Pynchon’s Against the Day

“–it was as if physical appearance actually shifted, causing not only aliases to be inconsistently assigned but identity itself to change. Did something, something essential, happen to human personality above a certain removal from sea level?”
— from ‘Against the Day’ by Thomas Pynchon

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I am already pretty sure that this novel is ideal for anyone who enjoys SF like Michael Wyndham Thomas’s ‘Valiant Razalia’, Jules Verne, Dr Who, LOST, Christopher Priest and, dare I say, ‘Nemonymous Night’ – as well as much more that is uniquely Pynchon, with Wild Western Dynamiters and seekers of Iceland Spar…

I am now coming up to about halfway in reading it (1 July 2014) and I know already it is Pynchon’s masterpiece.
I shall no doubt have more to say when I’ve finished reading it. Today, I have just travelled alongside Pynchon and the Chums of Chance under and through the sub-desert. I can’t help but compare this novel with my own NEMONYMOUS NIGHT novel published in June 2011 by Chomu Press. Mine was first written piecemeal in 2005/6 on public blogs, while Pynchon’s novel was first published in Nov 2006. It is impossible either author read the other’s book at that time; they are vastly different novels as well as being uncannily similar. Similar, other than the fact that the Pynchon novel is far far superior, of course, to mine. But I am proud it is similar as well as so utterly different….

Also relevant:

When I eventually finish this truly massive book I shall add a comment below as to my final findings.

The Apocryfan - sculpted by Tony Lovell

The Apocryfan – sculpted by Tony Lovell


One response to “Pynchon’s Against the Day

  1. “The world came to an end in 1914.”
    Opportune that I finished this massive Priestian-Proustian-steampunk ‘cone zero’ of a novel today, 4 August 2014, exactly one hundred years since the Great War began or the world ended?
    This reading has also exactly outlasted the whole rite of passage of major building work at our (my wife’s and mine) bungalow house or chalet bungalow (where we’ve lived for 20 years), and towards the end of the novel we glimpse this explicit chalet bungalow where someone else now lives…
    This is a major visionary work, spreadeagling with dirigibles and other SF craft through Time and Light Pollution, Europe and America upon the cusp of 1914, inter-fraternal, multi-picaresque, proto-concupiscent, with Dali’s Hidden Faces, the interconnective gestalt to end all gestalts, in real-time and deja-vu time and bilocationary time….

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