Inherent Vice

I wasn’t going to mention Thomas Pynchon’s latest book, a noir detective novel set in 1970 LA called Inherent Vice. Not because of any suspected problems with the book — it sounds great, and I’m looking forward to reading it. Only because we previously enthused back on this very blog when Pynchon’s last book, Against the Day, came out — and I still haven’t gotten around to actually reading it. Bad blogger.

But this is too cool not to mention (via Andrew Jaffe) — the good folks at Penguin Books have come out with a “trailer” for Pynchon’s new book.

In case you’re wondering — yes, that’s Pynchon reading the voice-over. The man doesn’t like having his picture taken, which is perfectly understandable, but there’s no reason not to lend some authorial authority (as well as the actual text) to a video attached to one’s work.

I notice that Tom Levenson also did a trailer for Newton & the Counterfeiter. Wave of the future, I suppose.

7 Comments

7 thoughts on “Inherent Vice”

  1. nice to know I’m not the only one who didn’t finish reading it yet … not really sure why though … things got in the way. maybe i’ll have time at christmas ^^

  2. Thanks for the props.

    Yes, shooting a video has become something of a standard now — at least my publisher was eager to do it, and paid for it (to the tune of about $4,000 — a lot of money for an author, not much for actual production).

    I’m not sure if these mini films have much impact…but this was fun to do, especially the outdoor shoot in London’s Soho, complete with appropriately attired mannequins and drunken louts trying to get and be heard in shot.

    Fits my story precisely.

  3. I did finish “Against the Day.” And, as Sean mentioned, although Pynchon doesn’t pose for photos this isn’t the first time he’s offered his voice. He did it for “The Simpsons.”

  4. Bought Inherent Vice yesterday afternoon, read it last night in a single sitting (well, a single lounging). Capsule review: a novel whose main character is chronically stoned should not be such a frenzy of energy. It falls in the more stylistically approachable range of Pynchon, with The Crying of Lot 49 and Vineland, though it is not as paranoid as either. (The cop antagonist, Bigfoot, is a world-class jerk, but he’s no Brock Vond; the Golden Fang is as elusive as the Trystero, but at its worst, it’s still only a crime ring.)

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