Abstract
One of the first signs of life from Salman Rushdie after the fatwa in February, 1989, was his review in January, 1990, of Thomas Pynchon's novel <em>Vineland. </em>Rushdie demonstrates here an aesthetic affinity between himself and Pynchon: both are surrealist novelists. Furthermore, the review contains an ironic comment, based on hard-earned experience, on Pynchon's secretiveness: "So he wants a private life and no photographs and nobody to know his home address. I can dig it, I can relate to that (but, like, he should try it when it's compulsory instead of a free-choice option)" (1). What Rushdie appreciates most in Pynchon is his humour, and he notes with satisfaction that Pynchon again has littered his text with small songs – "microchip musical gimmickry" – "unfortunately, unprintable here" (36), in the <em>New York Times Book Review. </em>When the review was republished in Rushdie's collection <em>Imaginary Homelands, </em>one of the songs was, however, printed.
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