Salon, from years back, has a nice article about “finding Pynchon,” the persistent recluse. It unearths how easy it is to unearth Pynchon, and it reveals how the revelation dispells some of the magic. Intentional or not, Pynchon’s eluding the media these many years incorporates the mystique of his writing. It is the actual cover of the book. I’d not want to remove it any more than I’d want to tear the first five chapters out of his books.
Let him have his peace, let me have my mystery.

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