Why does everyone pretend this book is so difficult? It's not exactly rocket science

You're going to see a thread about this book every day until you die. Many people have tried to do what you're doing, and you are be fat the worst. Bananaposting, man goes down toilet posting, family guy posting, shit scene posting, even the predictable and foretold attempt to retroactively turn the board on him when the Inherent Vice movie came out, it's never worked. And what do you bring to the table?
>the book is le reddit xD
>NIGGA IM THE CRUISE CONTROLLER
jesus fucking christ dude. Pathetic.

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No user. You are the cancer
And then user was a faggot

A FUCKING DOORSTOP
HOHOHAHA
OP reminds me of those spring doorstoppers actually; a soft tip, he's all wound up and once you disturb him he can't help but to thrash about making the same tired noise until he settles down. Bother him again and the result is the same, ad nauseam. HE literally CAN'T even STOP himself from REPLYING

Post Modernism: The Final Chapter

David Foster Wallace and Tao Lin stood around their elaborately footnoted map of Thomas Pynchon’s house.
“Are you sure about this David?”
“Dammit Tao, we’ve been over this again, how can we become the world’s greatest pomo authors if Thomas Pynchon’s still alive?”
“I know, but eliminating his map?”
David Foster Wallace slapped Tao Lin in his chubby little face.
“Are you in, or are you out?”
“Uhh- I don’t-“
“You called your book Eeeee Eee Eeeee Tao, Eeeee Eee Eeeee. How can you succeed in a world where Pynchon exists with a title like Eeeee Eee Eeeee?”
Tao Lin clenched his fists.
“I’m in David. But if you ever mention Eeeee Eee Eeeee again, I’ll end you”

Crickets chirped outside Tao Lin’s Toyota Camry.
“Here’s the place.”
In front of them stood the imposing walls of Thomas Pynchon’s fortress of solitude.
“Get the rope.” Said David as he stepped out of the car. Tao Lin hurried to the car’s boot, and pulled out a long black thread of rope. He chucked it to David who attached a metal hook to its end. He then threw the hook over the walls and it stuck tight. He yanked it, then started to shimmy up, leaping over the wall and landing with a tennis-shoe silenced thump.
“The coast’s clear.”
With this, Tao Lin also scalled the wall, He rolled over to David Foster Wallace and took out their map. Wallace took out his LED light and shone it over the diagram.
“The backdoor’s over there. Once we get in it’s through the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hallway and then it’s match-point for Thomas.”
Keeping low, they moved at a crawl towards the sturdy stone alcove of Pynchon’s back doorstep.
“Jiggy the door Tao.”
Tao Lin took out a styrofoam Starbucks cup. Cracking it open, he took out a lockpick and screwdriver.
“This is easy David.”
“Almost too easy Tao. If Pynchon’s security this lax, I’m surprised that Burroughs didn’t bet us to the punch decades ago.”
The door soundlessly swung open and they crawled inside.
“Get down David.” Cried Tao Lin and he threw David Foster Wallace to the ground. In the air above them flashed three deadly crossbow bolts, which slammed into the door with a meaty thunk.
Above them, the intercom crackled into life.
“Welcome to my home Mr. Wallace. You must be over the rainbow to step foot in my domain”
Tao Lin was looking around frantically.
“The jig’s up, David lets get out of this here.”
“I’m not ready to give up now Tao.”
“You’re lucky to be alive! Come on, the Pale King will sell fine on its own.”
“Don’t bring up The Pale King Tao, don’t you ever mention the Pale King!”
With that David Foster Wallace barreled through the kitchen.

