Inherent Vice

1969 Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon I heard about this book when it came out in 2009 when I read a review that largely focused on the era-specific soundtrack. The description of both the classic rock which plays such an integral part of the setting as well as the idea of a well-respected author tackling the counter-culture drug culture of the late sixties in a crime noir story seemed very appealing to me. My understanding is that most of Pynchon's writing covers historical, political fiction and non-fiction and is generally considered dense and unapproachable. 'Vice', however, draws on a very accessible pop-culture content and humor that brings to mind Cheech and Chong more than the NY Times bestseller list. The main character, Doc Sportello, is a lovable mix of The Dude and Fletch who stumbles his way through a parade of intrigues, supernatural and existential mysteries and a cast of characters begging to be performed by a mega-cast in an unavoidable big-screen adaptation. Much of the convoluted and stoned out plot-line is awash with the semblance of social commentary on the excesses of the sixties, the racial tensions and cultural divides of the time, and the onset of a decade sliding quickly toward a technological and monetarily driven eighties. That stuff is there, but is largely overshadowed by the marijuana smoke of hippie humor, free love and deranged mystery action. Serious Pynchon readers may poo-poo the silliness, and serious mystery fans may poo-poo the hallucinations which de-rail any pretense of structured plot. But fans of rock'n'roll, counter-culture and weird humor will revel in this quick and fun read. I doubt Doc Sportello will reappear in my timeline history, but he'd feel very comfortable mingling with anything that came his way there. He and his supporting cast are the sort of folks who most likely were real people at one time, and exist now as super-fictionalized versions of themselves that will live on in fantastic crossover literary universes. By the way, the 'Godzillagans Island' cartoon illustration is ripped shamelessly from Ward Sutton's review which should be reviewed in full here.

Ghandhi's Truth

1969 Ghandhi's Truth Another book which was pressed into my reluctant hands by my Indian friend at work. Once again, I am not sure to what extent my friend has any real interest in Ghandhi per se, or just enjoys making people read something that may perhaps reflect back on him in a literate and worldy way. While most of my co-workers who received this large tome of historical recounting responded by taking it home for a few weeks and then returning it unread, I took it home, made a decision about where it may fit into my timeline and committed myself to the daunting task of forcing my way through a large volume that I had uncertain interests in. Why? I ask myself this question still today, nearly two years after the sludgery of downing dry historical and socialogical musings about a dead (great, but dead nonetheless) man whose excellence was often best personified by inaction. Was it out of a debt to my friend? Was it a semi-conscious urge to better myself by reading something not containing little green men or dudes in capes? Did I think it would give me a better perspective on contemporary graphic novels about Hinduism? Perhaps I was wanting to expand my understanding of the early twentieth century setting of my readings. My overall interest was, it has to be said, just not there, though. In truth the book did contain a lot of interesting facts and musings on Ghandhi's early life, as well as many stories of his early involvement with labor strikes and unions. I read the book as set in the late sixties, as that is the timeframe in which the author visited India and collated interviews and research on Ghandi's life. It is interesting to hear friends and acquantences of Ghandi speak of him. I am quite sure that there were a few passages I read aloud to my wife, as they may have been very interesting, suprising or humorous stories about the man. Although the book served very well as something I could read on an airplane and look intellectual, and it also was a super good paperweight, it mostly worked effectively as a sleeping aid. The length seemed doubled as I could often only get through half a page at a time without nodding off. I recommend this book only to die-hard Ghandi historians. And people who are easily pressured by friends from India.