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Slothrop's father was an unwitting part of the cosmic doublecross. To provide for the boy's future Harvard education, he took cash from the mad German scientist Laszlo Jamf, who performed Pavlovian experiments on the infant Tyrone. Laszlo invented Imipolex G, a new plastic useful in rocket insulation, and conditioned Tyrone's privates to respond to its presence. Now the grown-up Tyrone helplessly senses the Imipolex G in incoming V-2s, and his military superiors are investigating him. Soon he is on the run from legions of bizarre enemies through the phantasmagoric horrors of Germany.
That's just the Imipolex G tip of the shrieking vehicle that is Pynchon's book. It's pretty much impossible to follow a standard plot; one must have faith that each manic episode is connected with the great plot to blow up the world with the ultimate rocket. There is not one story, but a proliferation of characters (Pirate Prentice, Teddy Bloat, Tantivy Mucker-Maffick, Saure Bummer, and more) and events that tantalize the reader with suggestions of vast patterns only just past our comprehension. You will enjoy Pynchon's cartoon inferno far more if you consult Steven Weisenburger's brief companion to the novel, which sorts out Pynchon's blizzard of references to science, history, high culture, and the lowest of jokes. Rest easy: there really is a simple reason why Kekulé von Stradonitz's dream about a serpent biting its tail (which solved the structure of the benzene molecule) belongs in the same novel as the comic-book-hero Plastic Man.
Pynchon doesn't want you to rest easy with solved mysteries, though. Gravity's Rainbow uses beautiful prose to induce an altered state of consciousness, a buzz. It's a trip, and it will last. --Tim Appelo -- Dieser Text bezieht sich auf eine andere Ausgabe: Taschenbuch .
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So, should you read "Gravity's Rainbow"? Or, more appropriately, would you enjoy reading "Gravity's Rainbow"? It depends. I definitely wouldn't recommend it as light reading, but I wouldn't recommend almost any of the books I really love as light reading. If you like big, complex, sprawling literature ("Ulysses," "One Hundred Years of Solitude," "Moby Dick," Blake, etc.) then this book might be just what you're looking for. If you prefer the minutely crafted and the rigorously controlled ("A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man," Fitzgerald, James, Austen, etc.) then this one might not be your cup of tea. Me, I like 'em both. And I say, go for it. If your head starts spinning after a couple of hundred pages, that's just space-sickness kicking in as the rocket hangs in its single moment of stillness, about to plunge down... (also, any book containing a law firm called Salitieri, Poore, Nash, De Brutus, and Short can't be all bad).
Pynchon is clearly brilliant; too bad that we, his readers, often aren't. Rather than blame Pynchon for this book's difficulty, however, perhaps we should blame ourselves. I needed to look up many references in this book, and found it quite educational -- not just in WW2 history, but also in physics and mathematics. If I knew as much as Pynchon does, I could've breezed through this novel.
As it stands, with my limited intellectual capacity, I had to go to reference books a lot (I read this before there was a WWW!), and still didn't understand many of his allusions... but managed to enjoy, learn, and laugh with Pynchon, and after finishing this novel, I felt as if I had given my brain the workout of a lifetime.
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