There Are Things In American

I've Had A Tough Time With Pynchon. I Liked Him Very Much When I First Read Him. I Liked Him Less With Each Book. He Got Denser And More Complex In A Way That Didn't Really Pay Off.

There Is A Place In Men's Lives Where Pictures Do In Fact Bleed, Ghosts Gibber And Shriek, Maidens Run Forever Through Mysterious Landscapes From Nameless Foes; That Place Is, Of Course, The World Of Dreams And Of The Repressed Guilts And Fears That Motivate Them [i.e., The Unconscious]. This World The Dogmatic Optimism And Shallow Psychology Of The Age Of Reason Had Denied; And Yet This World It Is The Final, Perhaps The Essential, Purpose Of The Gothic Romance To Assert.

The Novel Is Always Pop Art, And The Novel Is Always Dying. That's The Only Way It Stays Alive. It Does Really Die. I've Been Thinking About That A Lot.

I Gave Up Writing Blurbs Because You Make One Friend And 200 Enemies.

All Good Criticism Should Be Judged The Way Art Is. You Shouldn't Read It The Way You Read History Or Science.