting light, such that Mason must accordingly grow gentle with him. No child has yet summon'd from him such care."); Dixon fighting the slave-driver; this quote:

"Listen to me, Defecates-with-Pigeons. Long before any of you came here, we dream'd of you. All the people, even Nations far to the South and the West, dreamt you before ever we saw you, - we believe'd that you came from some other World, or the Sky. You had Powers and we respected them. Yet you never dream'd of us, and when at last you saw us, wish'd only to destroy us. Then the killing started, - some of you, some of us, - but not nearly as many as we'd been expecting. You could not be the Giants of long ago, who would simply have wip'd us away, and for less. Instead, you sold us your Powers, - your rifles,- as if encouraging us to shoot at you,- and so we did, tho' not hitting as many as you, as you were expecting. Now you begin to believe that we have come from elsewhere, possessing Powers you do not... Those of us who knew how, have fled into Refuge in your Dreams, at last. Tho' we now pursue real lives no different at their Hearts from yours, we are also your Dreams."

Ultimately I went in with the wrong idea, but I'm leaving with a whole new appreciation of what a novel can do... and that's quite the feat. Also: this book could probably have been another 800 pages long. There really is no reason for it to ever end...

I beg you both, be most careful,— for Distance is not the same here, nor is Time.

This was a re-read for me, inspired by the fact that this was my favourite Pynchon novel when I first read it what feels like many years ago and I have wanted to re-read it for quite some time. My re-read coincided with a busy time in my life which means it took me far longer than I expected to finish the book. But this is, in fact, a good thing as there is so much pleasure to be had reading this novel that it doesn’t matter if you end up spending three weeks reading what would normally take you about a week.

It has to be said that this isn’t a simple book to read (so perhaps one week is a bit of a bold claim!). It contains a lot of long and complex sentences and the story line often appears very random with branches off into strange territory coming a frequent intervals.

Primarily, based on the title, this is a re-telling of the story of Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, the two men most famous for the mapping of the boundary line between Pennsylvania and Maryland in pre-Revolutionary America - the line that became known as the Mason-Dixon Line. The book starts earlier than this with a trip the pair make to observe the Transit of Venus from the southern hemisphere. It is in this initial part of the novel that the paranoia that is there in all Pynchon’s novels immediately makes itself known: the expedition comes under attack from the French and this leaves Mason & Dixon both worrying about the hidden forces that might be in play. In The New York Times, Michiko Kakutani wrote:

The Great Big Question in Thomas Pynchon's novels, from "V." (1963) through "Gravity's Rainbow" (1973) and "Vineland" (1990), has been: Is the world dominated by conspiracies or chaos? Are there patterns, secret agendas, mysterious codes -- in short, a hidden design -- to the burble and turmoil of human existence, or is it all a product of chance? Are the paranoiacs onto something, or do the nihilists have the key to it all?

This is one of the threads that runs through this mammoth novel.

But this is far more than a historical novel re-telling of a story. It is stuffed with comedy and anachronisms. Star Trek gets a mention:

…and ’tis Dixon’s luck to discover The Rabbi of Prague, headquarters of a Kabbalistick Faith, in Correspondence with the Elect Cohens of Paris, whose private Salute they now greet Dixon with, the Fingers spread two and two, and the Thumb held away from them likewise, said to represent the Hebrew letter Shin and to signify, “Live long and prosper.”

As does Popeye

“That is, ‘I am that which I am,’” helpfully translates a somehow nautical-looking Indiv. with gigantick Fore-Arms, and one Eye ever a-Squint from the Smoke of his Pipe.

As do Dr Who, Starbucks and numerous other items from modern life.

These anachronisms are largely, I imagine, Pynchon’s sense of humour at work (this is a very funny novel). But there are also repeated allusions to quantum theory and to things messing with time and location. The missing 11 days caused by the change in the English calendar are repeatedly referenced and time often seems disjointed, as does location: at one point a boat in fog on the Thames suddenly finds itself sailing near Delaware for a brief period. As a parallel to the missing 11 days, there is much discussion of the missing 5 and a quarter degrees in the circle (we only have 360 but should have 365.25 to match the days in the year, apparently - where are those missing degrees?).

