Anomalous within itself, Thomas Pynchon in 2025 seems to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Given that most photographs of the author harken back to before Richard Nixon was president, there’s little to go from when asked to compare the art to the artist. At most, there are broad strokes, of which can still only be categorized as speculation. Pynchon has sold millions of books and has fans who haven’t stopped talking about “Gravity’s Rainbow” in half a century. Given the lack of interviews surrounding “Shadow Ticket” (or any of his novels), the moment has arrived for him, and he’s doing something most creatives dream of: letting the work speak for itself.
In September, director Paul Thomas Anderson released what could be considered his second proper adaptation of Pynchon with One Battle After Another (2025). While the filmmaker has been influenced by the writer in the past – most questionably with The Master (2012) being analog to Pynchon’s debut “V.” – this one has struck a chord with general audiences. Steven Spielberg counts himself among the fans who are gunning for potential Oscar wins later this season. Again, while Anderson has been out there filling up endless Q&A’s, the man of the hour remains silent, allowing critics to determine what is trying to be said.
One Battle After Another qualifies more as a loose adaptation of “Vineland,” with the most noticeable difference being a change of time frame. Still, the themes we’ve come to love are there, with Pynchon’s familiar brand of paranoid, conspiracy-minded prose of outsiders trying to find answers in an unstable world. I’d argue the more beguiling comic elements aren’t prominent enough in Anderson’s latest – for that, I’d suggest Eddington (2025) which doesn’t stray from more absurd and juvenile quips alongside the downright academic – though even then, the choice to explore the importance of generational mentorship and bettering the world has struck a chord in a hostile America where the president’s social media page is closer to a parody of Pynchon than anything he could’ve predicted since he previously published a novel 12 years ago.
For a man who doesn’t “get out much,” it’s amazing how omnipresent he was at the start of October. With a movie in theaters and people rediscovering his work, one has to ask what a new Pynchon novel looks like in 2025. It’s one thing to adapt what came before, but without any significant press save for a quixotic blurb describing the plot of a detective and his quest in the 1930s to find “The Al Capone of Cheese,” one has to wonder… why did he insist on telling this story? Unlike Stephen King, who can’t go a sales quarter without a new book, the anticipation for Pynchon creates an unsustainable need for his work to be greater, more complex, and worth the wait during a period of history when immediate gratification can be measured down to the minute. This is a man of a more antiquated era, who knows the world yet is not one with it. There will be no public book signings. When you walk into that bookstore and see “Shadow Ticket” on the shelf… you’re on your own. And that is pretty damn refreshing.
The vision in Pynchon’s latest is largely uncompromised. Even for a category as bludgeoned as the retro crime novel, there is this push to make the artificiality align with the author’s larger vision. Somewhere amid the kitschy slang are characters striving to escape their existential burden and produce something more sincere. Add in a lot of pop culture references from the period, and you get a novel that continues the tradition of offering fans too much. Given speculation that this might be Pynchon’s farewell, it adds the weight of being a parting thought to which many have (incorrectly) presumed must be on par with his dense masterpieces. It can’t be judged on its own. Even the suggestion that the narrative centers around events over 90 years prior has disappointed some, believing that we’re missing out on the great deconstruction of our times. If anyone could make sense of a terminally online president who has declared violent acts on Twitter in the wee hours of the morning, it was the man who humored the illogical, seeking truth in the unseen.
And yet, here we are with Hicks McTaggart in 1932 bumming around Milwaukee, WI. At times reminiscent of his crime novel “Inherent Vice” and thematically preluding events in “Gravity’s Rainbow,” he is a figure who shares a desire to make sense of the world. At first blush, Wisconsin isn’t a place for radical change. Even so, this is The Great Depression, meaning that characters are acting desperately in the hopes of capturing the magic of the prior decade. Prosperity wasn’t that long ago. The New Deal is still in the future, and the economy is on a years-long downturn. For any small moments of optimism that McTaggart finds, there’s the reminder of hunger and poverty surrounding him.
At the risk of poorly breaking down the novel, I won’t go into too many specifics regarding the text. However, the allegorical nature of “history repeats itself” is present in a narrative that predates America’s involvement in World War II, and also features the rise of Nazi influence in Germany. Everything is anticipatory in “Shadow Ticket.” Yet if one looks closer, they’ll find somewhere amid the mundanity and patented Pynchon tangents that the evil has infected the discourse. When someone wants something, they try to get it. When they don’t have money, they may resort to animalistic behavior. Likewise, hateful, exclusionist rhetoric stems from desperation and fuels both McTaggart’s hometown as well as the Europe that he will become acquainted with by the end of the story.
