The Crying of Lot 49 (No Post on Sundays)

Right you are, Harry!

As you may know (I pretend there are people following along), I have been reading The Crying of Lot 49. The post horn is a central image. Yesterday, I reported back that an extraterrestrial encounter with Billy Joel has made me question what Pynchon makes of the modern world. So much terrible, lying media (the muting of truth), and so much inconsequential media (the scholarly paper from 1975 I linked to is one example, this blog itself is another).

Entropy and synchronicity are central to the novel. The abstract to this piece on JStor suggests that Pynchon’s obsession (speaking of Synchronicity) with punning shows that Lot advances language as the only possible perpetual motion machine. Puns are necessarily synchronistic, and they generate all kinds of permutations without requiring more input:

Thomas Pynchon offers, in “The Crying of Lot 49” (1966) and other novels [Gravity’s Rainbow (1973), “Mason and Dixon” (1997)], the pun as an energy-generating alternative to entropy in its ability to multiply meanings, to proliferate “output” from a single source, a word, or an image. In Pynchon’s usage, the pun, even more than Maxwell’s Demon, defies the second law of thermodynamics: it actually creates energy, causing a word to do the work of several with minimal effort. A look into Pynchon’s Puritan past sounds the historical possibilities ofLot 49, suggesting that Pynchon’s puns reinscribe the sacred into the secular world, visiting a supernatural effect upon the world of physical laws to defy those laws and to create life out of the void.

I’d say that this whole enterprise requires more than minimal effort. Yes, these three posts have all come from variations on the words post and horn, but, inconsequential as they are, writing them was only possible because of my undergraduate studies, two advanced degrees (divinity, creative writing) and an obsessive, life-long romance with popular music. I mean, just because the inputs aren’t new doesn’t mean a hell of a lot (there, again, a pun) didn’t go into their acquisition.

Then again, if the point is that once you have acquired the needed inputs of language and culture, you can propagate a hell of a lot without going back to the well, then maybe. But Chapter 5 was a lot of work. A lot of new work. The reading itself, I mean.

I’m also reading Humboldt’s Gift by Saul Bellow. I understand most of Humboldt’s increasingly pedantic obsessions, and relate to them, only because I’ve been educated in an adjacent world. And look, to extend the Lot image, I’m not trying to toot my own horn (no post on Sundays). I’m able to do what I do because of a long story of generational struggle and sacrifice.

But what do I do? What are any of us doing? I said these posts are inconsequential, and they are. How many tens of thousands (Saul has thousands, David his tens of thousands) of people are on these delivery systems, heavily educated, desperately trying to unmute? We think blogs and tweets give us a voice, but they don’t. Not really. What’s the sound of one hand clapping? Of a tree falling in an empty wood? Put your ear next to your keyboard and you’ll know.

But still, we can’t just do nothing. Doing nothing just won’t do. There is too damn much invested in all of this. There is too much invested in you. There are too many miracles, too many traumas, too many things have gone into the making of you to do nothing. One option is interpretation, putting some kind of frame to the collision of worlds (remembering that a pun is a collision of words, expectations). As we learn in Chapter 5:

“You know what a miracle is. Not what Bakunin said. But another world’s intrusion into this one. Most of the time we coexist peacefully, but when we do touch there’s cataclysm.

In other words, behold the hurricane and try to find meaning in its wake.

I wrote this on Saturday but scheduled it for Sunday, mostly because I posted once already on Saturday, but also because I wanted to make a Harry Potter joke. People like wizards because we all want to believe that if we get the words right, something will happen.

This being Sunday, we could talk about Pynchon’s religious imagery, and, again, about the collision of worlds and words. We could talk about our writerly catechisms, our largely muted efforts at mediating the process of flesh becoming word. We could talk about the irony of voice-to-text, of “ones and zeros, twinned” and so on. It’s all there in Pynchon, in Milton, etc.

There, for now, you have it.

One-Minute, Spoiler-Free Positive Review: The Crimes of Grindelwald

There are some Harry Potter purists who are going to be upset by what this film does.  “It shrinks the Wizarding World.”  “It seems to change some backstories.”  “It makes so-and-so older or younger than we thought!”  “Rowling is too good a writer to contradict her own canon.”

In other words, people dedicated to a certain vision of the Wizarding World may be tempted to treat this the way certain Star Wars fans treat Solo and The Last Jedi (I’m not talking about misogynist fanboys triggered by strong female leads, but about people who get upset when their hallowed continuity gets ruffled).

I had just graduated high school when the first Potter book came out, and I was 27 when Deathly Hallows was published.  That is to say, I have no romantic childhood allegiance to any of that material.  For me, it’s always been middle-grade fiction, sometimes intensely exciting, often vexing.  It’s not as good as people a decade younger than me think it is.  (Star Wars is not nearly as good as most of its fans think it is, either.  But Rouge One was a great film, and I thoroughly enjoyed Solo.)

Grindelwald, to me, is something else entirely.  It is grand in scale, epic in scope.   Its politics are timely (never forget that Ron and Harry couldn’t be arsed to care about elf-kind), and its villain seductively human.  (That Johnny Depp may actually be a villain in real life could be part of that, and no performance, no matter how great, can undo the problems with Depp if the allegations against him are true).  Its plot threads, with one exception, are convincingly developed and come to a satisfying head.  Its struggles, with one exception, are believable.

I can’t say more (even about some of the casting and narrative controversies) without giving plot points away.  So I won’t.  From a technical and artistic standpoint, this is, for me, the best entry in both wizarding franchises.

And Hufflepuff is the best.