Bleeding Edge and The Signature of All things

If you had told me a few years ago that I would be delighted by an Elizabeth Gilbert novel, I would not have objected. But, had you told me that I would give up in boredom a contemporaneous Thomas Pynchon novel, I would have said, "No way!" I don't think it's my own taste as a reader that has changed. I still love Gilbert's writing, and found with a recent re-read of the Idiot that I still love Dostoevsky after a 40 year hiatus. So, I must conclude that my own tastes have seen no radical shift rather that it's Pynchon's writing that has fallen to its knees. It makes me sad as all of his prior novels a few of which I have read multiple times have delighted me. The failure of Bleeding Edge seems to me to be in the characterization. They seem more cut outs than fully fleshed. While Pynchon has always used outre characters that bleed into caricature there was still something real, vital and lovable about them. Belief in the characters is non negotiable issue for me. Almost any other aspect of the novel can be warped and messed with without me objecting, but the characters had better have breath in them. Finally I found the Pynchon dull and enervating. I couldn't keep my eyes open reading it, and every time I picked it up I'd have to go back a few pages to find the narrative thread. Gilbert's book on the other hand kept me wide awake. A book that causes me to stay up late is a successful book, when all's said and done.