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丿賱蹖賱賵 賲丕乇丕 賵丕乇丿 蹖讴 賱丕亘蹖乇賳鬲 賲蹖 讴賳丿 賵 賲丿丕賲 丿乇 丿丕賱丕賳 賴丕蹖 丕蹖賳 賴夭丕乇鬲賵 賲蹖鈥屭嗀必з嗀�. 丕賵 丿乇 賯亘丕賱 卮丿丕卅丿 噩賴丕賳 禺賵丿 乇丕 賲爻卅賵賱 賲蹖鈥屫з嗀� 賵 亘賴 賴賲蹖賳 丿賱蹖賱 乇賵蹖讴乇丿蹖 囟丿 爻丕禺鬲丕乇蹖貙 囟丿 爻蹖爻鬲賲蹖 丿乇 倬蹖卮 賲蹖鈥屭屫必�. 卮丕蹖丿 賳賲蹖鈥屫堌з囏� 丿乇 丨丿 蹖讴 賳丕馗乇 亘丕賯蹖 亘賲丕賳丿. 丕賵 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴鈥屫й� 賳蹖爻鬲 讴賴 亘鬲賵丕賳 亘賴 丨丕卮蹖賴 乇丕賳丿貨
324 pages, Paperback
First published June 20, 1991
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About the author
Don DeLillo
94听books6,238听followersDonald Richard DeLillo is an American novelist, short story writer, playwright, screenwriter and essayist. His works have covered subjects as diverse as television, nuclear war, the complexities of language, art, the advent of the Digital Age, mathematics, politics, economics, and sports.
DeLillo was already a well-regarded cult writer in 1985, when the publication of White Noise brought him widespread recognition and the National Book Award for fiction. He followed this in 1988 with Libra, a novel about the Kennedy assassination. DeLillo won the PEN/Faulkner Award for Mao II, about terrorism and the media's scrutiny of writers' private lives, and the William Dean Howells Medal for Underworld, a historical novel that ranges in time from the dawn of the Cold War to the birth of the Internet. He was awarded the 1999 Jerusalem Prize, the 2010 PEN/Saul Bellow Award for Achievement in American Fiction in 2010, and the 2013 Library of Congress Prize for American Fiction.
DeLillo has described his themes as "living in dangerous times" and "the inner life of the culture." In a 2005 interview, he said that writers "must oppose systems. It's important to write against power, corporations, the state, and the whole system of consumption and of debilitating entertainments... I think writers, by nature, must oppose things, oppose whatever power tries to impose on us."
DeLillo was already a well-regarded cult writer in 1985, when the publication of White Noise brought him widespread recognition and the National Book Award for fiction. He followed this in 1988 with Libra, a novel about the Kennedy assassination. DeLillo won the PEN/Faulkner Award for Mao II, about terrorism and the media's scrutiny of writers' private lives, and the William Dean Howells Medal for Underworld, a historical novel that ranges in time from the dawn of the Cold War to the birth of the Internet. He was awarded the 1999 Jerusalem Prize, the 2010 PEN/Saul Bellow Award for Achievement in American Fiction in 2010, and the 2013 Library of Congress Prize for American Fiction.
