>against the day >fall 2006 >inherent vice >late

>>8375787
you jinxed it, fuckwad

>>8375787
No, I just spend all my time on here now

>>8375821
Do you have anything in the works at least?

File: 1468520305129.png (995KB, 658x998px) Image search: [Google]

995KB, 658x998px

>>8375832
sneak peek

>(1973) Gravity's Rainbow
>(1990) Vineland
>(2013) Bleeding Edge

New novel in 2030?

>>8375916
This is literally Vineland. Why do Pynchon memers not even read his books?

here is an interesting factine

the only other place the phrase vineland appears in the anglo-canonical text stream is in one Sig. J. A. A. Joyce's magnum pariah Finnegans Wake. [full stop]

If I may be so kindly allowed by the magistrate: "And all the Dunders de Dunnes in Markland's Vineland beyond Brendan's herring pool takes number nine in yangsee's hats" [full stop]

since neither of us have read either we can only speculate as to the full meaning being exposed to us here in this dreadful moment. [full stop]

utterly yours,
your friend in the greater glory [full stop]

>>8376031
I've read Vineland and Finnegans Wake, stop projecting your plebness

>>8376041
I don't understand. How is that plebness?

Gravity's Rainbow 2: Gottfried Comes Down

>>8377720
he didn't really mean that you're being a pleb. "pleb" is the current all-purpose insult.

it used to be "cuck". before that, it was "weeaboo", and before that it was "bosnian".

>>8377744
Please Pynchon-kun, publish this.
The text can just be Legacy of Totalitarianism control pasted with every name in the book switched to a ebin meme like Peter O'Toole (DICKS!!!!!) or Theodor Smoak Thadankwid (POT!!!!!!)

Inherent Vice 2: Electric Boogaloo.

>>8375993
Because Vineland is "bad" and his other books are "good."

>>8378256
Vineland is one of P-man's best

>>8378960
It's bad for Pynchon, but even that's still really good on its own two legs.

>>8376031
Anna was, Livia is, Plurabelle's to be.

That passage is so beautifully written.

>>8379866
Vineland is better than Bleeding Edge, Inherent Vice, Against The Day, and maybe The Crying of Lot 49