I don’t usually finish a book and start a review in the same breath. But I also don’t usually allow myself to read more than one of an author’s works within a calendar year (many books, little time, etc. -- though of course Stephen King would be this year’s other exception because the Tower, all things yield to it): T. Ruggs, you magnificant bastard, I hope you know how many personal rules I’m violating because you’re the first time since auspiciously picking up my first collection of Bukowski poems that I’ve been able to add a This Writer Changed My Life For Always notch to my literary bedpost. Reading “Vineland” confirmed what “Gravity’s Rainbow” left me suspecting: I bloody love Thomas Pynchon. Rilly.

Finishing “Gravity’s Rainbow” left me with an almost obscene urge to help myself to another serving of Pynchon, which is an urge I’ve been fighting for months now. I finally caved, intending to take on “V” but settling for “Vineland” because part of the joy of Pynchon is the inherent madness, and I just can’t handle another meaty tome yet (the latter weighs in at a few pages shy of 400; the former.... uh, does most assuredly not). And because I haven’t talked about GR enough, I am still a little battered from that experience (my opinion on bananas might be forever changed, too). I needed something a little less daunting first. Enter: “Vineland.”

This book was so good. Now being able to pinpoint a Pynchonian pattern – a few: musical outbursts, sleuthing plots, oddball character names, stunning tangents that really aren’t that tangential after all, a natural vocabulary only found in the most ruthless of Scrabble opponents – helped me identify what I adore most about Pynchon’s prose. It’s his ability to concoct some of the most overtly zany scenes in literature, to confront the reader with these in-your-face storms of hilarity for the sake of maximizing the subtle tragedies he gently lets the story consider, leaving the reader to marinate in sadness. It’s an effect that would be any mixture of sloppy, condescending, formulaic or tedious if attempted by anyone else but Pynchon makes it work. The real success is that his characters who need be sympathetic are so when someone realizes that her best days are behind her or comes to the dawning realization that he’s being used by an entire government or has an ugly epiphany about the mother she never knew, it is the most heartbreaking scene in the world.

As for the effort involved in decoding the obscure references that are sprinkled throughout Pynchon’s books as liberally as the Bacon Bits on any salad worth eating, I was deeply grateful that T. Ruggs's novel begins the same year as I did, which meant I caught waywayWAAAAY more cultural allusions this time. The narrative flows better when I’m not running to a secondary source every three lines and I appreciated the opportunity to enjoy this book less haltingly, which isn't to say that I didn't need to have a few reference materials handy. There were enough hazy hippie memories to keep me on my toes, though I caught a number of those as often as I had a flutter of joyful recognition every time The Doors or Zeppelin or Pink Floyd or some other People's Republic of Rock and Roll favorite got a shout-out.

I feel a reread of "The Crying of Lot 49" and maybe "Inherent Vice" in my future. Color me fucking amped.

More accessible and more character driven than TP's other novels, this was a blast from start to finish! Compulsively funny and featuring some great crackerjack riffs, if you take the hippie movement and roll it around with a dose of political satire and then throw in some Asian ninja flicks, 80's action B-movies, wacky cartoons, spirituality, (possible extraterrestrials) and more, you kind of get Vineland. It has such crazy goings-on, and yet still carries itself in a realistic fashion, and amazingly, for Pynchon, actually made me feel something deep down inside for certain characters: there is simply more depth to them here: in particular Zoyd & Prairie. Gravity's Rainbow for me is still his best book, but I can't say I felt anything for Tyrone Slothrop. I loved the setting here too, and it just feels right, as an American writer, that Pynchon should return to American soil after the European setting of GR. The way Pynchon takes rival themes dealing with optimism (the way certain instincts survived beyond the backend of the 60s) and pessimism (the sinister authoritarianism of the Bush administration) and holds them in equilibrium throughout should be noted as one of Vineland's biggest strengths, and I'm surprised that hardly anyone would put this in their top three Pynchon novels let alone it being their favourite. 4.5/5

I'm still not sure how I feel about Vineland. I know it's not Lot 49 or Gravity's Rainbow, which I hold near and dear to my heart, but damn, certain parts really stick with me. I mean, if you're a fan of Pynchon, please give it a shot. You'll definitely find at least something to love, and the ending actually wound up pretty damn poignant (you heard it here, there's a Pynchon novel with a non-confusing ending, a simple scene that while it doesn't wrap up every plot thread – let's not go crazy – does provide a final step).