DeLillo has described his themes as "living in dangerous times" and "the inner life of the culture." In a 2005 interview, he said that writers "must oppose systems. It's important to write against power, corporations, the state, and the whole system of consumption and of debilitating entertainments... I think writers, by nature, must oppose things, oppose whatever power tries to impose on us."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 918 reviews
May 15, 2020
鈥淭he cult of Mao was the cult of the book.鈥�
A writer is always said to bring wisdom and knowledge to his readers, to give them guidance, clarity of mind by using stories and instances regardless of truth as exemplars. But can the writer do the opposite and inspire terror, chaos, and bewilderment? It is often said that a writer sacrifices himself for the better fortune of his readers. Writing should be a beloved practice to those who are enamored by words, by language, and sometimes by the ability of playing god and make-believe. That is not always the case. It is easily traceable in literary history that writers have the hardest time concentrating on their works. Indeed it is rather easy to write a few pages when inspiration hits you, but writing and rewriting hundreds even thousands of pages over a grueling stretch isn鈥檛 an attractive plight. Writers readily suffer fatigue, languor, creative blocks, and would often put off their work for great lengths of time. But then his suffering is assuaged the minute he publishes his work and people are inspired by what he painfully poured out of himself. But what if instead of inspiration, his horrors take hold of his prose and flow through his readers? What if he instills fear and uneasiness into their minds? And what if the book takes the form of a chimera that terrorizes both creator and receptor? In Christopher Nolan鈥檚 Inception he uses dreams to put in ideas into people鈥檚 heads. But in Don DeLillo鈥檚 Mao II, the obvious truth is revealed, in the real world, writing books take this function.
鈥淲hat terrorists gain, novelists lose. The degree to which they influence mass consciousness is the extent of our decline as shapers of sensibility and thought. That danger they represent equals our own failure to be dangerous.鈥�
In Mao II, Bill Gray, the world鈥檚 most renowned novelist, an aging dinosaur and an illusive sonofabitch firmly believes that he was born too late. He was of the idea that writers used to be the scale of the world鈥檚 moral balance and sometimes even the force the drives it off its axis. Books inspired fear, they served as catalysts of change. Most of the visionary books were banned; great writers were often murdered and burned on a stake. People in power didn鈥檛 like ideas people were getting from what they read. The Bible inspired great religious frenzy and turned lots of heathens into believers of Jesus Christ. Similar function goes for Islam鈥檚 Quran. And these works inspired a great many religious wars. The Greek Philosophers such as Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle鈥檚 works inspired an intellectual revolution. The Malleus Maleficarum caused the deaths of thousands of forward thinking women. Mein Kampf was an idea that killed millions of Jews. Marx and Engle鈥檚 Manifesto started a movement so hated by the world. Oscar Wilde鈥檚 flair caused uproar and probably got him killed. D.H. Lawrence鈥檚 vulgarity made him a literary villain. Victor Hugo鈥檚 Les Miserables gave the common people the feeling of power. Jose Rizal鈥檚 novels inspired the Philippine revolution. Even Nabokov鈥檚 Lolita gave rise to such a resounding cry of moral righteousness. But nowadays, definitely post 9-11, terrorists and acts of terror have taken hold over the populace and what was once a mass that was affected by literary ideas now moved to terror鈥檚 rhythm of fear and self preservation. The Osama bin Ladens and the Saddam Husseins of the world are now more known than the Garcia-Marquez and the Toni Morrisons. Even modern writers have not escaped the fate of fear. Salman Rusdie鈥檚 Satanic Verses shows how terrorism is encroached even to the influencers emeritus. A long time ago people read books and these chiefly inspired how they think, the choices they made. Nowadays people watch and listen to terror-dominated news and their mindset and life-choices are affected by what has happened. Books are now relegated as fantasy and escapism serving as a pastime rather than a critical tool of change, and it is no great wonder the biggest selling books are about vampires and masochistic sex. What was once a public that read and reacted on ideas and concepts now dwelled on reported events. The time of the thinking man is gone; the rule of the fear-addled reactionary homo-sapien is upon us. Is this the post-modern word we live in?
鈥淗e is saying terror is the what we use to give our people their place in the world. What used to be achieved through great work, we gain through terror. Terror makes the new future possible. All men, one man. Men live in history as never before. He is saying we make and change the history minute by minute. History is not the book or the human memory. We do history in the morning and change it after lunch.鈥�
鈥淢ao believed in the process of thought reform. It is possible to make by changing the basic nature of the people.鈥�
Mao Zedong, the man who graces the novel鈥檚 title was not just a revolutionary leader; he was also a brilliant writer. As a youth he wrote well-regarded poems and several philosophical treatises on the subject of war, democracy and so forth. But what really symbolized Mao, aside from his images, was his Little Red Book that the Chinese people clamored for. Formally called Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung, this work was printed and sold by the millions because the populace wanted to learn and adapt the ideas of their leader. I am saying this because although Mao did commit many vile acts of terrorism, what propelled people to notice and revere him was not his actions but the idea he wanted to propagate.
