First page: epigraph from Thelonious Monk.
Flip.
Next page: Seal.
Flip.
Title page: One. The Light Over the Ranges.
Flip.
“Now single up all lines!”
“Cheerly now…handsomely…very well! Prepare to cast her off!”
“Windy City, here we come!”
“Hurrah! Up we go!”
It was amid such lively exclamation that the hydrogen skyship Inconvenience, its gondola draped with patriotic bunting, carrying a five-lad crew belonging to that celebrated aeronautics club known as the Chums of Chance, ascended briskly into the morning, and soon caught the southerly wind.
1,081 pages to go.
The Call by Yannick Murphy: The always interesting author of Here They Come and Signed, Mata Hari returns with a novel that whips up a worldview from a rather quirky set of limitations: namely, the call logs that a veterinarian maintains as his son is unexpectedly put into a coma and an unforgiving economy denies him work. What emerges is a surprisingly optimistic, often funny, and very moving account on how one family uses acceptance and forgiveness as a way to atone for hard knocks. (
Birds of Paradise by Diana Abu-Jaber: Forget Franzen and Eugenides. If you're looking for a social novel that counts, Diana Abu-Jaber is the author you're looking for. Building from the free-form exploration of consciousness and identity in Crescent and the gripping procedural structure of Origin, Abu-Jaber's latest novel is her finest, equally fluent with gutterpunk culture and smarmy real estate men. It has been suggested by The Washington Post's Ron Charles that you will likely gain some pounds while reading this novel. This is certainly true. Abu-Jaber's description of food is so precise that it often made me want to do more cooking. But I very much admired the way in which Abu-Jaber presents all her characters as unwitting victims of rough capitalism, which permits them some dignity even as they perform terrible acts.
The Last of the Live Nude Girls by Sheila McClear: This memoir isn't so much about the decline of the Times Square peepshow, as it is about one young woman's efforts to pull herself up by by her bootstraps when presented with few economic options. Filled with self-introspective candor and a quiet dignity, McClear's story is one that might befall any of us in these volatile times. While McClear does get back on her feet, her book leads one contemplating the terrible fates of other young women now moving to New York and falling into deadlier vocations. (
Lucky bastard. From other reports you’re in for a real treat. How about a few more photos for us poor preterite readers who have to wait until November 21? Or is she a shy one who won’t even take off her jacket indoors?
“the hydrogen skyship Inconvenience” — steampunk?
are you done yet?
Holy Cow! A new Pynchon novel? I knew one was around the corner, and now it’s here! It’s amazing what you can learn, through the W.A.S.T.E. underground mail system!
Holy Cow is right! Do you mind typing up the next couple hundred pages in another post?
I’d be much obliged if you’d put your copy up on Bookmooch when you’re finished.
I got a copy today. What an amazingly good book. Archduke Ferdinand telling yo mama jokes! Portraits of anarachists! And that’s all in the first fifty pages…