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“Dammit.”
“You better help your friend Tao-Lin, or he might find himself in a world of pain.”
Ahead, Tao Lin could hear David’s frantic cries for help. Taking out his knife out of its boot holder, Tao Lin turned the corner to find David Foster Wallace in the slimy grip of a giant octopus.
“This wasn’t in the plan David!”
“Give me the knife!” cried David Foster Wallace as he viciously gouged at the octopus’s eyes with his one free hand
Tao Lin threw the knife and it whirled through the air. David caught the knife in one hand and tore it through the octopuses’ fleshy ‘head’. Writhing in pain, the octopus wheeled in pain, dropping the writer onto his feet. Tao Lin leapt forward with his icepick, and with one swift move thrust it into the octopus’ brain.
“This is so going in my blog.”
The housetrained kraken spasmed on the floor for a full minute, then stood still.
“You might be the most impressive writers yet.”
“You’re not as smart as you think you are Pynchon.” Cried back DFW.
“I never said I was smart, only creative!”
With a mechanical click, the floor beneath Tao Lin and David Foster Wallace swung in like a trapdoor. David desperately grasped for the ledge, and Tao Lin managed to grab his hanging ankle, leaving them both hanging precariously from the side. Looking down they could see vicious metal stakes sticking through the basement’s cold concrete floor. Scattered around the room was a number of skeletons, the one directly below them still wearing a cowboy hat.
“Cormac. Pynchon you bastard!”
“Tao, even my serving arm can’t keep us from falling from much longer. You have to do something now.”
Tao struggled to pull himself upwards to see anything that might save them.
“The octopus!”
Taking their rope, Tao Lin threw it with all his might. Above he heard the claw sink into the octopus’ flesh. With a ferocious pull he sent the octopus flying past them and into the basement below. With that Tao Lin jumped off the wall and landed on the octopus’ thick body, the metal spikes unable to reach him.
“Come on down David.”
Once David Foster Wallace was too standing on Pynchon’s pet octopus, Tao Lin threw the hook back up, where it stuck fast on the staircase’s bannister. Swinging across a row of spikes and pulling themselves up, the side of the basement’s wall the carefully ascended the stairs.

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At the end of the pictured lined corridor was Thomas Pynchon’s room, and beneath the floor, crude black smoke was flowing out. A rumbling started to shake the house.
“What the hell’s he hiding in there?”
“I don’t know Tao, but from the feel of things it’s gonna be a lot harder to eliminate his map the longer we wait here.
With that David took a step forward. As he put his foot down, a vicious throwing star feel out of a picture’s mouth, skimming the glass of David’s glasses.
“Dammit!”
Looking down at the floor where David Foster Wallace’s foot had rested, Tao Lin saw a sea of tiles, each one with a piece of fruit drawn on in steady, identical hand.
“You steeped on an apple.”
“Apple, apple- Of course!” cried DFW and he leapt forward, hopping from one leg to another.
“The bananas Tao, only steep on the bananas!” he shouted over his shoulder, getting ever closer to Pynchon’s door. A red glow flickered underneath now, and the closer they got the louder the noise became, and when Tao Lin joined DFW by the entrance to Pynchon’s inner abode, it was an ear-filling roar.
“Lets do this.”
Bursting through the door, Tao Lin and David were confronted by the giant metal arrow of a V2 rocket sticking jutting up through the floor. Settled in a leather armchair bolted floor level, was Thomas Pynchon, his head hidden behind a darkly tinted goldfish bowl, a chilling grin drawn on in crimson pen.
“I’d love to stay and chat with the only authors who’ve ever made it this far, but as you can see, I have a flight to catch.”
Laughing manically, the V2 started to slowly ascend, stabbing through the room’s high ceiling like it was made of paper.
“Goodbye David, Mr Tao!” cried Pynchon as he left them behind in a storm of black exhaust.
Coughing and shielding their faces from the searing heat, David Foster Wallace and Tao Lin could only stand helplessly as their enemy made his escape.
“After all this, we couldn’t even lay a finger on the guy!” cursed Tao Lin, bringing his fists to his face in rage.
“It’s not over yet Tao.”
David Foster Wallace ran to the window and ripped it open. He reached down to his belt and pulled up a gleaming black pistol.
“Give up David, there’s no way you can hit him now.”
“I hit service lines smaller then this back in Indy.” David replied, squinting up at the rocket’s thruster-lit outline. Sweat soaked his bandana. He steadied his hands and fired.
Tao Lin and David stood in silence for a moment, holding their breaths, and in the next instant the dazzling orange explosion of Pynchon’s rocket lit up the night. Splitting into pieces it fell to land sizzling in the ocean below.
“Write in hell you bastard.” Muttered David Foster Wallace and he let the gun fall to the garden below.

Fin.

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t.PynchoNPC

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Yeah fuck the guy who was writing about mkultra and operation paperclip before anyone really knew about them, I mean he's LE MEME author RIGHT

Oh noo

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I'd watch a youtuber who found things like old V-2s and actually fired them off

fuck off boomer

What's that? Make another gravity's rainbow thread?