Right... where to start. My first Pynchon. I was actually tempted to give it four stars but part of that was because it fills you with a healthy amount of paranoia against those in power. There is so much outlandish crap spread around these days that i think we begin to overlook all the real conspiracies and corruption out of some sort of mental backlash.
Anyway... the plot such as it is... you remember that episode of the Simpsons where Homers mother turns up who's been on the run since the sixties? Its a bit like that with occasional channel interference from Kill Bill and maybe Godzilla.
About 90% of it is flashback, although they're not so much flashs as bleeds. The transitions from time to time and place to place are quite something as you can never seem to see them until after they've happened.
It can make finding a natural stopping place (their are no chapters) a little hard. You'll be a couple of pages into a new section following new people before you've even figured out that the change happened.

It seems at times stream of consciousness writing with the occasional pool of magical realism. Still not quite sure what a Thanathoid is... i'm thinking ghost zombie nihilist :lol.
Other idiosyncrasies of the author are the various songs thrown in and dream sequences the latter being completely pointless and the former not meaning much to me but perhaps more interesting for those of a musical inclination. About 20% of the book feels like it could have been cut without in anyway effecting the story, and i'm probably being generous with what i consider to be relevant.

There are also two major mysteries in the book, one of why the badguy is doing what he's doing and one about why another character did what she did in the past. Neither of which are really resolved but given the nature of the story i suspected there would be no easy answers so i wasn't too annoyed by that. Also given the type of story i expected it to end with a whimper rather than a bang and was correct on that too, although fadeout instead of whimper might be more accurate.

I like stream of conciousness, 60's-80's america etc. there was a lot i liked here but perhaps too chaotic to love.

I hate to give up on a book. I told myself if you learned to love Faulkner, as challenging as he can be, you ought to be able to develop some appreciation for Pynchon. I have tried before but this time it was going to click.

Some things are just meant to be. I just do not understand the "greatness" of this author

Outstanding. Reminds me of Dick’s VALIS-era books, only with incredible sentences. (So maybe DFW?)

Also more openly emotional than I’ve seen from Pynchon’s other works, sometimes heartbreakingly so. I don’t know why this isn’t talked about as much as the rest of his books.

The story of a family of washed-up 60s hippy rebels, set in Northern California in the 80s. Full of very well-drawn characters and written in a dense, highly imaginative, humorous, and entertaining style. This novel is also a socio-political analysis and depicts the growing rift between the U.S. government and its justifiably rebellious populace during the Nixon-Reagan era.

If patterns of ones and zeros were “like” patterns of human lives and deaths, if everything about an individual could be represented in a computer record by a long string of ones and zeros, then what kind of creature would be represented by a long string of lives and deaths? It would have to be up one level at least- an angel, a minor god, something in a UFO. It would take eight human lives and deaths just to form one character in this being’s name- its complete dossier might take up a considerable piece of the history of the world. We are digits in God’s computer…the only thing we’re good for, to be dead or to be living, is the only thing He sees. What we cry, what we contend for, in our world of toil and blood, it all lies beneath the notice of the hacker we call God.

Not my favorite Pynchon, but definitely due for a reread after 25 years now.

