Gravitas Rainbow

Without wishing to sound at all superior (yet managing it anyway) i'm quite pleased to say that i'm now about 150 pages from the end of Gravity's Rainbow, by Thomas Pynchon. And i've noticed something strange: all of the stuff that I read about in the reviews happens in the first 200 pages. After then, there's a heap of interesting stuff that builds as the novel progresses that never seems to be mentioned at all. Was Pynchon toying with the arts fraternity? Introducing new sub-plots 500 pages in then chucking to himself as he could tell which reviewer actually read that far? I'd like to think so. A full review will be coming in a day or so when I finish the damn thing.

On the subject of books, i've become emamoured recently of collections of articles. I keep them in the car because they're good for light reading, which suits me for when I have to eat on the run. I hate just sitting around eating and not doing anything else, so a paperback which can be held in one hand is great. One which is comprised of short articles is even better, because it may be some time between meals and I don't want to try to remember plot.

The best so far have been (surprisingly) Sir Robert Morley. He's not someone I knew very much about pror to reading his book "Morley Marvels" but I do now. We seem to approach things from the same direction, plus he is witty, erudite and amazingly indolent. I'm currently on the lookout for more of his stuff.

On the other end of the scale for mealtime company would be Jeremy Clarkson. I don't really wish to settle down to some salt & pepper squid and chips just to be harangued for my love of Toyota Corollas. Never was this brought home to me more forcefully than a couple of months ago. I'd taken a copy of Clarkson's latest ramble with me on a trip to Melbourne, and the plane hit rather bad turbulence coming into Tullamarine. As passengers screamed, moaned and clung to their partners for dear life I, a lone traveller, looked down at the cheekily grinning face peering back at me from the paperback cover in my hand and thought "please don't let me die with only Jeremy Clarkson for company". That sort of thing scars a man.