I've already ordered my copy of the new Thomas Pynchon novel, "The Bleeding Edge." I am excited for several reasons--so many, in fact, that as I already said, I pre-ordered a hardcover book that will probably cause my backpack to double in weight.
Then this, in the New York Times review:
"The result, disappointingly, is a scattershot work that is, by turns, entertaining and wearisome, energetic and hokey, delightfully evocative and cheaply sensational; dead-on in its conjuring of zeitgeist-y atmospherics, but often slow-footed and ham-handed in its orchestration of social details."
To which I say: isn't that the point of Thomas Pynchon novel?
Also, New York Magazine had a pretty interesting essay on Pynchon the-guy-himself, who yada-yada-yada is notoriously camera-shy/reclusive/private/etc. Still worth reading.
Then this, in the New York Times review:
"The result, disappointingly, is a scattershot work that is, by turns, entertaining and wearisome, energetic and hokey, delightfully evocative and cheaply sensational; dead-on in its conjuring of zeitgeist-y atmospherics, but often slow-footed and ham-handed in its orchestration of social details."
To which I say: isn't that the point of Thomas Pynchon novel?
Also, New York Magazine had a pretty interesting essay on Pynchon the-guy-himself, who yada-yada-yada is notoriously camera-shy/reclusive/private/etc. Still worth reading.
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