鈥淭here is a longing for Mao that will sweep the world鈥� eloquent macho bullshit.鈥�
This novel of set pieces isn鈥檛 as coherent as I鈥檇 hoped it to be. It combines hazy, fragmented views on terror, on war, of the lone and of the mass, of writing and shaping and out of the disarray comes a piercing cry out of the rubble that should be heard in the shell-shocked world of today: fear me, fear the writer. DeLillo purposely fills the book with scenes that cause unease and he reminds the reader that an idea is still scarier than an act. That the mass can never be compelled by fear and terror unless it takes root in informed viewpoints that the individual must make on his own, and that when traced, everything comes back to literature. Thus when man realizes his errs, he shall see that terror does not come from explosions and bombs, but from letters and words.
A writer is always said to bring wisdom and knowledge to his readers, to give them guidance, clarity of mind by using stories and instances regardless of truth as exemplars. But can the writer do the opposite and inspire terror, chaos, and bewilderment? It is often said that a writer sacrifices himself for the better fortune of his readers. Writing should be a beloved practice to those who are enamored by words, by language, and sometimes by the ability of playing god and make-believe. That is not always the case. It is easily traceable in literary history that writers have the hardest time concentrating on their works. Indeed it is rather easy to write a few pages when inspiration hits you, but writing and rewriting hundreds even thousands of pages over a grueling stretch isn鈥檛 an attractive plight. Writers readily suffer fatigue, languor, creative blocks, and would often put off their work for great lengths of time. But then his suffering is assuaged the minute he publishes his work and people are inspired by what he painfully poured out of himself. But what if instead of inspiration, his horrors take hold of his prose and flow through his readers? What if he instills fear and uneasiness into their minds? And what if the book takes the form of a chimera that terrorizes both creator and receptor? In Christopher Nolan鈥檚 Inception he uses dreams to put in ideas into people鈥檚 heads. But in Don DeLillo鈥檚 Mao II, the obvious truth is revealed, in the real world, writing books take this function.
鈥淲hat terrorists gain, novelists lose. The degree to which they influence mass consciousness is the extent of our decline as shapers of sensibility and thought. That danger they represent equals our own failure to be dangerous.鈥�
In Mao II, Bill Gray, the world鈥檚 most renowned novelist, an aging dinosaur and an illusive sonofabitch firmly believes that he was born too late. He was of the idea that writers used to be the scale of the world鈥檚 moral balance and sometimes even the force the drives it off its axis. Books inspired fear, they served as catalysts of change. Most of the visionary books were banned; great writers were often murdered and burned on a stake. People in power didn鈥檛 like ideas people were getting from what they read. The Bible inspired great religious frenzy and turned lots of heathens into believers of Jesus Christ. Similar function goes for Islam鈥檚 Quran. And these works inspired a great many religious wars. The Greek Philosophers such as Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle鈥檚 works inspired an intellectual revolution. The Malleus Maleficarum caused the deaths of thousands of forward thinking women. Mein Kampf was an idea that killed millions of Jews. Marx and Engle鈥檚 Manifesto started a movement so hated by the world. Oscar Wilde鈥檚 flair caused uproar and probably got him killed. D.H. Lawrence鈥檚 vulgarity made him a literary villain. Victor Hugo鈥檚 Les Miserables gave the common people the feeling of power. Jose Rizal鈥檚 novels inspired the Philippine revolution. Even Nabokov鈥檚 Lolita gave rise to such a resounding cry of moral righteousness. But nowadays, definitely post 9-11, terrorists and acts of terror have taken hold over the populace and what was once a mass that was affected by literary ideas now moved to terror鈥檚 rhythm of fear and self preservation. The Osama bin Ladens and the Saddam Husseins of the world are now more known than the Garcia-Marquez and the Toni Morrisons. Even modern writers have not escaped the fate of fear. Salman Rusdie鈥檚 Satanic Verses shows how terrorism is encroached even to the influencers emeritus. A long time ago people read books and these chiefly inspired how they think, the choices they made. Nowadays people watch and listen to terror-dominated news and their mindset and life-choices are affected by what has happened. Books are now relegated as fantasy and escapism serving as a pastime rather than a critical tool of change, and it is no great wonder the biggest selling books are about vampires and masochistic sex. What was once a public that read and reacted on ideas and concepts now dwelled on reported events. The time of the thinking man is gone; the rule of the fear-addled reactionary homo-sapien is upon us. Is this the post-modern word we live in?