Not only is there comedy. There is also a lot of fantasy. There’s a talking dog, a mechanical duck that follows a chef around, a trip into the subterranean world that can be accessed via a portal at the North Pole. I could go on.

There are many other themes that make repeated appearances. The Founding of America, slavery, the post-Enlightenment period - these all play significant roles.

At some points, the reader may well agree with Mason when he says …Not sure I’m following this…

It might be difficult to follow some of the time. But it is brilliant all of the time.

And thus concludes a two-year battle to close the back cover on this tome of Magical Thinking.

The challenge came not only with trying to navigate 1700's American English but also parsing through the countless (and I truly do mean, countless) historical references both true and apocryphal. Had I just desired to read it and let it wash over me without absorption of internalisation, this likely would have been finished in a matter of weeks. But I wanted not only to read it but the understand it. Therein lies the challenge. In order to weave my way through this serpentine novel (I use the word "novel" loosely), I constantly needed no less than three reader's guides and the OED open at all times, slowing my pace from a sprint to a trudge. It didn't help that I felt the need to scrawl my own annotations in the margins with obsessive-compulsive rigour. Hence why the average page in my battered copy looked like this. Pynchon may not make it easy for the reader, but I'll be goddamned if he doesn't make it rewarding.

Reading Mason & Dixon is an absolutely transformative experience. TRP's grasp of the relationship between history and the figures who commit it to record is second to none. His exploration of the myth of Modern America is a constant tug of war between objective examination, mythologizing, embellishment, and at times downright fabrication. The use of a frame narrative is the perfect device to illustrate the nature of how we tell ourselves the stories of our own history, and how said history can erode the truth and fill in the gaps with whatever suits the eye of the beholder. From a meta-analytical standpoint, this book is fucking brilliant.

That brilliance doesn't end at the dividing line between the abstract and the clear-cut narrative. What makes M&D such a joyful experience is not only the absurdity of the titular characters' journey but also the fraternal connection they develop for one another over the course of their American adventure. At the end of the day, this book is about friendship and brotherly devotion. The seething critique of our dark collective history is ultimately superseded by the beautiful relationships upon which the country is founded. In a word, Pynchon has left me hopeful.

Without question, this book has earned a spot in the pantheon of my favourite reads. I cannot wait to dive in again.

More like 3.5. I should have liked this more. I will read again to confirm, because I know it may have just been timing.

UPDATE: Second read much better.

Das war also mein achter Pynchon, fehlen mir noch ein paar frühe Kurzgeschichten, um sein Werk zu komplettieren. Als eingefleischter Pynchon Fan stimmt es mich ein bisschen wehmütig, denn wer weiss, ob noch etwas nachkommt - Pynchon ist immerhin 83. Wie nicht anders zu erwarten war auch M & D ein großes Lesevergnügen. Viele Leser*innen halten es für Pynchons besten Roman. Ich könnte gar nicht sagen, welcher mir am Besten gefallen hat, dafür sind sie viel zu unterschiedlich. Dieser gehört sicher zu jenen, die ich ein zweites Mal lesen würde, neben «V.», «Die Enden der Parabel» und «Gegen den Tag».

Die Ereignisse spielen in der Mitte des 18. Jahrhunderts und Pynchon verwendet Sprache und Stilmittel dieser Zeit, die er jedoch in typisch postmoderner Haltung in Relation zur Gegenwart setzt. Das macht den Roman nicht einfach zu lesen und es erfordert Geduld bis man sich an den Duktus gewöhnt hat.

Im Mittelpunkt steht die historische Mason & Dixon Mission, vom britischen König in Auftrag gegeben, um eine Grenzlinie zwischen Pennsylvania und Maryland zu vermessen und damit die Grenzstreitigkeiten der Familien Penn und Calvert zu lösen, die damals im Besitz der beiden Kolonien waren. Es ist sicher hilfreich, sich vor der Lektüre über diese Gegebenheiten klug zu machen, zB. sehr ausführlich hier auf spektrum.de.

