There’s a rule of thumb – at least it should be a rule of thumb – about reading the work of Thomas Pynchon: You don’t have to get it, at least not all of it. All you have to do is go along for the ride.
I’ve worked my way through The Crying of Lot 49 (1964), Gravity’s Rainbow (1973), Mason & Dixon (1997), and Pynchon’s latest, the recently published Shadow Ticket, and I cannot definitively say what those novels are really about beneath all the experimental mastery of his prose.
What I can say with confidence, however, is that by reading Thomas Pynchon‘s work in the spirit of an 8th grade Language Arts student, one can pick up enough context clues to have a pretty good idea of what he is trying to say in his various narratives; namely that the powers that be will forever remain in control no matter how gamely we try to understand, much less battle, their self-serving plans. In this, Shadow Ticket is much like the previous Thomas Pynchon material I’ve encountered.
Hicks McTaggart is a private eye operating in Depression Era Milwaukee…that is, until a new case, known as a “Shadow Ticket”, lands in his lap. The assignment is to track down and find a missing socialite whose menacing father, known as “The Al Capone of Cheese”, is also MIA. The next thing McTaggart knows is he’s in a Europe that’s already gearing up for the next world war, struggling against conspiracies and conspirators he’s simply not equipped to deal with. Classic Pynchon, no doubt.
There’s something unusual about Shadow Ticket, though, a tonal change that at least one critic of note has found frustrating. The book, you see, starts off funny and stays funny for a good while. In fact, with its film noir Barbara Stanwyck–Fred MacMurray banter and its smooth, comical Pynchonian flow, it seems for a while that Shadow Ticket might be the author’s most purely entertaining work.
Then, however, it happens.
Before the reader has time to realize it, Shadow Ticket has undergone a tonal change, replacing much of the comedy and fun with confusing narratives that are all rather…dry. While Pynchon has been able to successfully transition from one tone to another before (Mason & Dixon comes to mind), the effect this time, when it hits, is rather jarring.
Fear not, however, for a rather unnerving, mysterious, and even sensitive conclusion saves Shadow Ticket from its own quicksand. Thomas Pynchon is a masterful writer, and his ability to become somber and chilling simultaneously without slipping into sappiness or hyperbole is as effective as it is notable. This new novel of Pynchon’s, should it be his last, showcases that, even when he’s not at his very best, the man can pack an artful wallop.
In truth, there are no real spoilers to be betrayed here, for the plot of Shadow Ticket is secondary to the wild prose ride Pynchon has designed for us. Storytelling simply doesn’t appear to be a tool in the author’s considerable arsenal; either that or it’s a tool he chooses not to fully employ. Like Jack Kerouac before him, Thomas Pynchon focuses on the ride rather than on the destination. The man seems to have weighty things to say, though, even when his works are at their most outlandish.
For instance, near the very end of Shadow Ticket, there’s an image, not of the Statue of Liberty, but of a female warrior. It stands alone in the vast ocean, towering over all who may pass by. Its eyes even seem to stare at the passerby with menace. What this all means isn’t abundantly clear, though one suspects Pynchon wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s his twisty, high-speed rollercoaster, and we can only hang on.