Book Review: "Inherent Vice" by Thomas Pynchon

As you know, I have seen the film of this book a few times and I'm sorry when I say that it is probably the worst film of Paul Thomas Anderson's career. I sought out the book and I thought it was probably going to be a lot different to my experience of the movie. This is why I will always advocate for reading the book before you see the film. I was actually quite shocked to find that the book was more understandable and didn't feel as though it was wasting my time. I felt like the characters in the book were a lot different in my mind to the way the characters in the film were presented, especially the main character.

The protagonist, Larry “Doc” Sportello, is a private investigator and dedicated pothead who seems more at home in the counterculture of the 1960s than in the fast-approaching, more cynical 1970s. Doc’s character is a clear subversion of the classic hardboiled detective archetype: while figures like Sam Spade or Philip Marlowe are tough, sharp, and efficient, Doc is frequently distracted, hazy, and passive, often stumbling into clues rather than uncovering them through traditional detective work.

Despite his laid-back attitude, Doc has a good heart and a strong sense of loyalty, particularly when it comes to his ex-girlfriend Shasta Fay Hepworth, who brings him the case that sets the entire story in motion. His character is as much an observer of the world as he is a participant, and through his stoned but oddly perceptive perspective, Pynchon paints a portrait of a world where the ideals of the 1960s are fading, making way for something more sinister. This is something the film definitely lacked: a crime atmosphere. It was too laid back and focused on its counterculture rubbish than actually depicting the story. I found the book to be much darker and more serious.

Shasta Fay Hepworth reappears at the beginning of the novel with a request. She’s been having an affair with real estate mogul Mickey Wolfmann, and now she’s worried that Wolfmann’s wife and her lover are planning to have him committed to a mental institution. Shasta wants Doc to look into it, but before he can get very far, both she and Wolfmann mysteriously disappear. What starts as a straightforward missing persons' case quickly spirals into a sprawling conspiracy involving drug smugglers, corrupt cops, shady business dealings, and a mysterious organisation known as the Golden Fang. As Doc tries to follow the various leads, he finds himself drawn deeper into a maze of deception, paranoia, and ever-growing confusion. Here's another thing that was done much better in the book: the depiction of the actual crime that was taking place and the atmosphere of conspiracy. It definitely felt like there was more at risk and more tension in the book than there was in the film.

Pynchon’s Los Angeles is more than just a setting, it’s a character in its own right, reflecting the transition from the freewheeling 1960s to the more controlled, consumerist 1970s. The city is full of contradictions: it’s a place of sunshine and freedom, but also of darkness and corruption. Hippie communes coexist with ruthless real estate developments, and the old countercultural dream is being swallowed up by commercialism and law enforcement crackdowns. Throughout the novel, Doc navigates this shifting landscape, from neon-lit strip clubs to beachside bungalows, from police precincts to yacht parties filled with Hollywood elites. Each location serves to highlight the changing nature of America itself; a place where idealism is giving way to cynicism, and where the forces of power are tightening their grip. This is really well done in the book yes, but I could never help but question whether depicting Los Angeles like this is both a huge cliché and an act of hilarious irony. I can never see anything countercultural about Los Angeles - it is the most cliché and branded city in the world.

One of Doc’s key foils in the novel is Detective Christian “Bigfoot” Bjornsen, a straight-laced LAPD officer who despises hippies and sees Doc as little more than a joke. Despite their animosity, Bigfoot is strangely fascinated by Doc, and the two engage in a wary, antagonistic relationship throughout the novel. Bigfoot represents the encroaching authority that is gradually squeezing out the free-spirited anarchy of the 1960s. He’s a cop who wants to be a movie star, a lawman who resents the corruption of his own profession, and a figure who, in his own way, is just as trapped as Doc. Their interactions provide much of the novel’s dark humour, as Doc constantly manages to frustrate and evade Bigfoot’s attempts to rein him in. I think that the dark humour is definitely better in the book than in the film because it is far less on the nose.

All in all, there is something really interesting about the book that of course, I have not seen when watching the movie. The movie and the novel have two different atmospheres and the book really does feel like a crime novel more than anything else. I definitely recommend reading this if you a) haven't seen the film or b) didn't like the film.