鈥淗e is saying terror is the what we use to give our people their place in the world. What used to be achieved through great work, we gain through terror. Terror makes the new future possible. All men, one man. Men live in history as never before. He is saying we make and change the history minute by minute. History is not the book or the human memory. We do history in the morning and change it after lunch.鈥�
鈥淢ao believed in the process of thought reform. It is possible to make by changing the basic nature of the people.鈥�
Mao Zedong, the man who graces the novel鈥檚 title was not just a revolutionary leader; he was also a brilliant writer. As a youth he wrote well-regarded poems and several philosophical treatises on the subject of war, democracy and so forth. But what really symbolized Mao, aside from his images, was his Little Red Book that the Chinese people clamored for. Formally called Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung, this work was printed and sold by the millions because the populace wanted to learn and adapt the ideas of their leader. I am saying this because although Mao did commit many vile acts of terrorism, what propelled people to notice and revere him was not his actions but the idea he wanted to propagate.
鈥淭here is a longing for Mao that will sweep the world鈥� eloquent macho bullshit.鈥�
This novel of set pieces isn鈥檛 as coherent as I鈥檇 hoped it to be. It combines hazy, fragmented views on terror, on war, of the lone and of the mass, of writing and shaping and out of the disarray comes a piercing cry out of the rubble that should be heard in the shell-shocked world of today: fear me, fear the writer. DeLillo purposely fills the book with scenes that cause unease and he reminds the reader that an idea is still scarier than an act. That the mass can never be compelled by fear and terror unless it takes root in informed viewpoints that the individual must make on his own, and that when traced, everything comes back to literature. Thus when man realizes his errs, he shall see that terror does not come from explosions and bombs, but from letters and words.
October 17, 2023
Mao II鈥攊ts title coming from one of Andy Warhol's famous portraits of Mao Zedong, opens in Yankee Stadium with a mass wedding of 13,000, and closes with a single wedding taking place in the early hours of the morning in Beirut; with a tank being part of the procession. And what is one of the things most associated with weddings?鈥攑hotos, of course. Images. In DeLillo's tenth novel the Warhol pictures marry the ideas of image-making and totalitarianism, persuading speculation about how fame is transformed into a death mask, and how a portrait can somehow freeze the mind behind the face. Bill Gray, the reclusive writer who has enough royalties to now exist in obscurity, lives somewhere in upstate New York, with his younger assistant Scott; a kind of alter-ego, who happily attends to all his needs, and helps to maintains the massive Gray archive; including the much rewritten unpublished work. Not too sure whether to publish again, Gray derides to give the world an image instead of a book, and poses for the Swedish photographer Brita, whom Scott ushers to Gray's hideaway with all the caution of visiting an elusive terrorist. And that's kind of the point. Gray has retreated into silence and created a sort of myth status for himself, but only the terrorist has the real power these days鈥攖he ability to shape and influence actual events. The writer sees only one other choice besides seclusion鈥攈e can, like Andy Warhol, feed our addiction through imagery. Ironically, through terrorism itself, he is soon called into the real world to show support for a writer being held hostage in Lebanon, and after giving a public reading of his work in London, DeLillo delves into a murkier plot, which propels Gray to head off to Beirut, via Athens, where he ends up getting a deadly liver ailment due to a hit-and-run, before disappearing in an image of total anonymity. The novel isn't solely about Bill Gray; as Scott, his girlfriend Karen, and literary photographer Brita, get their own segments in the novel too, which gives the novel a wider canvas.
