Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
Short version: I liked it better when it was called The Big Lebowski. Stoner detective, stumbling his way into an elaborate conspiracy. That is fine as far as it goes, but Pynchon seemed to be spinning his wheels a bit. The SoCal post-hippie thing is straight out of Vineland, and I really didn't sense much of an emotional connection between the author and these characters.
Worse, it just wasn't that funny. A lot of "far out" and "groovy" and funny names for different strains of weed -- not exactly the stuff of hilarious satire, to me.
So, whatever. I still love love love Gravity's Rainbow and Mason & Dixon and especially V. God knows the guy has earned the right to write a clunker here and there. But this is one.
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