In Critical Theory Today, Tyson identifies the structural grammar of many postmodern novels as, "don't-bother-to-seek," basing this formulation off of Todorov's theory of narrative grammar. One such novel Tyson identifies as having this don't-bother-to-seek structure is Thomas Pynchon's 1966 novel The Crying of Lot 49. This grammar underlies postmodern themes like solipsism and anomie, both of which Pynchon deals with extensively, and especially in his aforementioned 1966 novel. In Pynchon's early career these were fresh and relevant themes; however, in the decades since they have been borne out almost ad nauseam. The primary mode of the postmodern novel is self conscious eclecticism and irony, and as Paul de Man observes, "The irony of irony is the fact that one becomes weary of it if one is offered it everywhere all the time." This disillusionment caused the hermeneutic loop to turn in a sense, thus rejecting the worn-out trope of irony in search of sincerity, agency, and attempts to move beyond solipsism. It is my opinion that Pynchon offers such a foil in his 2009 novel Inherent Vice.
Avid Pynchon fans will quickly recognize Inherent Vice's distinctly unPynchonian style, which is to say that it reads like a real novelistic novel, rather than a fragmented and confusing word soup: it is unquestionably his most readable work of fiction which is an interesting kind of reversion for Pynchon and comes across as uncynical and genuine; however, many of its elements are distinctly Pynchonian, and I'll focus on these so as to establish an intertextuality between it and The Crying of Lot 49. Both feature, among other similarities, drug fueled, unreliable, paranoid narrator/protagonists, as well as ominous, enigmatic, all powerful, ubiquitous late-stage-capitalist entities in TCL49's feuding antebellum postal companies and IV's Golden Fang, both of which pervade their respective novels and evade explanation by TCL49's protagonist, Oedipa Maas, and IV's protagonist, Doc Sportello. Both novels take place during the American 1960's, a time of massive social upheaval, which serves as a prominent backdrop for both stories. The catalyst for both plots' central conflicts is the unexpected reappearance of Oedipa and Doc's ex-lovers, who in both cases send our protagonists on convoluted, increasingly conspiratorial goose-chases. In the end, neither protagonist get answers to the questions that initially motivate their quests, although what Doc and Oedipa "learn" from their experiences is quite different. Oedipa's journey is essentially isolating and sees her lose her husband and friends, venturing ever closer to insanity and obsession, and culminating in her absurdly trying to recover her dead ex-lover's stamp collection as a potential clue to an obscure history between two U.S. postal services' 19th century debacle. In true fashion of dramatic irony, it is clear to the reader that even if Oedipa's conspiracy is true that she will likely never know nor have any power to do anything about it. Doc, however, equally unsuccessful in unearthing the mystery and extent of the Golden Fang, is able to do the one thing he even has the power to do: save his friends from the Golden Fang by brokering a deal. In Doc's tale he frequently collaborates with friends, forms relationships with acquaintances, develops an unlikely bond with the novel's initial antagonist, and even reunites a family, despite never actually recovering the lost love of his cherished "ex-Old lady," (his endearing sobriquet for her), Shasta Fay Hepworth.
Many who saw Inherent Vice's film adaptation complained about its incomprehensible and nonsensical plot, upset by the fact that they were unable in one viewing to put a nice, neat bow around each plot lines' significance or meaning. Pynchon has never departed from this mode of narrative and probably never will, although in Doc he offers us an actual postmodern hero, one that has evaded audiences for decades, and which may in and of itself be distinctly unpostmodern. In the face of massive epistemic uncertainty, Doc is able to carve out a moral code and stick to it. He is able to shout into the void without the facade of irony protecting him. He is resigned to his powerlessness, and he is ready, "For whatever would happen. For a forgotten joint to materialize in his pocket. For the CHP to come by and choose not to hassle him... For the fog to burn away and for something else this time, somehow, to be there instead." These final lines to me indicate the end of solipsism - the promise of something outside of ourselves if only we can resign ourselves to its possibilities.
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