The Crying of Lot 49. I go from a long, serious, sensible book based on historical events to an insane, lunatic, nonsensical romp through mid-60s California. Again I’m reminded that calling anyone Pynchonesque is a lie. No one writes like this guy. No one. Comparing anyone to him (At least the half dozen “Pynchonesque” writers I’ve read recently) is just a mistake. Most people couldn’t even conjure up this guy’s vapor trails…