As a fan of Pynchon's prodigious and often inscrutable prose, reading Gravity's Rainbow oftentimes felt like some form of puritanical punishment instead of the superdense, richly rewarding experience it is. 
 Inherent Vice is a different species of Pynchon novel, a whole lot of Raymond Chandler, and not a hint of Finnegan's Wake-type pretension. It is actually his first truly accessible novel, steeped in 60's L.A. nostalgia that feels as if Pynchon may be offering up tainted glimpses of his own life, something highly uncharacteristic of the famously reclusive writer. It winds up being one of his best -- smart, exciting, and (almost) moving. It reminded me of Mailers' shot at Noir with 'Tough Guys Don't Dance'... only better, of course. If you wanted to find Pynchon's polar opposite, look to Mailer.