Ebenso hilfreich ist es, sich in die politische Situation kurz vor dem amerikanischen Unabhängigkeitskrieg und in den Geist einer Zeit zu versetzen, in dem Vermessung und Berechnung sich langsam aber sicher gegen eine mystisch-irrationale Weltsicht durchzusetzen beginnen. So ist die schnurgerade Linie von Ost nach West nicht nur die künftige Grenze zwischen Nord- und Südstaaten, die Grenze der Sklaverei, sie kann ganz allgemein als Grenze zwischen Vergangenheit und Zukunft gesehen werden. Die gerade Linie selbst steht für den euklidischen Inbegriff des Abstrakten, für das Jesuitische oder für die Ausgeburt des Bösen, die Anmaßung, die Geheimnisse Gottes in Frage zu stellen.

Ganz typisch im Stil der Zeit ist die übergeordnete Rahmenhandlung. Jahre später, der Unabhängigkeitskrieg ist bereits vorbei, sitzt die Familie LeSpark samt zahlreicher Kinder, Tanten, Onkel und Neffen im gemütlichen Wohnzimmer, während draußen der Schneesturm tobt. Reverend Wick Cherrycoke (ein Vorfahre von Ronald Cherrycoke aus Gravity's Rainbow?) erzählt episodenhaft und äußerst unzuverlässig von Mason und Dixons Abenteuern.

Das Erzählte oszilliert ganz unfassbar zwischen Fakten und irrwitziger Fabulation, zwischen Analogien, Märchen, Träumen und Bezügen zur Gegenwart, unterbrochen von Gesangs- und Tanzeinlagen, Zitate aus fiktiven Tagebüchern wechseln mit historischen Dokumenten und alles wird durch die spitzzüngigen und witzigen Dialoge der Hauptfiguren, die durch ihre Gespräche in meiner Vorstellung immer mehr zu lebendigen und liebenswerten Charakteren wurden, zusammengehalten. Die überraschenden Brüche und Verwerfungen im Ereignisfluss, die Abschweifungen und plötzlich eingeworfenen Kommentare und Dispute der Zuhörer im Wohnzimmer sind typisch für Pynchon und ein Grund für seinen Ruf als schwieriger Autor. Läßt man sich jedoch darauf ein, entsteht eine geradezu magische Stimmung der Unbestimmtheit. Ich meine, dieses so schwer beschreibbare Phänomen ist Pynchons Markenzeichen und die Qualität, die seine Fans süchtig macht und seine Gegner abstößt.
Die Abwesenheit eines zielgerichteten Plots und jeglicher Spannung ist vielleicht nicht jedermanns Sache. Andrerseits erzeugt diese Unbestimmtheit mit ihren verrückten Schrullen und Schnurren ein schwebendes Gefühl des Moments, ein wohliges Verweilen in einer der vielen möglichen Welten, ganz ohne Ziel und Zweck.

Das Buch beginnt mit einer Beschreibung des Zimmers, in dem Rev. Cherrycoke seine Geschichten zum Besten gibt. Unter anderem steht da auch

... ein unheimlicher, wundervoller Kartentisch, welcher dıe ım Gewerbe als Wanderndes Herz bekannte, minder wertige Wellenmaserung aufweist und damit eine Illusion von Tiefe erzeugt, in die seit Jahren Kinder hineinstarren wie in die illustrierten Seiten von Büchern, dazu so viele Scharniere, Gleitzapfen, verborgene Schnäpper und Geheimfächer, daß weder die Zwillinge noch ihre Schwester behaupten können, sie seien damit zu Rande.

Diese Beschreibung des Tisches, die Illusion der Tiefe nebst Scharnieren, Gleitzapfen, Schnäpper und Geheimfächer liest sich schon als treffliche Analogie und Referenz auf den Roman selbst, als erster Vorgeschmack, was alles an wundersamen Illusionen die Leser erwartet.

