#the crying of lot 49

[haveyoureadthisbook-poll]

#the crying of lot 49 #thomas pynchon #book poll #have you read this book poll #polls

[breadang3l]

Finished Crying of Lot 49 (for the second time) and now onto Infinite Jest … & smth abt them and their denseness has suddenly made all of social media utterly boring … like there’s more interesting things to be said and in much longer + more beautiful form!!!!! Idk my brain yearns to actually work for its pleasure or smth

#mine #the crying of lot 49 #infinite jest

[reparrishcomics]

( Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / RedBubble / Buy Me A Coffee )

#thomas pynchon #pynchon #gravity's rainbow #the crying of lot 49 #mason and dixon #vineland #against the day #v. #bleeding edge #inherent vice #postmodernism #American literature #literature #comic #comics

[quotespile]

Like so many named places in California it was less an identifiable city than a grouping of concepts — census tracts, special purpose bond-issue districts, shopping nuclei, all overlaid with access roads to its own freeway.

Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49

#literature #quotes #Thomas Pynchon #The Crying of Lot 49 #quote #books #lit

[litsnaps]

#literature #quotes #Thomas Pynchon #The Crying of Lot 49 #quote #lit #books #words

[transistoradio]

Freshly Scanned: Thomas Pynchon, “V.” (NY: Perennial Library, 1990) and "The Crying of Lot 49" (NY: Perennial Library, 1990), both with cover art by Mark Penberthy.

#mark penberthy #thomas pynchon #v. #the crying of lot 49 #paperback covers

[hunky-doryy]

Embroidering the Earth's mantle, Remedios Varo

1961

At the end of the first chapter, Oedipa recalled the moment when she saw this painting and cried in front of it.

'She had looked down at her feet and known, then, because of a painting, that what she stood on had only been woven together a couple thousand miles away in her own tower, was only by accident known as Mexico, and so Pierce had taken her away from nothing, there'd been no escape. What did she so desire escape from?'

#the crying of lot 49 #thomas pynchon #books #book quote #painting #art #remedios varo

[biblioklept]

Mail call | Thomas Pynchon

A great shout went up near the doorway, bodies flowed toward a fattish pale young man who’d appeared carrying a leather mailsack over his shoulder. “Mail call,” people were yelling. Sure enough, it was, just like in the army. The fat kid, looking harassed, climbed up on the bar and started calling names and throwing envelopes into the crowd. Fallopian excused himself and joined the…

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#The Crying of Lot 49 #Thomas Pynchon

[readerbookclub]

Breakdown - October’s Book List

Hello! This month’s book list is about characters who are doing... okay. Yup. They’re fine. Absolutely no cause for concern. Nothing to worry about. Just happy characters in happy novels. All sunshine and rainbows :)

As always please remember to vote for which one we should read using the link at the bottom of the post.

The Bell Jar, by Syliva Path

The Bell Jar chronicles the crack-up of Esther Greenwood: brilliant, beautiful, enormously talented, and successful, but slowly going under—maybe for the last time. Sylvia Plath masterfully draws the reader into Esther's breakdown with such intensity that Esther's insanity becomes completely real and even rational, as probable and accessible an experience as going to the movies. Such deep penetration into the dark and harrowing corners of the psyche is an extraordinary accomplishment and has made The Bell Jar a haunting American classic.

My Year of Rest and Relaxation, by Otessa Moshfegh

Our narrator should be happy, shouldn't she? She's young, thin, pretty, a recent Columbia graduate, works an easy job at a hip art gallery, lives in an apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan paid for, like the rest of her needs, by her inheritance. But there is a dark and vacuous hole in her heart, and it isn't just the loss of her parents, or the way her Wall Street boyfriend treats her, or her sadomasochistic relationship with her best friend, Reva. It's the year 2000 in a city aglitter with wealth and possibility; what could be so terribly wrong? My Year of Rest and Relaxation is a powerful answer to that question. Through the story of a year spent under the influence of a truly mad combination of drugs designed to heal our heroine from her alienation from this world, Moshfegh shows us how reasonable, even necessary, alienation can be. Both tender and blackly funny, merciless and compassionate, it is a showcase for the gifts of one of our major writers working at the height of her powers.

