A Sentence from Pynchon

I have been reading Thomas Pynchon‘s Vineland, and though it is not something that I will likely write about in any greater detail, I thought that I would share a particularly beautiful sentence:

“Emerging from a courtyard full of hanging flowers and caged birds just at the hour when the lights came on, and ghosts came out, they saw their fun-house shadows taken by the village surfaces drenched in sunset, as sage, apricot, adobe, and wine colours were infiltrated with night, and up and down the wandering streets they followed their noses at last to the waterfront, lampglow smeared about each municipal bulb up on the green-painted iron posts, music coming all directions, from radios, accordions, singers unaccompanied, jukeboxes, guitars.”

  1. RPM said:

    Reminds me of the chapter-ending sentence on page 267 (I think) that starts, “So the bad Ninjamobile”.

    If you’re not there yet, wait for it….

  2. RPM,

    Yes, I considered posting that one as well:

    “So the bad Ninjamobile swept along on the great Ventura, among Olympic visitors from everywhere who teemed all over the freeway system in midday densities till far into the night, shined-up, screaming black motorcades that could have carried any of several office seekers, cruisers heading for treed and more gently roaring boulevards, huge double and triple trailer rigs that loved to find Volkswagens laboring up grades and go sashaying around them gracefully and at gnat’s-ass tolerances, plus flirters, deserters, wimps and pimps, speeding like bullets, grinning like chimps, above the heads of the TV wtachers, lovers under the overpasses, movies at malls letting out, bright gas-station oases in pure floureascent spill, canopied beneath the palm trees, soon wrapped, down the corridors of the surface streets, in nocturnal smog, the adobe air, the smell of distant fireworks, the spilled, the broken world.”

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