Why this book?
The best reading experience I’ve ever had, and I’ve read a lot of great books. It will expand your consciousness and thrill your soul. Contains nearly everything you need to know about the confusions of the last hundred years: the paranoia, the conspiracy-mongering, the inexhaustible flirtation with sadomasochism, the ever-pressing themes of Pavlovian and Freudian psychology, the dystopian misfirings of the dominating male ego, the Frankensteinian accumulations of capitalism and subsequent corporatization of the world accompanied by its perennial buddy, the rape of the environment, the love of drugs of every composition and of movies of every genre and quality. In fact, the entire novel can be read as a musical comedy in which the stars sing and dance their way toward a dazzling apocalypse because this entire kaleidoscopic onrush of imagery takes place beneath the looming shadow of the Rocket, the white whale of the 20th century.
The narrative, such as it is, begins in London 1944, the city under nightly bombardment from Nazi warplanes and the newly-developed V-2. Turns out our hero, the American lieutenant, Tyrone Slothrop, is prone to erections that display intriguing connections with the latest terror weapon from the skies. This is the mystery that propels the plot and mushrooming subplots through the coyly labyrinthine prose to its final explosive conclusion, the book itself a verbal facsimile of a rocket aimed directly at the reader’s own unprotected head. For those with brains properly attuned, a real page-turner. Read this book. Now.