Nausea, by Jean-Paul Sartre

Nausea is the story of Antoine Roquentin, a French writer who is horrified at his own existence. In impressionistic, diary form he ruthlessly catalogues his every feeling and sensation about the world and people around him. His thoughts culminate in a pervasive, overpowering feeling of nausea which "spread at the bottom of the viscous puddle, at the bottom of our time, the time of purple suspenders and broken chair seats; it is made of wide, soft instants, spreading at the edge, like an oil stain." Boy Parts, by Eliza Clark

Irina obsessively takes explicit photographs of the average-looking men she persuades to model for her, scouted from the streets of Newcastle. Placed on sabbatical from her dead-end bar job, she is offered an exhibition at a fashionable London gallery, promising to revive her career in the art world and offering an escape from her rut of drugs, alcohol, and extreme cinema. The news triggers a self-destructive tailspin, centred around Irina’s relationship with her obsessive best friend, and a shy young man from her local supermarket who has attracted her attention…

 The Crying of Lot 49, by Thomas Pynchon

Suffused with rich satire, chaotic brilliance, verbal turbulence and wild humor, The Crying of Lot 49 opens as Oedipa Maas discovers that she has been made executrix of a former lover's estate. The performance of her duties sets her on a strange trail of detection, in which bizarre characters crowd in to help or confuse her. But gradually, death, drugs, madness, and marriage combine to leave Oedipa in isolation on the threshold of revelation, awaiting the Crying of Lot 49.

Please vote for which one we should read, here.

#the bell jar #sylvia path #my year of rest and relaxation #otessa moshfegh #nausea #jean-paul sartre #boy parts #eliza clark #the crying of lot 49 #thomas pynchon #book list #book club

[tesla-coil]

{Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch // Michelangelo, The Creation of Adam // Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49}

#web weaving #parallels #the goldfinch #the crying of lot 49 #donna tartt

[thebooksaidthat]

“I came,” she said, “hoping you could talk me out of a fantasy.”  Cherish it!” cried Hilarious, fiercely. “What else do any of you have? Hold it tightly by it's little tentacle, don't let the Freudians coax it away or the pharmacists poison it out of you. Whatever it is, hold it dear, for when you lose it you go over by that much to the others. You begin to cease to be.”

Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49

#thomas pynchon #the crying of lot 49 #fiction #classics #literature #book quotes

[spaceintruderdetector]

https://archive.org/details/newsnetworkseurope/mode/2up

News Networks in Early Modern Europe attempts to redraw the history of European news communication in the 16th and 17th centuries. News is defined partly by movement and circulation, yet histories of news have been written overwhelmingly within national contexts. This volume of essays explores the notion that early modern European news, in all its manifestations – manuscript, print, and oral – is fundamentally transnational. These 37 essays investigate the language, infrastructure, and circulation of news across Europe. They range from the 15th to the 18th centuries, and from the Ottoman Empire to the Americas, focusing on the mechanisms of transmission, the organisation of networks, the spread of forms and modes of news communication, and the effects of their translation into new locales and languages.

#networks #news networks #european history #modern history #the crying of lot 49 #trystero #tristero #thomas pynchon

[fuckyeahthomaspynchon]

A great shout went up near the doorway, bodies flowed toward a fattish pale young man who’d appeared carrying a leather mailsack over his shoulder.

“Mail call,” people were yelling. Sure enough, it was, just like in the army. The fat kid, looking harassed, climbed up on the bar and started calling names and throwing envelopes into the crowd. Fallopian excused himself and joined the others.

