Thomas Pynchon’s new novel, Against the Day, is a big book, clocking in at 1,085 pages. Perhaps a better word to describe it would be “difficult.” It’s a word that seems to work both for Pynchon (I challenge anyone not to call “difficult” a man who sends comedian Irwin Corey to accept the National Book Award on his behalf) and even better for his novels, which recently prompted Time magazine to state: “Ordinary novelists have readers. Thomas Pynchon has decoders.”
If Martin Amis’ newest novel, House of Meetings, is any indication, the confessional letter still has literary merit. Written to the unnamed narrator’s so-called stepdaughter, Venus, House of Meetings reminds us of one of the letter’s purposes: to convey the “truth,” or at least those aspects of ourselves we are incapable of articulating face-to-face, over the phone, or even via e-mail, when the possibility of an immediate response leaves our stomachs in knots.
Print page
Subscribe to Feed (RSS 2.0)