Based retard

i love this book, its such a fucking fever dream i occasionally question if i actually read it or if i just dreamed up everything that happened in it

Nice try fag nobody's actually read it

lol its not even that hard to read, you just have to be willing to be confused a lot

i´ve read an article that the security codes for nuclear launching were 000000000000 so pynch was right in a sense (kubrick too when he did strangelove)

Is this as good as read as The Stranger is while high on hash?

better

Wow, a real live Grammer Nazi.

The bigger question is if it's so easy then why haven't more people read it?

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Not enough people doing acid following urban legends and conspiracies, too much sex and rock and roll

the true moral dilemma of our age lol

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BANANA

Pynch is real jester. To steal another anons story:
>Gotta hand it to Gravity's Rainbow. I know it's a meme novel around here, but man, it changed my life. I'd grown up thinking reading was homework. A novel was drudgery for me. This attitude lasted way into my high school years, a time when if I wasn't asleep in class I was skipping and hanging out in a buddy's basement doing bong hits. We'd play this game where we would get high and make up a crazy scenario like, OK, what if everything was very serious, right, like it was a serious place and time and everywhere you looked everything was highly serious, but what if at exactly the point when everything was at its most serious and you expected the next moment to continue the trend of utmost seriousness, what if, at that very moment, a gorilla wearing a fez on a giant unicycle rode by. My friends and I would collapse into convulsions of laughter, punching each other and slapping our knees. "No! Stop it! Fucking stop it!" a teary red face would choke out. We called it The Game, and normally we only played it while we were blazed in a basement, but once in a while we would play it in school. One fateful afternoon a few of us numbskulls had detention together. We sauntered in (high, of course) and sat down to serve our time. At some point we started to play The Game, right there in detention. Our supervisor, an English teacher who was known for being kind of a hardass, was for some reason being super chill that afternoon. We occasionally got pretty loud with our laughter, but not even once did he tell us to keep it down. He just sat there at the desk reading a newspaper. We even got a few chuckles out of him. Then, with fifteen minutes left of our sentence, he folded up the newspaper, came over to us, and sat down on a desk. He was holding a thick book. "Here," he said, "I think you guys might get a kick out of this." We read the cover: Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon. OK, we said. We were skeptical, but we took the book. I was the first one to read it. My mind was blown. This guy Pynchon had been playing The Game since the early 70s. You think that since the book's about World War II that it's going to be all serious. But then you're like, wait, whaaaat? Did that guy just go down the toilet? Why is there a pie fight during the serious war? Why is there weird sex happening? Weed? This guy Pynchon blew all our random scenarios out of the water. I gave it to the other guys to read, and we agreed to stop playing The Game entirely. We decided to leave it to the master. Thomas Pynchon, whoever you are, we salute you.

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Lit is full of brainlets

>t. actual brainlet

There are difficult things about it, sure.
disgusting.

HAHAHA I GET IT, BECAUSE THE BOOK IS -LITERALLY- "not quite rocket science"

it's one of the easiest semi-mainstream postmodern novels currently. it's definitely easier than the other two in the trinity (IJ, Ulysses), it edges out House of Leaves, Pale Fire, and oddly structured novels by a fair margin, etc. the only three easier pop-pomo books that come to mind are If On A Winter's Night A Traveler, Cloud Atlas, and Slaughterhouse-Five, and what do you know, all three are memes

Om-pa-pa oom-pa-pa oom-pa-pa oom-pa-paaaaa
Fat sweaty bulldog
Stood in the sun
Stone village swamp man
Slow motion run
Tender poke police walker
Precious birthday fudge
Swamp night bull nail
Walker done done
Hot sweaty bulldog stood in the sunthen -
Stone village swamp man (is doing a)
Slow motion runhere comes the policeman:
Tender poke police walkerwhom the dog and the man see as:
Precious birthday fudgethen -
Swamp night (the man)
Bull nail (the dog - the bulldog's claw)
Kill the policeman:
Walker done done
Me and Harpua
We couldn't care few-a
It happens all the time
We beat Okimo
(Repeat Chorus)
Hot liquor stone jack
Bitter toothless flesh
Shabby pimple chin-slime
Evil milky rash
Me and Harpua
Spastic dead-eyed hound
Oozing dreadlock skullcap
We're coming to your town
We'll help you party down

