Dad was hospitalized with an arrhythmia, Mom told me she had cancer, so I was finally able to make progress on Gravity's Rainbow. Had to. Called it 'The Albatross.' I dug High Modernism more than historical fiction, allegedly, so I was hip to Pynchon's word-games and structural shenanigans long before I noticed what a richly evocative WWII novel GR is. Now I just need Roger and Jessica in the church, Slothrop and the squid, those poor dodos, Byron the Bulb, the custard pies...what a hilarious, beautiful, empathetic book. Batshit but true. Against the Day: more beauty, less perfect.