Im übertragenen Sinn lässt Thomas Pynchon den Astronomen Mason und den Geometer Dixon auch die Position der Romanform entlang der Zeit vermessen, von ihren Anfängen im 18. Jahrhundert bis herauf ins 21. Jahrhundert. Onkel Yves ist kein Freund des Romans, dieser neumodischen Errungenschaft:

«Ich kann, zum Kuckuck, gar nicht energisch genug auf die Gefahr hinweisen, welche die Lektüre dieser Geschichtenbücher darstellt - vorzüglich derer, die sich ‹Roman› nennt. Wer Ohren hat, der höre. Das britische Tollhaus wird ebenso wie die französische Salpetriere von einer beunruhigenden Anzahl junger Menschen, die meisten Weibspersonen, bevölkert, welche von diesen verantwortungslosen Erzählungen, dıe nicht zwischen Fakt und Phantasie unterscheiden, über die Schwelle des Wahnsinns gelockt worden sind. Wie wollen jene zarten Geister auch urteilen? Ach, jede Leserin von ‹Romanen› muß als gefährdete Seele gelten -, denn sıe hat einen Teufelspakt geschlossen und verschleudert ihre kostbare Zeit für nichts als die gemeinsten und schäbigsten Arten geistiger Erregung.»

Auch dieser Absatz ist eine schöne Beschreibung aller Romane Pynchons, in denen diese verantwortungslose Vermischung von Fakt und Fiktion wirklich bis zum Äußersten getrieben wird. Dazu ist sie auch noch völlig frei von jeder persönlichen, subjektiven Einmischung. Pynchon hält sich selbst als Autor und Person aus seinem Werk (wie aus der Öffentlichkeit) konsequent heraus. Das ist heute, da Selbstverliebtheit und Nabelschau in der Literatur eine tragende Rolle spielen, eine Ausnahmeerscheinung und ein Bekenntnis zur reinen Kunst der Phantasie und des Fabulierens.

Lassen wir den jungen Ethelmer LeSpark, in Entgegnung auf seinen Onkel Yves zu Wort kommen und zusammenfassen:

«Wer die Wahrheit beansprucht, den verläßt sie. In Dienst genommen oder gezwungen wird die Historik stets nur von niedrigen Interessen. Sie ist zu unschuldig, als daß man sie in Griffweite irgendeines Machthabers lassen könnte -, der sie nur zu berühren braucht, und ihre ganze Glaubwürdigkeit ist in einem Augenblick dahin, als wäre sie nie gewesen. Sie muß vielmehr liebevoll und ın allen Ehren umsorgt werden, und zwar von Fabulisten und Fälschern, Dichterlingen und Verrückten jeglicher Couleur, Meistern der Verlarvung, welche ihr Kleidung, Toilette, Haltung und eine Sprache schaffen, die gewandt genug ist, nicht die Begierden, ja nicht einmal die Neugier des Staates zu wecken.»

One of the best novels I have read. It is quite a monument of literature, and I think we will realize it when Pynchon dies. Its description quality is fascinating; it details the places and characters so well that one would think of oneself equipped with a camera (somewhat anachronistic) with the honor of being allowed to witness the story as a privileged spectator.
The vibrant and sharp language is sometimes necessary to call upon the dictionary, and one will not complain about it. Unfortunately, so many books lower our vocabulary; for once, I came across one that brought me considerable wealth.
They organize dialogues; they are funny and bring a rhythm, an unusual cadence, and poetic and theatrical. And what humor is ironic and subtle when it is not absurd? It is a lovely novel that knows how to combine these two forms of fun; they are so rare.
And what a story! It's a fantastic odyssey, an adventure where many literary genres mix. The book is long, not enough for my taste, too much for many, but I never wanted it to end. I love and hate this feeling; moreover, I enjoy reading when I feel like an orphan at the end of the book. There it was. I loved it!!!

So now I'm down to one remaining Pynchon novel to reread, that being "Against The Day" and coupled with "M&D" make up his middle period, these two the more hefty books of his oeuvre which, when rounded up and recapitulated in reads, ALL do seem to run together anticipating each other like siblings come after. His characters appear, then appear again books later or their offspring, just as motifs are all the rage throughout again. The ubiquitous 'paranoia' and warped & wobbly everything and nothings abound like drops in a drizzle. Did he really have sightlines ahead like 'vistos' in "M&D" cut through the forest of what he was working on presently; do many writers who've multiple books in them see those vistas like surveyors chains pointing the way? Pynchon full bag of tricks & schemes are on display here and second time through with a firm if not wobbly grasp on what he do, I grok & roll this nearly perfect book and glass the next, those "Chums of Chance" that tacked into view somewhere coming.

