Louis Menand gives us a glimpse into Inherent Viceover at the New Yorker by using Chandler as the base comparitor. Given the history of detectives, and not just the literary one, it’s worth asking if hardboiled and honorable is really the status quo.
I’m probably behind in finding out about this (stupid grad school), but apparently Pynchon has a new book coming out next year called Inherent Vice. From the description I found here:
It’s been awhile since Doc Sportello has seen his ex-girlfriend. Suddenly out of nowhere she shows up with a story about a plot to kidnap a billionaire land developer whom she just happens to be in love with. Easy for her to say. It’s the tail end of the psychedelic sixties in L.A., and Doc knows that “love” is another of those words going around at the moment, like “trip” or “groovy,” except that this one usually leads to trouble. Despite which he soon finds himself drawn into a bizarre tangle of motives and passions whose cast of characters includes surfers, hustlers, dopers and rockers, a murderous loan shark, a tenor sax player working undercover, an ex-con with a swastika tattoo and a fondness for Ethel Merman, and a mysterious entity known as the Golden Fang, which may only be a tax dodge set up by some dentists.
In this lively yarn, Thomas Pynchon, working in an unaccustomed genre, provides a classic illustration of the principle that if you can remember the sixties, you weren’t there . . . or . . . if you were there, then you . . . or, wait, is it . . .
Obviously a bit of a switch up from Against the Day, but given the character of Lew Basnight, I can see a certain continuation of theme happening as he goes into a detective novel.