Thus begins, Thomas Pynchon's new Novel Against the Day.
As if in a dream.....
I just so happened to observe the 69 year old recluse writer, and who CNN has called "an enigma shrouded in a mystery" working on the finishing touches of his new novel late this summer in his upper west side apartment in New York City.
Pynchon actually tracked me down, called me up (I'm his chum of chance) after he became 'engrossed',as he put it in the 'information' ie--lizards, witchcraft, and nail clippings, contained in my July 22 blog entry The Tony and Cherie Blair Witch Project.
"It was through your blog, that I linked up to the great Mayan Lizard Pyramid in Mexico" said Pynchon. Then qouting one of his own lines:-- "It was", he said, "like hints of some Kabbalah or unverbalized Knowledge, being transfered as if mind to mind'................
Silence.
Hello?...
........
........."Hello?"....."Are you still there?..."
...."yes, I'm still here" I said. Feeling a bit uncomfortable.
"It was through the lizard" Pynchon laughed "that I was inspired to write about Reef Traverse having sex with his spaniel lap dog Mouffette. It's all described on page 666." Ha Ha, he chuckled, "page 666, get it?"
"Not really" I said, thinking this conversation wasn't going so well.
"Oh, well...I guess you have to read it."
"I guess"
Silence.
Pynchon then in French accent began reading to me-"Gears in his mind beggining to crank...lap... French lap dog... "
I interupted "I gotta go."
"Bu---But, I wanna read you page 666. "Ruperta had trained her toy spaniel....."
"Look" I said interupting again--"my minutes are running out."
"Then call me back, on another phone" He was insistent.
"....Actually, I got this engagement....and I.."
"O.k...O.k.... replied Pynchon. "I understand, but call me later, I want to give you an interview..."
I was starting to Feel relief that maybe I was going to get out of this phone conversation; but yet anxiety simmered inside me when Pynchon mentioned a future interview, my mind scrambled to find an excuse to get out of it...."Look... Tom......
Pynchon interupted, "tell ya what--why don't you come over some time, and I'll tell you the secret meaning behind my new novel's concept of "The Four States associated with one of the four 'dimensions' of Minkowskian Space-Time" How's that for a scoop?!
"It's sounds interesting Tom,but...you know...well, I've been real busy and..."
"Oh, there you go"..responded Tom, Unfazered, "I know what your gettin at...you want to finish reading Against the Day first, before you, as a line says in my novel "reach inside the light, and find it's heart, touch it's soul"
"Umm...huh? ..No", I said. "It's not that....It's just..."
"Just What?"
The Interview/Observation
When I arrived his wife informed me that Tom was in the middle of Ratchet and Clank 2 Going Commando game by Sony entertainment. He's in there----pointing to the back room. Tom could be seen fighting feroiciously with his computer controls. "Chairman Drek!" ole Pynchon yelled, shouting into the screen. "Chairman Drek, Of Belchworld!..Youv'e hatched a most dastardly plan, but I'm gonna stop you in your intergalatic tracks!" ...Hahah. And with a few pings off the button, ole Pynchie boy hit Drek with a Zinger!.....
POP!....His wife looked impressed, Pynchon put the pause on, I Did IT! Hee Hee...and I thought he was then going to turn to me. He had glanced at me, while he was shootin his zingetrs at Drek. But, now he stopped. But He didn't turn to me.
"Hey, how bout a greeting pal?" I said.
Nothing. Instead he just sat there, with his eyes closed.
"What's he doing?" I said to his wife...... Um..Tom?"
Shhh. said his wife. "He's Day Dreaming"
"Day Dreaming?" I asked in a whisper. Confused.
"Yes', said his wife, still whispering. "It's how he gets ideas... "
"Ideas?''
"The games give him energy"said his wife, still in a whisper. Inspiration and perspiration" she smiled....Shhhh..."......just watch".
Old Thomas began typing on another screen,speaking as he fingered the keys...-"I'm in the gadget hologuise now ,sweetie....To PREVENT D--detecTION" he said it with conviction, as if cueing his wife.
"That means don't interupt", said his wife, still smiling, whispering in my ear.
Ole Pynchon continued- "I've got a cat named Darby Suckling, a dog that reads Henry James. The Classics. Spies. Skip Boofado and the Balloon crew handin out bubble gum love at the Chicago world Fair,- 1893! Zamm0! Jules Verne!.."
"He's on a roll" -spoke his wife quietly, as if to herself, "Rooooool. Keep rollin baby," she then gave a kind of blackish "you go, baby. you go" with a nodding of her head in approval.
Pynchon continued to write as he spoke. He wrote what he spoke,- He was INTENSE-He wrote as he said---
"a green hunting cap squeezed the top of the fleshly balloon of a head...." he stopped writing. He paused. And then said, "balloons...ya....Balloons!" he started writing again, long,rambling, multilayered, underplotted, quasi-unfinished monsters. A guy named Pig Bodine; Alice Baily's Shamballa. A museum of Mayonnase.
"Ya, Mayonnase." retorted Pynchon. He wrote: " Chantilly Mayonnase, swept upward in gravity impervious peaks insubstantial as cloud, along with towering masses of green mayonnase" , etc.. (read the rest in Against the Day)
I left. I left Mr. Pynchon to play his kazoo.