I found this to be quite a dark cautionary piece of storytelling, that moves from one serious idea to the next. But, I did feel it was told with a sense of humor also鈥攁 satirical eye, and anyone familiar with some of DeLillo's other novels would easily pick up on that. Mao II is filled with set pieces that do show off his great skill for a scene, and with multiple points of view. Also, the dialogue feels so genuine that reader is like a fly on the wall. Overall, he is just a brilliant storyteller. However, for those who like to be pulled emotionally by their fiction, DeLillo is seldom an emotional writer when it comes to characters. I wasn't expecting Mao II to be moving in anyway鈥攁nd it wasn't, really. Despite the PEN/Faulkner Award, I believe this is such an underrated novel. I was so impressed by Mao II that I'm struggling to think of a reason not to give it top marks. I'd say it sits just behind Libra, Underworld and White Noise as his fourth best novel. DeLillo might be past his prime now, but for me, he is still the greatest living American writer out there.
October 20, 2016
鈥淭he future belongs to crowds.鈥�
If you鈥檝e tried DeLillo and didn鈥檛 get on with him this probably isn鈥檛 going to change your mind. All the familiar DeLillo hallmarks are present and correct 鈥� every character speaking in an identical voice, every character as intelligent and eloquent as the author; dramatic tension is hewn into the sentences rather than the plot; and it鈥檚 primarily cerebral in its appeal as opposed to emotionally engaging.
There are five players in Mao II. Bill is a famous reclusive writer. The more he disdains any public persona the more attention he receives 鈥� there鈥檚 a poignant dramatisation of the Elena Ferrante situation here. You could say he鈥檚 held hostage by his reluctance to assimilate himself to the demands of celebrity. He is stalked to his remote hideaway by a fanatical fan, Scott. Scott ingratiates himself and becomes his personal assistant. Scott eventually picks himself up a lover, a waif he finds lost in a local beat up town. Karen is running from a religious cult she joined as a nineteen year old, she is also running from her family. The theme of the individual attempting to flee crowd mentality is reinforced through Karen. Then there鈥檚 Brita, a photographer, who is allowed to photograph Bill and taken to his hideaway in the dark, much as a journalist might be escorted to the burrow of a group of insurgents. Lastly there鈥檚 the French poet who has been taken hostage by a terrorist group in Lebanon and is kept in a tiny room with a hood over his head. Bill has come to believe the writer has been usurped by the terrorist as the prime forger of world narrative. And that they have achieved this by means of replacing the word with the mass produced image as the collective focus of debate. When Bill flies to London to take part in a reading of the French poet鈥檚 work the suggestion is made that he might be able to facilitate the release of the hostage if he meets with the terrorist group.
As usual with DeLillo鈥檚 books, Mao II was ahead of its time. This was written in 1990 when barely anyone had heard of Osama Bin Laden. Also, as is usually the case, DeLillo鈥檚 sentence writing achieves a more thrilling transcendence than any other living writer I know. I don鈥檛 think any novelist has made me think about and understand our modern world to the extent DeLillo has. He writes about the present as if with the eerie razor sharp lucidity of hindsight. What happens in his novels on a small scale invariably starts happening in the real world on a large scale years later.
