Rating: 
Summary: Who, or what, is V.?
Review: Benny Profane is an ex-Navy, semi-fat self-proclaimed schlemihl with a compulsion to the inanimate and a seeming inability to get laid. In a process Profane calls "yo-yoing," going back and forth up the Atlantic Coast, Profane finds himself in the heart of New York enmeshed in a group of would-be Bohemians self-titled The Whole Sick Crew, of which some write 1,000 page romance epics incorporating a "Heroic Love" theory and others are Catatonic Expressionist painters who are seemingly capable of only painting Cheese Danishes.In the Crew there is an old man named Stencil, who is searching. Fueled by a cryptic journal entry of his father, Stencil is hunting for the identity of a woman named V. Is it a woman? Could it be Victoria Wren? Vera Meroving? Veronica the sewer rat? Could it be a place, such as Vheissu? Valletta? Or could it be, say, a V-2 rocket? Is it anything at all? Stencil must know. So, we are transported by Pynchon to various locales all over the world in different times to discover the mystery of V.; through an assassination attempt in Cairo, a cabal to steal the Birth of Venus in Florence, a V-2 rocket maker's flashback during a siege to Sudwestafrikan massacres of the Herero and Hottentot tribes, to World War II in Malta. Pynchon opens up his literary career with a bang, and V. is just as encyclopedic, confusing, and awesome as his other, later books are. In true Pynchon fashion the book is loaded with information, some of which is irrelevant to the plot, and is themes of entropy and paranoia are present. My favorite parts of the book were the sections on Benny Profane and his adventures with The Whole Sick Crew. Every chapter with Profane was macabre and hilarious; in this book I had a couple instances of laughing out loud. Pynchon wrote these sections with vibrancy and life, and situations such as Alligator Hunting and Suck Hour are zany, weird inventions of his own humor. The flashbacks are different. Not nearly as many humorous instances, and when you first read them you wonder how this one has to do with anything prior. After you get around that barrier you have to actually understand the flashback, as Pynchon wrote all of these in a style that kind of just throws you in the middle of the time/place, leaving you to figure out what is going on. And once you do, the flashbacks are great. Not all of the flashbacks were to my liking (I thought they generally got more bland in the latter half of the book), but once I finished the book I realized that all of the flashbacks were important parts of the story, and one less would have worsened the novel. Before you realize how awesome this book is and want to rush out and buy it, be forewarned that it can be very confusing at times, especially if you have no prior Pynchon experience. This is not the book to be introduced to Pynchon with. Even if you have read Pynchon, certain flashbacks are laced with Deutsch, French, Italian, Spanish, and some go into obscure philosophical ramblings and Machiavelli references. Also, the book has no definite plot structure, beside the question "What is V.?" To round it all up, Pynchon also has a huge vocabulary. You have been warned. V. is a great, huge book that I would reccommend to anybody who has read any Pynchon before. Heck, read it if you haven't read any before, it's just that damn good. Not only does Pynchon take us on a quest to discover the identiy of V., he also gives us a retrospective look at the twentieth century.
Rating:
Summary: Who, or what, is V.?
Review: Benny Profane is an ex-Navy, semi-fat self-proclaimed schlemihl with a compulsion to the inanimate and a seeming inability to get laid. In a process Profane calls "yo-yoing," going back and forth up the Atlantic Coast, Profane finds himself in the heart of New York enmeshed in a group of would-be Bohemians self-titled The Whole Sick Crew, of which some write 1,000 page romance epics incorporating a "Heroic Love" theory and others are Catatonic Expressionist painters who are seemingly capable of only painting Cheese Danishes. In the Crew there is an old man named Stencil, who is searching. Fueled by a cryptic journal entry of his father, Stencil is hunting for the identity of a woman named V. Is it a woman? Could it be Victoria Wren? Vera Meroving? Veronica the sewer rat? Could it be a place, such as Vheissu? Valletta? Or could it be, say, a V-2 rocket? Is it anything at all? Stencil must know. So, we are transported by Pynchon to various locales all over the world in different times to discover the mystery of V.; through an assassination attempt in Cairo, a cabal to steal the Birth of Venus in Florence, a V-2 rocket maker's flashback during a siege to Sudwestafrikan massacres of the Herero and Hottentot tribes, to World War II in Malta. Pynchon opens up his literary career with a bang, and V. is just as encyclopedic, confusing, and awesome as his other, later books are. In true Pynchon fashion the book is loaded with information, some of which is irrelevant to the plot, and is themes of entropy and paranoia are present. My favorite parts of the book were the sections on Benny Profane and his adventures with The Whole Sick Crew. Every chapter with Profane was macabre and hilarious; in this book I had a couple instances of laughing out loud. Pynchon wrote these sections with vibrancy and life, and situations such as Alligator Hunting and Suck Hour are zany, weird inventions of his own humor. The flashbacks are different. Not nearly as many humorous instances, and when you first read them you wonder how this one has to do with anything prior. After you get around that barrier you have to actually understand the flashback, as Pynchon wrote all of these in a style that kind of just throws you in the middle of the time/place, leaving you to figure out what is going on. And once you do, the flashbacks are great. Not all of the flashbacks were to my liking (I thought they generally got more bland in the latter half of the book), but once I finished the book I realized that all of the flashbacks were important parts of the story, and one less would have worsened the novel. Before you realize how awesome this book is and want to rush out and buy it, be forewarned that it can be very confusing at times, especially if you have no prior Pynchon experience. This is not the book to be introduced to Pynchon with. Even if you have read Pynchon, certain flashbacks are laced with Deutsch, French, Italian, Spanish, and some go into obscure philosophical ramblings and Machiavelli references. Also, the book has no definite plot structure, beside the question "What is V.?" To round it all up, Pynchon also has a huge vocabulary. You have been warned. V. is a great, huge book that I would reccommend to anybody who has read any Pynchon before. Heck, read it if you haven't read any before, it's just that damn good. Not only does Pynchon take us on a quest to discover the identiy of V., he also gives us a retrospective look at the twentieth century.
