I think it's more Millennial PK Dick than Pynchon. In any case it does take about a 100 pages (for me at least) to figure out what's linking up. And if it's funny it's funny like Louis CK, but not funny. There are sparks and spikes of brilliant imagery but I don't think I laughed at any time. And just because I'm neurotic doesn't mean the book isn't distressing, and in the end, like a smack in the back the head with an oil-slicked dead fish--or even in your face. To me she seems to be riffing on: we're not dreaming about the insidiousness of the White Noise, but we are if we think there is salvation or resolution. And I'm left with the image: ". . . in death it looked like Saran Wrap pulled tight across her bones, as if the face was nothing but a mask atop the truth of our incivility." I gave it 4 because the more I thought about it the more I thought it was about how not-funny it all is. But that could be because I'm a Boomer. And I'm hearing an appreciation of our legacy. Bummer!