If you鈥檝e tried DeLillo and didn鈥檛 get on with him this probably isn鈥檛 going to change your mind. All the familiar DeLillo hallmarks are present and correct 鈥� every character speaking in an identical voice, every character as intelligent and eloquent as the author; dramatic tension is hewn into the sentences rather than the plot; and it鈥檚 primarily cerebral in its appeal as opposed to emotionally engaging.
There are five players in Mao II. Bill is a famous reclusive writer. The more he disdains any public persona the more attention he receives 鈥� there鈥檚 a poignant dramatisation of the Elena Ferrante situation here. You could say he鈥檚 held hostage by his reluctance to assimilate himself to the demands of celebrity. He is stalked to his remote hideaway by a fanatical fan, Scott. Scott ingratiates himself and becomes his personal assistant. Scott eventually picks himself up a lover, a waif he finds lost in a local beat up town. Karen is running from a religious cult she joined as a nineteen year old, she is also running from her family. The theme of the individual attempting to flee crowd mentality is reinforced through Karen. Then there鈥檚 Brita, a photographer, who is allowed to photograph Bill and taken to his hideaway in the dark, much as a journalist might be escorted to the burrow of a group of insurgents. Lastly there鈥檚 the French poet who has been taken hostage by a terrorist group in Lebanon and is kept in a tiny room with a hood over his head. Bill has come to believe the writer has been usurped by the terrorist as the prime forger of world narrative. And that they have achieved this by means of replacing the word with the mass produced image as the collective focus of debate. When Bill flies to London to take part in a reading of the French poet鈥檚 work the suggestion is made that he might be able to facilitate the release of the hostage if he meets with the terrorist group.
As usual with DeLillo鈥檚 books, Mao II was ahead of its time. This was written in 1990 when barely anyone had heard of Osama Bin Laden. Also, as is usually the case, DeLillo鈥檚 sentence writing achieves a more thrilling transcendence than any other living writer I know. I don鈥檛 think any novelist has made me think about and understand our modern world to the extent DeLillo has. He writes about the present as if with the eerie razor sharp lucidity of hindsight. What happens in his novels on a small scale invariably starts happening in the real world on a large scale years later.
May 14, 2019
"The secret of me is that I'm only half here..."
Andy Warhol says this & perhaps because I'm a such a nonfan of his I was a super nonfan of this.
The novel infuses you with images and DeLillo attempts to do something wholly Warholesque with his own brand of literature. More discerning minds can tell me what that something is, and/or what specific effect it produces. The novel is also about: the indifference of society personified by crowds, the act of writing as a doppelganger for terrorism, and about "messianic returns" to humanity. The ego of the writer is totally implanted here, and though super PRETENTIOUS, I guess I did fall in love with DeLillo's comment on new lit versus old: before, everything new was explored and challenged while the newer years carry less original ideas so the modern writer uses news of the apocalypse for inspiration. (Yup, true.)
DeLillo has his motifs. The limousine (from "Cosmopolis") is employed once again in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it cameo. His affinity for using only first names for all characters is damn whimsical. Mass hysteria stands in for individual paranoia and fear and the monster never EVER shows his actual face in a work by DeLillo.
Plot? thin threads but mostly about a writer and his assistants and how he is kind of a puppet (like the heroes (?) from the aforementioned "Cosmopolis" & the professor of "White Noise") but tries to redeem his terrorist acts of creating on the page by saving another lost writer. Very strange. There must be some poetry in the fact of that one missing writer is found & nudged into reading publicly the work of a fellow displaced writer.
Here, nothing stays long enough to make sense.
Is that "Warhol"?
Andy Warhol says this & perhaps because I'm a such a nonfan of his I was a super nonfan of this.
The novel infuses you with images and DeLillo attempts to do something wholly Warholesque with his own brand of literature. More discerning minds can tell me what that something is, and/or what specific effect it produces. The novel is also about: the indifference of society personified by crowds, the act of writing as a doppelganger for terrorism, and about "messianic returns" to humanity. The ego of the writer is totally implanted here, and though super PRETENTIOUS, I guess I did fall in love with DeLillo's comment on new lit versus old: before, everything new was explored and challenged while the newer years carry less original ideas so the modern writer uses news of the apocalypse for inspiration. (Yup, true.)
