Yeah fuck this book. After much blood, sweat, tears, and other unspeakable bodily excretions, we've had enough.
This is our first ever DNF after 50+ titles, so we thought we should do a postmortem of what went wrong.
Did we not try hard enough? Is Pynchon basically an asshole? Do we have a problem with postmodernism as a tradition? Or the maximalist writing style? How is that we (mostly) love David Foster Wallace, who copied so much of his schtick from Pynchon, but not the master himself?
And several other theories for why this book ultimately defeated us:
(00:00:00) Theory 1: we chose the wrong Pynchon to start out with
(00:06:45) Theory 2: we are straight-up too dumb for this book
(00:11:35) Theory 3: GR is intended for literary masochists
(00:19:34) Theory 4: Postmodernist disorientation spiral
(00:30:30) Theory 5: Pynchon is painfully unfunny
(00:38:10) Theory 6: Maximalism is just too much, man
(00:49:20) comparison vs DFW, the New Sincerity, and irony poisoning
(00:56:50) Listener mail: In defence of Woolf and the modernists
(01:01:51) Next book announcement
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We love listener feedback. Send us a note at douevenlit@gmail.com to correct our hot takes, add your own, or ask a question. We would especially love to hear from any Pynchon heads out there (or haters).
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Moby Dick — Herman Melville