Rating:
Summary: My Dad Says I'm Crazy
Review: I wish the entire book was the sick crew and their antics running up and down NYC. Those chapters are great and very entertaining. The other stuff gets a little dry, to be honest. The nose job section made me wince, hard. On the other hand, the section is in such amazing detail, I now feel like I could do a half-decent job performing a nose job.
Rating:
Summary: Not for Those Who Accept Mediocrity
Review: In "V.", Thomas Pynchon intertwines his encyclopedic knowledge with his wild imagination, and in doing so, creates one of the most intriguing novels of the 20th Century. Some readers will complain that it is too complex, that there is no standard plot structure, and that there are too many characters. Clearly this is not a book for everyone, but that doesn't make it any less an accomplishment. In fact, I've always considered the creation of something that is not mediocre to be the whole point of literature, or any other art for that matter. Perhaps some readers try too hard to figure it all out as they read through the novel. If you really want to "get" it, you should probably read it more than once. If you don't enjoy it the first time, simply reading for enjoyment's sake, then don't go back to try to "figure it all out." Pynchon's writing is extremely significant and complex. However, if you can't enjoy episodes like the "Suck Hour" of the first chapter or the "Alligator in the Sewer," then the book just isn't for you. Pynchon's got a bizarre sense of humor. Some of us love it, some of us hate it. "V." is indeed dense and encyclopedic at times, but if you can't get a laugh out of the first few chapters, don't even bother finishing it. Perhaps you should just stick to Oprah's list in that case.
Rating: 
Summary: what moron ever said this guy could write?
Review: Okay, imagine that you write a bunch of completely disjoint, rambling junk that seems to have no real connection to anything else in your story, and stretch it out and go on and on and on for hundreds of pages, and people call you a genius!!! What the heck is wrong with the world? This book was less fun than getting a tattoo. I couldn't sustain it anymore after 75 pages, and I gave up. I still have absolutely no idea what was going on, who any of the characters were or what they were like. Must have been authored by a child.
If you want a pretty clear picture of this thing, I'll say this:
Imagine a senile old person accosting you on the street and running their mouth about absolutely nothing for awhile. You might be paying attention, but after they leave you won't have a clue what they were trying to tell you. This is Pyncheon in a nutshell, and the man should be avoided at all costs, and his entire literary genre, whatever the heck you call it, should be collected and burned, along with all of it's pretentious followers.
Rating:
Summary: Encyclopedic, yet Groovy
Review: The public opinion of Pynchon is mixed, as is the public opinion of each of his works. Some think he is the greatest writer since the second world war, others think he's unreadable. My sympathies lean towards the former rather than the latter. I do not believe Pynchon is the least bit unreadable. Certainly he will appeal to some readers, rather than others. However, I firmly believe that some people are intimidated by his reputation. Yes, there are many, many metaphors and underlying meanings on each page, which intertwine into elaborate puzzles that very few people could solve on their own. However, one does not need to spend an hour reading each page in order to "understand" it. If you read a book for the first time by trying to absorb as much as possible from each page, you probably will not enjoy it. Pynchon's work is, among other things, quite enjoyable. He is a brilliant satirist, among other things, though his novels run deeper than mere satire. "V.", though not his best work in my opinion, is an extremely enjoyable novel that I feel is a good introduction to the Pynchon oeuvre. Read it for pleasure the first time around, then, if you enjoyed it, go back and re-read it, it doesn't have to be immediately thereafter, and try to pick up on more the second time around. A work like this cannot be swallowed whole in a single reading. For those unsure if they want to make the commitment, read the first chapter of this novel. If you find it enjoyable, you'll probably enjoy the rest. If not, just read someone else. Pynchon is a great writer, but he's certainly not for everyone.
