Haven't had much time to read this novel, but I knocked off a few more pages and I have to say that I am disappointed with Thomas Pynchon. There is material in this novel that is profoundly obscene. I think one could (I won't, but...) use a restrained amount of borderline material and still get across the cesspool-like nature of the average human. I will still continue on with the book for the sake of examining post-modern novel writing in detail, and TP has some brilliant passages. It is a shame when someone so excellent in the skill of writing pours out material that is unworthy of their talent.
Update: After a little consideration, I have decided to shelve this book until after Lent and Easter. So the only literary work I'll be likely to mine any loftiness & beauty from will be the on-going tome that is Les Misérables.
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