Pynchon's real Problem

[bandwraith at aol.com]

Pynchon's real problem is not, methinks, sex
or gender, but love. He's had his finger on that
little item since the get-go, and he's been
massaging it ever since. In these post meno-
pausal times, love don't come easy.

Sex and gender are simple. Love's alot a work.

"Venetia, Venetia/Chi non ti vede non ti pretia."

How hard are we willing to work for our illusions?
Are we willing to become slaves for them?
I think he keeps on asking that until what we
thought was real begins to seem more, er,
figmentary. Something more cruel and less
negotiable is beginning to peak through the
fabric of the times, he seems to be alluding.

If love turns out to be as much of a myth as "The
Rennaissance" we're in even deeper shit than
we thought.