38
whose decadence and “apocalyptic grandeur” ( VL 249) may be inescapable, but is not,
ultimately, un-negotiable.
It is in this atmosphere of perpetually impending “eclipse, or worse” (VL 223) that
I begin by considering the largest zigzagging movement made in the novel. Cutting
across the American landscape, Vineland charts a shift from western pilgrimage and
expansion, to what has certainly been read, as the above quote from Mattessich implies,
as escape north up the coastal edge of the continent. Within Pynchon’s spatial economy,
southern California marks a geographical limit in which illusions of agency, fascist
designs on the landscape, and fantasies of historical progress accumulate alongside the
technologies and commodities of the Western capitalist state and transform into detritus
turned back upon itself by the “unimaginable Pacific […] inviolate and integrated” (CL49
41). Gravity’s Rainbow concludes in California with “the pointed tip of the Rocket”
(775) poised just above movie theatre America. In Vineland, Pynchon not only returns to
the site at which he left readers hanging for seventeen years, but he also writes the novel
at the limit of his temporal scope. Vineland’s present is 1984, which remains to this
day—despite his interest in the malleable and navigable nature of time—the latest year in
which any of his novels is set.
10
Vineland, then, is plotted along a spatial and temporal
boundary in which human actors, functioning under the Enlightenment delusion of the
subject’s agency and ontological privilege, run up against the limits of the teleological
narrative of Western progress, and find themselves with backs against the cliff-edge
(often quite literally, as in the case of PR
3
), forced out of the techno-capitalist citadels in
10
The timeline in Gravity’s Rainbow is such that Pynchon’s two previously published novels take
place under the rainbow of the Rocket’s arc. Both V. and The Crying of Lot 49, although set in the
decades following the majority of the action in Gravity’s Rainbow, take place before the 00000 Rocket
arrives above the spectating head of 1972 America.
39
which they have become marginalized actors, and obliged to flee to a “green free
America” (VL 314) that exists only, as the previous chapter suggests, as a highly
contested space. This movement north, then, can be read as a means of escape that not
only seeks physical distance from implication in the Western march of progress and its
narrative of linear destiny, but is also in search of strategies for different forms of
movement, orientation, and perception.
The chief techno-capitalist avatar which switchback narrativity “unfurrows” with
its zigzag discourse is the freeway system that Pynchon imagines in The Crying of Lot 49
as “a vein nourishing the mainliner L.A., keeping it happy, coherent, protected from
pain” (CL49 14). This is the freeway system that DL, running from Ralph Wayvone’s
offer to make her an assassin for the mob, “inject[s] herself into […] trying not to get
emotional but still hanging on the rearview mirror’s single tale of recedings and
vanishing points” (133 emphasis added). This “single tale” is what Hanjo Berressem calls
“the discourse of the master whose first appearance marks the birth of ‘Western
individuality’—exactly the moment of origin that Pynchon constantly questions but also
returns to, as for instance in the description of Slothrop’s disintegration” (215). By tying
together the hegemonic ideological underpinnings of the straight story with the straight
road, both of which insist on a teleological narrative of progress, privileging the look
forward, and proscribing the look back, Pynchon points to the ways in which the
“discourse of the master” is not only a code but is also encoded in material assemblages
like the “ancient freeway systems” (VL 89). Significantly, while the material embodiment
of the freeway itself may not always travel along straight lines—often trapping travelers
in impossible interchange loops and off-ramp complexities—it is the systematicity of this
40
discourse—its sheer scale, refusal of counter-trajectories, and concrete overwriting of the
landscape (VL 89)—that lends it its terrifying power. If, as Mattessich suggests, “the tip
of the Rocket…becomes in Gravity’s Rainbow the implement of a writing that takes the
real as its text” (5), then in Vineland, the freeway system emerges as this implement’s
inscriptive medium.
11
However, the link between the Rocket and the freeway should not suggest that the
discourse of the Rocket precedes that of the freeway. Clean historical lines of
development are not as productive in terms of historicizing these avatars of modernity as
is attention to the entanglements of their co-instantiation and implication within long-
running contests over spatial narrative inscription. Pynchon calls the freeway “ancient”
because, while California’s road systems may not evoke such an association, the linearity
of the system that reproduces the master discourse of “Western individuality,” and the
linear infrastructural ideology that both reflects and supports that system is, in Pynchon’s
spatial economy, as ancient as the first global empires.
12
Through the assemblage of the
single car with its solitary driver occupying a single lane headed in one direction from
which escape can seem impossible—as it does for DL’s narrative antecedent Oedipa
Maas, who “head[s] irreversibly for the Bay Bridge” (CL49 87)—the system is materially
encoded in a way that presents its being as not merely “ancient” but primordial,
originary, “an ideal state predicated upon transcendental values” (43), as Amy Elias
11
Henri Lefebvre suggests that his readers “think of a slab of concrete or a motorway” when imagining the
“domination of space” by such an ideological structure (164).
12
The relationship between straight “lines of force” (VL 200) and a politics of domination and tyranny
becomes the focus of Pynchon’s next novel, Mason & Dixon. As William Emerson tells his young pupil,
Jeremiah Dixon, The Romans “‘were preoccupied with conveying Force, be it hydraulic, or military, or
architectural,—along straight Lines’” (219).
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