Volví a Pynchon como quien vuelve a probar una droga querida cuyos efectos conoce bien y disfruta de sumergirse en ellos de vez en cuando, como para experimentar la realidad de otra forma aunque solo sea mientras duran. Y aunque la experiencia fue similar a las anteriores (empecé fumando la ligera pero exquisita "La subasta del lote 49" y poco después me creí listo para arriesgarme con la mucho más hardcore "El arco iris de gravedad"), tuvo una particularidad que al principio me sorprendió, porque pensé que me habían estafado. Suficiente con las metáforas drogadictas.

Estamos en el siglo XVIII, la Era de la Razón; la Ilustración está metida en todos los rincones, la ciencia está naciendo y está tratando de abarcarlo todo con sus explicaciones. Newton, Halley, Hooke y todos esos hombres que cambiaron la historia de la ciencia... acaban de hacerlo. De esta esquina tenemos a Charles Mason, un astrónomo de segundo orden, melancólico, apenado por la reciente muerte de su Rebekah. De la otra está Jeremiah Dixon, agrimensor, un tipo alegre que contrasta muy bien con quien se convertirá en su compañero de trabajo y aventuras. La Royal Society (o eso quieren que creamos: con Pynchon nunca sabes quién está detrás de los hilos que mueven los destinos de sus personajes) los contrata para observar el tránsito de Venus desde Santa Elena, África, en el año 1761, como parte del equipo británico en la primera gran empresa científica a nivel internacional. Pero esta es solo una prueba para la verdadera misión que cambiaría la vida de los protagonistas y los catapultaría a la historia.

Esa misión se desarrollará en América, en donde deberán trazar una línea divisoria entre los estados —entonces colonias británicas— de Maryland y Pennsylvania. La aventura, que se desarrolla a lo largo de cuatro años, ocupa el grueso del libro, con todas las locuras que solo la imaginación de Pynchon puede aportar a un hecho histórico que, por lo demás, podría pensarse aburrido hasta el hartazgo. Un perro sabio que habla, la pata autómata de Vaucanson que adquiere vida propia y se convierte en la primera forma de inteligencia artificial, una huerta con verduras del tamaño de casas, relojes que mantienen conversaciones respecto a sus destinos, apariciones de algunos padres fundadores como Washington y Franklin en situaciones hilarantes, golems gigantes, fantasmas aterradores y otros más bien amigables, entre otras tantas ocurrencias, todo esto mientras los héroes avanzan hacia el misterioso, peligroso e inexplorado oeste, en contra de su voluntad y solo por amor a la ciencia.

La línea que trazan terminará convirtiéndose —sin que ellos lo sepan— en el límite entre los estados unionistas del norte y los confederados del sur, la división entre los esclavistas y los abolicionistas que más tarde se enfrentarán en la Guerra de Secesión; la esclavitud y otros temas políticos, éticos y hasta teológicos son tratados con maestría en medio de todas las locuras que suceden. Así que Pynchon usa una historia casi olvidada y sin trascendencia para darnos clases de historia americana, astronomía, geología, agrimensura, diplomacia y hasta magia y espiritismo. Dije al inicio que al empezar a leer el libro me llevé una sorpresa. Era el mismo Pynchon de siempre pero narraba con una voz que no le conocía. Desde luego, me había olvidado que el muy genio, para lograr un efecto total en sus novelas, se mete completamente en la época en la que suceden sus historias, y ¿cómo contar una historia del siglo XVIII si no es usando el lenguaje de entonces? Una vez que te acostumbras estás de nuevo de la mano del viejo Pynchon, quien te hará reír a carcajadas como siempre mientras te enseña una cosa o dos.

Es una novela llena de ingenio y de pasión. Se disfruta todo el tiempo y no es tan oscura e intrincada como otras obras del autor, lo que no quiere decir que no sea demandante. No me lo esperaba, pero se convirtió en mi Pynchon favorito hasta el momento. Por ahora me desconecto de su frecuencia y vuelvo al sobrio y aburrido mundo real. Hasta la próxima dosis, Tom.