The First Page with Thomas C. Foster: THE CRYING OF LOT 49 by Thomas Pynchon

[alice wellintown]

Nice tie, doc.

I decided to re-read the first chapters of IJ and The
Corrections...and...sure enough, the fit with the deans, the ping pong
table...sure, something ingested, a brain suffering from it, or from a
Lear's old madness, these, and the avalanche and palimpests, the
Slothropian maps and the cluttered desks, the incongruities of
language, the sense that things are not what they seem, that some
infinite jest, some grave digging into, some piercing of the projected
world woven and webbed over the circuit board and haunted by the real
esate of the estate of affairs is at hand...yup...I like these
hysteical prose makers.