I enjoyed most of the short stories, particularly the first two. A few others were pretty flat. I much enjoyed his "classic works" White Noise and Underworld, and think that Delillo's talents are better suited for the novel. There were a few moments of hinted at "off stage " terror that would ha...
In earlier times, the bullet had been other things, because Pythagorean metempsychosis is not reserved for humankind alone.—Borges, "In Memoriam, J.F.K." (trans. Andrew Hurley)Literature is the attempt to interpret, in an ingenious way, the myths we no longer understand, at the moment we no longe...
Here is a song for this review. I like the original better, but this cover isn't too shabby either:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vX7QAn...I'm going to throw out an idea. Maybe it's not really a good one, or true or maybe it's something that's obvious, which all of the above are probably the ca...
My favorite Delillo so far, by a wide margin, inclusive of Underworld.First Nobel in mathematics goes to teenage protagonist, whose work was “understood by only three or four people” (4), which work kid has designated as “zorgs” (20): “it’s pretty impossible to understand unless you know the lang...
Pre-Film ReviewI re-read this novel, before seeing David Cronenberg’s film (see Post 21).SPOILERSThis review reveals what I think about the fate of the protagonist at the end of the novel.My views are based on my interpretation of material that starts at page 55 of the 209 page novel.If this mate...
I'm going to be dropping some Infinite Jest spoilers throughout this review. So don't read this review if you haven't read Infinite Jest. Seriously, don't read this review. Or read it until I say I'm going to drop a major DFW spoiler (not really I ended up not being nearly as spoiler-ific as I...
Splendid book, near perfect in places.Sterile declarative verbal utterances imitate speech and unfurl as prettily as perfect football plays. However, meaning teeters on the edge of blank tautology that in the end declares only the unsaid: the core of modern angst that is Delillo's abiding theme i...
A Muted Cry: Don DeLillo’s Falling Man and the “New Normal”Ah, the 9/11 novel. It hovers like a dark shadow over the literary landscape, beckoning its greatest writers to grapple with that tragic day and its lingering aftermath, to attempt to make some type of meaning, answer the unanswerable. Th...
Publicado en http://lecturaylocura.com/jugadores-d...“Jugadores” de Don Delillo. La obsesión de Delillo por reflejar la época en la que vivimos.La tormenta lectora que tuve el mes anterior ha tenido sus consecuencias; una de ellas ha sido el retraso “ad infinitum” de algunas reseñas, en particula...
DeLillo's Running Dog, originally published in 1978, follows Moll Robbins, a New York city journalist trailing the activities of an influential senator. In the process she is dragged into the black market world of erotica and shady, infatuated men, where a cat-and-mouse chase for an erotic film r...
There were twenty-five or thirty young men and women, many in fall colors, seated in armchairs and sofas and on the beige broadloom. Murray walked among them, speaking, his right hand trembling in a stylized way. When he saw me, he smiled sheepishly. I stood against the wall, attempting to loom, ...
Matt Shay sat in his cubbyhole in a concrete space about the size of a basketball court, somewhere under the gypsum hills of southern New Mexico. This operation was called the Pocket. There were people here who weren’t sure whether they were doing weapons work. They were involved in exploratory r...
They are grouped in twos, eternal boy-girl, stepping out of the runway beyond the fence in left-center field. The music draws them across the grass, dozens, hundreds, already too many to count. They assemble themselves so tightly, crossing the vast arc of the outfield, that the effect is one of t...
He said he understood. I wanted to say, No you don’t, not everything, not the part that makes me interesting. I’d been following the promising leads all along and had no choice but to keep at it, wondering now and then if I’d become obsolete. In the street, on a bus, within the touchscreen storm,...