Rating:
Summary: Good Fireplace Book
Review: This is a great book to read by the fireplace. After about thirty pages you can conveniently toss it IN the fireplace! This is the most boring, disorganized, pointless book I have ever read. I read it because it was recommended by Stephen King. If you want a good book, I would recommend looking elsewhere.
Rating:
Summary: Essential Reading from a Great Author!
Review: This is one of those things where either it fails as a novel because it doesn't cohere, or -- look, up in the sky -- that's exactly the point.
I'll bet you anything that the failure of V. to be understood and fully appreciated by the general readership led precisely to the uncharacteristic directness of THE CRYING OF LOT 49. V. is a simple quest story, except that the object of the quest is our desire to find meaning, not any meaning itself. LOT 49 is also a quest story, but zeros in on some actual, if never revealed, occult knowledge. V.'s ambiguity, turning the medium into the message, may be an artistic hurdle too high to be overcome.
Further, there is a return to form in GRAVITY'S RAINBOW, which is not actually any easier to read than V. -- except that by anchoring it in familiar historical context, Pynchon affords us a toehold for looking into the novel, rather than forcing us to spend time groping for a structure on which to hang our attention and interpretation. That's why RAINBOW seems a greater success than V. -- you can "get it" if you really want, but you must try, try, try, lah dah dum...
Rating:
Summary: History, Technology and Alligators--V. is one great book!
Review: Thomas Pynchon's first book V. is one of the greatbooks of the last 50 years. It is a book that is filled with symbol and meaning and portent. At the simplest level it is a story about Benny Profane, a poor "schlemil" whose pathetic life is filled with almost surreal adventures that lead him to gangs and love and alligators in the sewers! But Benny's adventures become inexplicablyintertwined with those of Stencil and the mysterious V. And therein lies the great challenge and great pleasure of Pynchon. There is a search to discover meaning and perhaps to discover one's own history. Pynchon's tale leads back to the diplomatic intrique preceding World War I and somehow connects us with the misadventures of Benny. And all the while, like some great mystery thriller in reverse, the deeper one gets into V., the more information that is revealed, the more complex the mystery becomes. Indeed, the thrill of Pynchon is to become ensnared in that mystery and try to find meaning in that complex and interconnected web. Ultimately, perhaps, like all the great questions in life, the question of the meaning of who V. is and the meaning of the book itself may never be answer. But the power of this novel is that it draws you in to consider that mystery. The book, somehow, finds connections between the great historical events of the beginning of this century and several generations of characters who themselves are all interconnected and the ever-changing technology of this century. Is V. a mysterious woman, a cause of the wars of this century or the essential meaninglessness of modern society? Read V. and discover that answer for yourself!
Rating:
Summary: "Z."zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...
Review: Up until recently, I always thought writers had a heads-up over entertainers of less desirable degrees and industries (Hollywood, music, etc.), primarily because they used their imaginations to create a whole world out of the printed word--nothing more, nothing less. And for the longest time I thought, "to be a writer would be a most challenging and rewarding position in this life." Well, I was first disproven of these fantastic illusions when I read DeLillo's "Americana," and they've now been further disproven with Thomas Pynchon's "V." When any book leaves you feeling vacuous and numb instead of excited and engaged, you know something must be seriously wrong. And, adhering to the criteria I established based solely on reading Mr. DeLillo's travesty, I struggled through 98 pages of "V." before it brought me to the edge, after which I jumped (into another book, "Lord of the Flies"). I also concluded not to trust any publishing house that labels any book printed AFTER 1900 as a "classic." "V." boasts a thick-as-pea-soup plot (if you want cohesion and disciplined writing, look elsewhere), line after line of pretentious dialogue/description ("This from gentle Hanne Echerze. Had the world gone mad with Fashoda?"), and characters with deliberately frustrating-to-pronounce names (that's not a measure of cleverness, Mr. Pynchon). Incorrect punctuation and 'deep' sentence fragments are also in abundance, which will give pseudo-intellectuals and masochists much to drool over. I actually read Pynchon's "The Crying of Lot 49" before this and ejoyed it quite a bit--engaging, with a bit of playful ambiguity that kept me interested; but "V." is just a gluttinous display of indulgence and a lot of unwarranted hype.
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