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784 pages, Kindle Edition
First published November 30, 2006
I am conventional and sober-minded enough that when Pynchon writes, say, "ambulance," I see an ambulance in my head, not a washrag. I might even go look up a 1940s German ambulance to make sure I get it right. So don't worry, this book is not some hippie word-association game.
On the third hand—"Silver and black. Curvewarped reflections of stars flowing across, down the full length of, round and round in meridians exact as the meridians of acupuncture" (page 699). OK, dude, you draw that. Sometimes— maybe half the time—Pynchon's language requires interpretation, which is one of the reasons it was fun to draw (How can I make a thing that looks like a benzene molecule and a snake at the same time? How can I make an angel in the sky that you're not sure you're actually seeing?), and one of the reasons it might be fun for you to compare notes with me as you read, and one of the reasons that any attempt to make a definitive set of illustrations for Gravity's Rainbow would be doomed from the start.
That's why there are no words opposite the pictures in this book. There is nothing official about what I saw when I read. What you're holding right now is just my end of a three-way conversation about a book between you, me, and the guy who wrote it.
your blood spurting from the flaccid stub of artery,
the snowy roof slates fallen across half your bed
How Pointsman lusts after them pretty children
Black faces, white tablecloth...White college boys