I’ve always been puzzled by DeLillo’s reputation in the USA as a great writer: ‘White Noise’ started as a campus novel, promisingly featuring a Professor of Hitler Studies who doesn’t read German, but then morphed into a disaster movie; ‘Underworld’ centred on the fate of a baseball which meant an English reader could neither understand it nor enthuse about it. This book was very slight, in all senses of the word, a postmodernist manipulation of reality that didn’t do anything to arouse one’s interest.
DeLillo has only written one good book and this isn’t it. A truly snore-inducing exercise in literary masturbation written by someone who apparently does not feel the need to bother with anything that might interest a reader.
I’ve always been puzzled by DeLillo’s reputation in the USA as a great writer: ‘White Noise’ started as a campus novel, promisingly featuring a Professor of Hitler Studies who doesn’t read German, but then morphed into a disaster movie; ‘Underworld’ centred on the fate of a baseball which meant an English reader could neither understand it nor enthuse about it. This book was very slight, in all senses of the word, a postmodernist manipulation of reality that didn’t do anything to arouse one’s interest.
DeLillo has only written one good book and this isn’t it. A truly snore-inducing exercise in literary masturbation written by someone who apparently does not feel the need to bother with anything that might interest a reader.