IVIV dark vision

[alice wellintown]

Yeah, in the chapter we are reading, Pepe has imprisoned himself in a
house painted prison pink, made of fiberboard or fibreboard or mdf,
not the best material if you are expecting a flood, but he's got a TV
blasting and a pool table set up in each room. He doesn't much
communicate with Larry, but keeps surfing his tubes and talking at and
not with Larry. I wonder if he has a copy of that Howard Hughes
Gemstone File on his nightstand.

On Sun, Nov 22, 2009 at 1:38 PM,  <dougmillison at comcast.net> wrote:
> I agree with Alice on the darkness of the vision in IV, the novel doesn't seem to let anybody off the hook, it's a nightmare world, and I don't see that the novel offers any way out, although I suggest that outside the covers of the book, Pynchon does that.
>
> What gives me hope is that Pynchon manages to keep engaging with this stained world through his art, and that he does it in a way that makes the rest of us stop and think and consider.
>
> Compared to something like TV, say, which doesn't let go of your brain at all, trapping us in that new 3-beam R G B McLuhanesque sense ratio that is changing our brains, perceptions, society without us even being aware it's happening, wrapping us up in So You Think You Can Dance or Dancing With The Stars or some other reality simulation that relieves of the need to even attempt to be creative on our own -- why bother when we can identify with those amazing creatures on the Tube.
>
> Of course we needed to smoke a lot of pot and listen to a lot of loud music back then, to smooth over the rough edges of the transition taking place as our body's sense ratio was being rearranged by the electronics (McLuhan specifically addresses this aspect), and acid opened a door or two for folks nimble enough to pass on through and avoid the temptation to enjoy keep coming back for the threshold moments and the light show.
>
> The water continues to rise --along with the amount of pot smoked in the US daily-- I'd say it's about up to our necks by now, and we're swamped in yet another colonial misadventure propping up one side against another in a civil war that enriches only heroin dealers and weapons manufacturers. Pynchon's light-hearted beach read seems to turn into something else, when you read it like a Pynchon text.  I wouldn't classify it as escapist fare.
>