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Nazi bowling leagues, autogyros, disappearing and reappearing lamps, all interspersed with silly songs and the occasional pig rescue—it can only mean one thing: we read Thomas Pynchon's Shadow Ticket.
By Kennedy Weible and Rebecca WeibleNazi bowling leagues, autogyros, disappearing and reappearing lamps, all interspersed with silly songs and the occasional pig rescue—it can only mean one thing: we read Thomas Pynchon's Shadow Ticket.