The journey is madcap and full of wry observations that give the novel flavor. Even the observational nature of The Chicago Cubs’ season alludes to things beyond the characters’ understanding. Still, Pynchon is insistent on filling in the pages with ideas that have a brilliant absurdism. He comments on the confusing nature of owning lamps one minute while breaking down the innovations that can be found at a cheese convention. This is America in the 1930s, and yet it’s not like anything romanticized in Norman Rockwell-esque detail. It’s not even similar to the gumshoes that Pynchon is likely inspired by. The world of fascism and dairy shouldn’t work this well together, and yet it does.
Much like One Battle After Another, Pynchon emphasizes the quest to win over evil. Unlike Anderson’s film, there’s more time to sprawl out and really understand the passions of the central cast. Even through prose that is largely dialogue driven, Pynchon gives a predictive interiority that makes the motivations clear. Somewhere amid the joking and wild sacrifices is a heartbreak. This novel is painfully nostalgic for a time that most living (if any, including the author himself) can recognize. It’s tearing apart the familiar and trying to find meaning both in the fictitious remodeling and the subtextual presuppositions that the reader carries.
A lot is surreal about reading “Shadow Ticket” in 2025. Part of it remains the novelty of a new Pynchon that met my expectations (jury’s out on if it’s at great status, but I loved reading it). However, the more that the mundane fades away, the more Pynchon fixates on the small corners. He emphasized Milwaukee only in part because of its Cheesehead status. There’s also a significant German immigrant population, which ties perfectly into the story’s other themes of feeling oppressed and trying to find community in a group that pushes others down so they can succeed just a little. Even the way he discusses indigenous tribes paints a perplexing story that is both respectful, but also a bit underserving… intentionally so.
Several chapters explore the moments where McTaggart discovers fascist rhetoric taking hold. He contrasts this with a Jewish friend and the idea that his safety is at risk. The former world is fading and, with that, the innocence of The Rolling 20s. Pynchon hides the insidiousness in songs and humor, allowing the discomfort to emerge naturally from exchanges that require deeper thought. It’s closer to “Inherent Vice” in terms of accessibility, but they’re still not designed for the speed readers who will look at the structure and see a lot of meandering hoogajoob. Like harmful rhetoric, Pynchon’s extracurricular gift is to immerse the reader in understanding through practice, where it’s best to dedicate time to outside research if just to appreciate the more obtuse jazz artists.
At the end of the day, however, one has to ask… if this is all there is, what is Pynchon wanting to say? It can be argued that he’s long been an author fixated on cautionary tales through a post-modern lens. Without directly stating the obvious, he has inspired deep emotions to be pulled forward and considered alongside the horrendous nature of mankind. He’s become more compassionate over time, and it’s why One Battle After Another has resonated. It’s about the evils of fascism, but it’s paralleled by the struggles of parenthood in a chaotic society. “Shadow Ticket” may not have a junior, but it continues his quest to entertain while pondering deeper questions of life. He doesn’t need to be there to tell you what you think. Plain and simple.
That is why criticizing Pynchon for not writing the novel that encapsulates 2025 seems ridiculous. Like the author, I have spent a fair share of the past decade finding parallels to the past, which have become more evident in recent times. Without digging into larger morose themes, “Shadow Ticket” is the rising tension that every educated reader should recognize by now. The fact that it came out the week before young Republicans had conversations leaked where they endorsed Nazi rhetoric and praised Adolf Hitler only shows how relevant a study of the past should be. Part of it is, unsurprisingly, that time has healed the era’s wounds. Like the financial shortcomings of the 1930s, America will presumably return to a prosperous standing. Until then, it’s important to see the patterns and recognize that even if it fits Pynchon’s larger body of work, it also fits the contemporary narrative of needing to be cautious and fight for change.
Or maybe I have been wrong about Pynchon this whole time. No matter what can be said about his execution, I still think few authors have topped the experience of cracking open his novels for the first time. They may be difficult or even boring for long stretches, but he has built enough confidence with the reader that those who truly appreciate literature’s ability to express something more labyrinthian than causation will get something out of it. For everyone else, it’s a long, winding road where nothing significant happens. I’m not criticizing those who read “Shadow Ticket” and find nothing, but it is also hard for me to not be caught up by Pynchon’s zest for life on every page, where it’s a celebration of joy alongside tragedy. He has done what he could to make the hypothetical 12-year wait for his follow-up more tolerable.
Will the world ever get their answers from Pynchon? I want to believe his obituary will still be using his military picture, followed by the familiar row of numbers. Still, part of me is convinced there will be some joke within the paragraph that follows, of which only him and a dozen people he personally knew found funny. He is the type whose ambiguity makes him intriguing, but also leaves you wondering what about him is sincere. In an age where your childhood feels like public information, having the only correspondence in over a decade be about cheese tycoons is an amazing joke within itself. The world may never know Pynchon, but it’s more than likely that he has figured them out more than they will ever realize.
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