Metzger had taken out a pair of glasses and was squinting through them at the kid on the bar. “He’s wearing a Yoyodyne badge. What do you make of that?”

“Some inter-office mail run,” Oedipa said.

“This time of night?”

“Maybe a late shift?” But Metzger only frowned. “Be back,” Oedipa shrugged, heading for the ladies’ room.

On the latrine wall, among lipsticked obscenities, she noticed the following message, neatly indited in engineering lettering:

“Interested in sophisticated fun? You, hubby, girl friends. The more the merrier. Get in touch with Kirby, through WASTE only. Box 7391. L. A.”

WASTE? Oedipa wondered. Beneath the notice, faintly in pencil, was a symbol she’d never seen before, a loop, triangle and trapezoid, thus:

img_5980

It might be something sexual, but she somehow doubted it. She found a pen in her purse and copied the address and symbol in her memo book, thinking: God, hieroglyphics. When she came out Fallopian was back, and had this funny look on his face.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he told them. He had an envelope. Oedipa could see, instead of a postage stamp, the handstruck initials PPS.

“Of course,” said Metzger. “Delivering the mail is a government monopoly. You would be opposed to that.”

Fallopian gave them a wry smile. “It’s not as rebellious as it looks. We use Yoyodyne’s inter-office delivery. On the sly. But it’s hard to find carriers, we have a big turnover. They’re run on a tight schedule, and they get nervous. Security people over at the plant know something’s up. They keep a sharp eye out. De Witt,” pointing at the fat mailman, who was being hauled, twitching, down off the bar and offered drinks he did not want, “he’s the most nervous one we’ve had all year.”

“How extensive is this?” asked Metzger.

“Only inside our San Narciso chapter. They’ve set up pilot projects similar to this in the Washington and I think Dallas chapters. But we’re the only one in California so far. A few of your more affluent type members do wrap their letters around bricks, and then the whole thing in brown paper, and send them Railway Express, but I don’t know . . .”

“A little like copping out,” Metzger sympathized.

“It’s the principle,” Fallopian agreed, sounding defensive. “To keep it up to some kind of a reasonable volume, each member has to send at least one letter a week through the Yoyodyne system. If you don’t, you get fined.” He opened his letter and showed Oedipa and Metzger.

Dear Mike, it said, how are you? Just thought I’d drop you a note. How’s your book coming? Guess that’s all for now. See you at The Scope.

“That’s how it is,” Fallopian confessed bitterly, “most of the time.”

“What book did they mean?” asked Oedipa.

Turned out Fallopian was doing a history of private mail delivery in the U. S., attempting to link the Civil War to the postal reform movement that had begun around 1845. He found it beyond simple coincidence that in of all years 1861 the federal government should have set out on a vigorous suppression of those independent mail routes still surviving the various Acts of ’45, ’47, ’51 and ’55, Acts all designed to drive any private competition into financial ruin. He saw it all as a parable of power, its feeding, growth and systematic abuse, though he didn’t go into it that far with her, that particular night. All Oedipa would remember about him at first, in fact, were his slender build and neat Armenian nose, and a certain affinity of his eyes for green neon.

So began, for Oedipa, the languid, sinister blooming of The Tristero.

#thomas pynchon #the crying of lot 49

[kieselguhrkid]

The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon || Cover Reimagined & Merch Concept - The Crying of Lot 49: The Novel - Postage Stamp: Tristero (Post Horn Edition + Niccolo Edition) - Notebook: The Courier's Tragedy - Envelope: W.A.S.T.E. - Pin Button: Muted Post Horn

#graphic design #mockup #the crying of lot 49 #thomas pynchon #e #merch concept #cover reimagined #MY FAVORITE BOOK OF ALL TIME

[lisamarie-vee]

#thomas pynchon #book cover #the crying of lot 49 #1960s #illustration

[dwagom]

the crying of lot 49 but as a cartoon done in the classic hanna-barbera style

#the crying of lot 49 #thomas pynchon