Thomas Pynchon - "Inherent Vice"
I’m a serious literature snob. I can occasionally stomach science fiction by the likes of Kurt Vonnegut and J. G. Ballard and I’ve got a thing for gothic by Shirley Jackson or Flannery O’Connor, but, for the most part, genres - such as historical and mystery - don’t hold my interest. I even tried Oakley Hall’s Warlock, a recommended western, but couldn’t get past page 158.
Still, when I read that Thomas Pynchon’s latest novel was about a dope smoking detective that got me curious. Not because I like Pynchon, mind you. Part of me wanted to not like Inherent Vice just so I could be a wiseass and say Pynchon should’ve been titled it Incoherent Vice. Because that’s how I‘ve found Pynchon’s previous novels: incoherent. He introduces so many characters so quickly that I find myself up against a wall of confusion. I usually cannot finish his books.
That problem also plagues Inherent Vice but I saw this one through. The only secondary character I could get straight in my head was Denis (mostly because his name rhymed with penis) and an LAPD dick (sorry, couldn’t resist) nicknamed Bigfoot Bjornsen. The reason Bigfoot stands out clearly is it is his relationship with our hero - the hippie detective Larry “Doc” Sportello - that seemingly formed the book’s soul until the last 30 pages or so. There’s a plot twist involving the two detectives I didn’t approve of.
The story begins when an old squeeze of Doc’s shows up telling him the land developer she’s been sleeping around with is in danger of being bumped off by his wife and her love and they want her in on the scheme. (See what I mean: four secondary characters are introduced or mentioned on the first two pages.) Thus begins a yarn about Los Angeles in the wake of the Manson murders with lots of sex, drugs and rock and roll: just the stuff I was looking for.
What I also found – and what I liked best about Inherent Vice - was the LA Pynchon knew back in the late 60s and early 70s when he lived there. What he writes of, felt real to me. The surfadelic bands, the bikers, the way the Manson murders changed everything, felt real to me … everything except the land developer’s sexy neckties. And the fictional landmarks Pynchon’s come up with like Gummo Marx Way and Gordita Beach.
Hellbomb readers will enjoy the countless musical references found throughout Inherent Vice. And because there aren’t any references to The Turtles or The Byrds or The Mothers of Invention – the L.A. 60s bands people still play (well maybe not The Turtles) – they really sound like something a detective smoking joints would play or hear while driving around L.A. (There is mention of ‘People Are Strange’ by L.A.’s most famous band.) Quentin Tarantino would be proud. (I wonder if he likes ‘Quentin’s Theme’ from the Dark Shadows soap opera. I wonder if Jonathan Frid really did play Las Vegas like it says in Inherent Vice. Bet he did. Now that’s mysterious!)
Anyway there’s murder in a massage parlor, a dead dentist, FBI agents in Las Vegas, demonstrations at Nixon appearances: enough happening to keep you wondering what’s happening to whom if you have better luck than I remembering who’s who.
