Sublime

Thomas Pynchon’s entire corpus may be said to consist of unresolved mysteries or, at least, unanswered questions (including his one explicit detective novel, the shambling Inherent Vice).

You may not be a romantic, but as a private detective I’m more or less obligated to be one. Of the hard-nosed-exterior type, of course.

M. ARONNAX, Professor in the Museum of Paris,

M. Pierre Aronnax,

“But haven’t I seen him drinking,” Netherton asked, “here, and recently?” He was fairly certain that he had, in spite of having a firm policy of flight if either brother appeared. Fully spherical now, the two Legos began to roll slowly toward him, across worn pine.