Frasi di Thomas Pynchon

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Thomas Pynchon

Data di nascita: 8. Maggio 1937

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Thomas Pynchon è uno scrittore statunitense.

Riconosciuto come uno dei massimi esponenti del postmoderno in letteratura, con una vasta influenza sugli autori delle generazioni seguenti, si caratterizza non solo per la scrittura labirintica ed estremamente complessa, ma anche per la categorica avversione ad apparire come personaggio pubblico: le sue foto, che si contano sulle dita di una mano, risalgono tutte al periodo scolastico e al servizio nella marina militare; per questo atteggiamento schivo e ombroso, è stato spesso paragonato a J.D. Salinger. Pynchon è anche apparso in alcuni filmati amatoriali e in un cameo nel film del 2014 Vizio di forma, tratto dal suo omonimo romanzo. Ha inoltre partecipato come doppiatore di sé stesso ad alcuni episodi della serie animata I Simpson. In realtà, come da lui detto, abita a New York senza nascondersi , ma semplicemente non viene riconosciuto non essendo "personaggio pubblico".

La sua narrativa, etichettata di volta in volta con le categorie della paranoia, dell'isteria e della densità di informazione, è oggetto di un vero e proprio culto da parte dei fan. Ogni anno Thomas Pynchon viene indicato come possibile candidato al Premio Nobel per la Letteratura, riconoscimento che puntualmente non riceve .

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Frasi Thomas Pynchon

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„What have the watchmen of the world's edge come tonight to look for? Deepening on now, monumental beings stoical, on toward slag, toward ash the colour the night will stabilize at, tonight... what is there grandiose enough to witness?“

— Thomas Pynchon
Context: Out at the horizon, out near the burnished edge of the world, who are these visitors standing... these robed figures — perhaps, at this distance, hundreds of miles tall — their faces, serene, unattached, like the Buddha's, bending over the sea, impassive, indeed, as the Angel that stood over Lübeck during the Palm Sunday raid, come that day neither to destroy nor to protect, but to bear witness to a game of seduction... What have the watchmen of the world's edge come tonight to look for? Deepening on now, monumental beings stoical, on toward slag, toward ash the colour the night will stabilize at, tonight... what is there grandiose enough to witness?

„I want you to hold this for me, till I ask for it back. It looks like Italo is going to get here before Tamara, and I'm not sure which one“

— Thomas Pynchon
Context: "You." A finger the size of a corncob, an inch from Slothrop's nose. ... "Look," Slothrop's friend producing a kraft-paper envelope that even in the gloom Slothrop can tell is fat with American Army yellow-seal scrip, "I want you to hold this for me, till I ask for it back. It looks like Italo is going to get here before Tamara, and I'm not sure which one" "At this rate, Tamara's gonna get here before tonight," Slothrop interjects in a Groucho Marx voice. "Don't try to undermine my confidence in you," advises the Large One. "You're the man."

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„If he’d been the type who evolves theories of history for his own amusement, he might have said all political events: wars, governments and uprisings, have the desire to get laid as their roots; because history unfolds according to economic forces and the only reason anybody wants to get rich is so he can get laid steadily, with whoever he chooses.“

— Thomas Pynchon
Context: The eyes of New York women do not see the wandering bums or the boys with no place to go. Material wealth and getting laid strolled arm-in-arm the midway of Profane’s mind. If he’d been the type who evolves theories of history for his own amusement, he might have said all political events: wars, governments and uprisings, have the desire to get laid as their roots; because history unfolds according to economic forces and the only reason anybody wants to get rich is so he can get laid steadily, with whoever he chooses. All he believed at this point, on the bench behind the library was, that any body who worked for inanimate money so he could by more inanimate objects was out of his head. Inanimate money was to get animate warmth, dead fingernails in the living shoulderblades, quick cries against the pillow, tangled hair, lidded eyes, listing loins. Chapter Eight

„Don't try to undermine my confidence in you“

— Thomas Pynchon
Context: "You." A finger the size of a corncob, an inch from Slothrop's nose. ... "Look," Slothrop's friend producing a kraft-paper envelope that even in the gloom Slothrop can tell is fat with American Army yellow-seal scrip, "I want you to hold this for me, till I ask for it back. It looks like Italo is going to get here before Tamara, and I'm not sure which one" "At this rate, Tamara's gonna get here before tonight," Slothrop interjects in a Groucho Marx voice. "Don't try to undermine my confidence in you," advises the Large One. "You're the man."

„This ascent will be betrayed to Gravity. But the Rocket engine, the deep cry of combustion that jars the soul, promises escape. The victim, in bondage to falling, rises on a promise, a prophecy, of Escape....“

— Thomas Pynchon
Context: This ascent will be betrayed to Gravity. But the Rocket engine, the deep cry of combustion that jars the soul, promises escape. The victim, in bondage to falling, rises on a promise, a prophecy, of Escape.... Moving now toward the kind of light where at last the apple is apple-colored. The knife cuts through the apple like a knife cutting an apple. Everything is where it is, no clearer than usual, but certainly more present. So much has to be left behind now, so quickly.

„Out at the horizon, out near the burnished edge of the world, who are these visitors standing... these robed figures —“

— Thomas Pynchon
Context: Out at the horizon, out near the burnished edge of the world, who are these visitors standing... these robed figures — perhaps, at this distance, hundreds of miles tall — their faces, serene, unattached, like the Buddha's, bending over the sea, impassive, indeed, as the Angel that stood over Lübeck during the Palm Sunday raid, come that day neither to destroy nor to protect, but to bear witness to a game of seduction... What have the watchmen of the world's edge come tonight to look for? Deepening on now, monumental beings stoical, on toward slag, toward ash the colour the night will stabilize at, tonight... what is there grandiose enough to witness?

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