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I dropped the buzzard in the sand and strode off slowly toward the town
I needed dinner and a place where I could throw my weight around
I detected faint axilla scent that put me off my appetite
But mouflon warring where I went renewed in me a need to fight

Then reveling in mirror mask I soon was lost in foggy ditch
Without a feather gray or white to tickle that piano witch
Fearing that I must expose my worm to holographic haze
My Clinometer error rose and spawned in her new mawkish ways

I woke the witch with reverence reserved for serpents, snails, and slugs
I pulled the witch from out the ditch and turned to face the furry thugs
The sheep they smiled with teeth agleam
The weapons in their hooves revolved I detected a prostatic ream
I gulped and felt my loins dissolve!!!

Axilla

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How to tell the “writer” of House of Leaves is posting on Yea Forums? He tries to casually put his book on the same shelf as Ulysses and Pale Fire lmao fuck off

Honestly I wanted to stop reading house of leaves after the house was wrapped up. Knew i should have. Fuck Danielewski. I WAS RAPED XDDD

it's pomo, so it's on the same shelf. period. I don't care if you don't like it

Nice meme also checked

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>What more do they want? She asks this seriously, as if there's a real conversion factor between information and lives. Well, strange to say, there is. Written down in the Manual, on file at the War Department. Don't forget the real business of the War is buying and selling. The murdering and violence are self-policing, and can be entrusted to non-professionals. The mass nature of wartime death is useful in many ways. It serves as a spectacle, as a diversion from the real movements of the War. It provides raw material to be recorded into History, so that children may be taught History as sequences of violence, battle after battle, and be more prepared for the adult world. Best of all, mass death's a stimulus to just ordinary folks, little fellows, to try 'n' grab a piece of that Pie while they're still here to gobble it up. The true war is a celebration of markets. Organic markets, carefully styled "black" by the professionals, spring up everywhere. Scrip, Sterling, Reichsmarks, continue to move, severe as classical ballet, inside their antiseptic marble chambers. But out here, down here among the people, the truer currencies come into being. So, Jews are negotiable. Every bit as negotiable as cigarettes, cunt, or Hersey bars.

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Gravity's Rainbow is much more difficult than Infinite Jest you fucking pseud.
It's not the structure that makes this book difficult, it's the strange avante-garde passages that are deliberately confusing/strange.

well then good thing Infinite Jest is both structurally more difficult and has harder avant-garde passages, you fucking pseud

This was such a nice anime but for some reason looking at these screencaps makes me sad

You are either a retard, an insecure person, or haven’t read either one if you honestly think this.

i kno rite?? arnt i da best???

Cringe.
Something bad is happening to this board. I blame pewdiepie and the Christchurch incident. Even the mods are fucking up.

yeah, we're in agreement here, something bad is happening. alternatively, however, I blame posters like you, replying to mid-tier bait like it's actually real

>alternatively, however,
note to self, proofread my fucking comments more often

We should be way past this “pretending to be retarded while attempting to seem like an authority on literature and then calling it bait when you realize you’re the pseud” shit

That's what I get from all meme trilogy books. They are difficult for people who don't actually read. I had a lot more difficulties with lunatics like Mcelroy and Hawkes.

I agree that leaving an argument with the "u got troled" defense is retarded, but I really did mean that as bait from the beginning. Gravity's Rainbow is still pretty fucking easy considering the company it keeps, but IJ is pretty clearly easier

oh yeah, and the point of the original comment was that I just wanted (You)'s, but there was no way to do that without namedropping HoL and lying about how the difficulty of IJ

What makes McElroy so hard? Could you post a representative passage?

Well you failed to understand the OP so its safe to say you're a brainlet

Not that guy but I read cannonball which is basically from what I gather about a guy with PTSD and the way he goes through what the main character is seeing and his memories or thoughts is insanity. Not in a good way like pynchon or gaddis where you're working towards a payoff either, dude is just nigh-incomprehensible

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Or I thought OP's joke was ignorable and I just wanted to start a discussion about what writers are actually hard to read.

and what a grand discussion it is eh

Foster Wallace writes young adult books with lots of footnotes.

and it's beautiful

wrong