I’m glad I paid no heed to those who put Vineland down as a minor entry in Pynchon’s remarkable oeuvre, because this novel right here has been – for the past few months I’ve been leisurely reading it to revel in the beautiful prose – a constant reminder as to why literature (and art, in general) is one of humankind’s greatest gifts.
Unabashedly sentimental and nostalgic – without ever relinquishing its darker undercurrents and pessimistic shades –, the novel is a towering masterwork of storytelling and atmospheric setting, revealing a Pynchon who is able to explore family dynamics and teenage sensibilities with the same vitality and acuity as displayed when investigating the waning of the effervescence and idealism that fueled the 1960s’ revolutionary pipe dream, the effects of Reagonomics and the Tube's octopean, soul-sucking reach. Betwixt this, there are myriads of hilarious pop culture references, sororities of deadly ninjettes, unspeakably wicked vampiric prosecutors, TV-addicted feds out of the loony bin, communities of zombies in need of Karmic Adjustment and many other wacky characters and situations that only Pynchon alone is able to think up.

This is going to be a tough review. This is one of those books that people go ape over. But I’m not quite sure why. I usually think that I’m just not quite smart enough. Or maybe it has more to do with being intellectual than smart if you have any idea what the difference is!

Someplace I read that this is the story of a 14-year-old girl searching for her mother who abandoned her at some early time in her life. I suppose that is possible. Aren’t we all searching for some thing sometime in our lives? Why not for our mother?

The story is filled with references to the lives of serious hippies from another era. I live through that era supposedly but I live through it mostly in Michigan which was not quite the same I suppose as living through it in California for example. I did live in Ann Arbor for a while which had a five dollar marijuana fine and was a haven for teenage runaways who thought Ann Arbor what is the place to be. I grew a little dope in my backyard in Ann Arbor but it never got more than about a foot and a half tall and just about the time I was ready to harvest it, some Kids on bikes stole it and Kerry to head up my street dropping clods of dirt along the way.

So I’m sorry I cannot tell you very much about this book to encourage you to read it or to not read it. I would recommend the audible version because as usual the reader is the one who has to pronounce any difficult words and presumably knows the tunes for the variety of songs that are included in the book.

A few years back A friend on good reads said she had made a CD of songs or music related to this book. At my request she sent me a copy of the CD. Now that I have listen to the whole book I see that regularly particular songs or movies or other things are referred to in the book and those apparently have led a number of people to make collections of music that are somehow related to the book.

I read another book by this author and gave it one star because I was totally Baffled by the contents. This book seems far less convoluted and I could occasionally follow a bit of a storyline or simply enjoy somewhat the excursions into the undergrowth that surround the story and make it only slightly impenetrable. Kind of like the entrances to hell that are referred to near the end of the book that have now all grown over. When everybody who lived in the 1960s and 1970s and 1980s is long gone, I am not sure whether this book will still have any enduring interest.

'Vineland' is a singular novel, the first by Pynchon that I've read. (I had a try with 'Against the Day' years ago, but couldn't get into it before the library wanted it back.) The paranoia and drug-taking reminded me of Phillip K Dick's 'A Scanner Darkly', with the atmosphere and character focus of Don DeLillo's 'White Noise'. The writing style is distinctive, though, with rambling paragraph-sentences constantly sliding into lists. Each chapter seems to end in a sort of prose poem. For this reason and others, it required quite a lot of effort to follow what was happening, when it was happening, and why.

I'm not quite sure whether I enjoyed 'Vineland'. At times it was very funny, at times distinctly creepy, and often quite baffling. The interwoven life stories of the characters are interesting, plus I appreciate Pynchon's distinctive naming scheme. Frenesi Gates, around whom most of the action revolves, remains enigmatic in a manner I found a little frustrating. Her former partner DL is the most appealing of the bunch, although her story veers off into magical realism rather. As a portrait of America in the 1980s it is pretty unsettling, with the implication that revolutionaries of the 1960s sold out thanks to television, consumerism, and repressive government. As a novel it is effective, albeit dense and rather odd.