DeLillo has his motifs. The limousine (from "Cosmopolis") is employed once again in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it cameo. His affinity for using only first names for all characters is damn whimsical. Mass hysteria stands in for individual paranoia and fear and the monster never EVER shows his actual face in a work by DeLillo.
Plot? thin threads but mostly about a writer and his assistants and how he is kind of a puppet (like the heroes (?) from the aforementioned "Cosmopolis" & the professor of "White Noise") but tries to redeem his terrorist acts of creating on the page by saving another lost writer. Very strange. There must be some poetry in the fact of that one missing writer is found & nudged into reading publicly the work of a fellow displaced writer.
Here, nothing stays long enough to make sense.
Is that "Warhol"?
September 12, 2017
The Novelist as Substitute Terrorist (Or the other way round?)
I have a great deal of sympathy for DeLillo's protagonist, Bill Gray, alias Willard Skansey Jr. He has my fear of being over the hill. He, like me, talks to relative strangers more intimately than is warranted. I share his doubt that any of my accomplishments have even personal importance. And I really would prefer to spend my remaining days being ignored by the world.
On the other hand, Bill puts me off viscerally. His clipped conversational banter packed with urbane wit, his hapless set-up of his own professional and existential demise, his absence of credible motives for any actions he takes, his weird idea that the rise of terrorism has reduced the moral power of writers of fiction, and his compulsion to do something about that - all of it is alien and contrived. I'm left cold and unmoved in any direction.
There are many captivating phrases. This is DeLillo after all. But some appear to be nonsense: "We understand how reality is invented. A person sits in a room and thinks a thought and it bleeds out into the world. Every thought is permitted. And there's no longer a spatial distinction between thinking and acting." Is this a philosophy? A new understanding of the world? Or just a novelist's novelistic hubris?
Other of DeLillo's quips read like they came from Pseuds Corner in Private Eye Magazine: "... when the Old God leaves the world, what happens to all the unexpended faith?... When the Old God goes, they pray to flies and bottle tops." He also very much likes to bite the hand that feeds him, particularly that of publishers: "The secret force that drives the industry is the compulsion to make writers harmless." Indeed, that threat of the powerful writer must keep them up at night at Penguin.
The narrator's snobbishness is obvious:
And of course, authors don't fair much better. "If you've got the language of being smart, you'll never catch a cold or get a parking ticker or die," says his sarcastic protagonist who has a houseful of notes, drafts, proofs, corrections, and emendations of a book he refuses to finish for no clear reason. He's a lush, a lech, and an absent father who sleeps with his assistant's wacky Moonie girlfriend and thinks that having his photograph taken is equivalent to a notice of impending death. His apparent intention is to allow Lebanese terrorists to 'trade-up' on their literary captive Swiss poet by sacrificing himself. His life, as they say, is complicated. Mostly because his egotism appears unbounded.
References to Mao, Arafat, and Khomeini abound. I can't understand why. Are these the terrorists who have undermined the importance of Western fiction? If they have, does this imply that authors are compelled to involve themselves in terrorist liaisons and media-manipulation? "Great leaders regenerate their power by dropping out of sight and then staging messianic returns," notes one of the characters. And? Are great novelists included as great leaders? Someone involved with this novel apparently thinks such a pretentious conceit has merit. Good luck with that.
I have a great deal of sympathy for DeLillo's protagonist, Bill Gray, alias Willard Skansey Jr. He has my fear of being over the hill. He, like me, talks to relative strangers more intimately than is warranted. I share his doubt that any of my accomplishments have even personal importance. And I really would prefer to spend my remaining days being ignored by the world.
On the other hand, Bill puts me off viscerally. His clipped conversational banter packed with urbane wit, his hapless set-up of his own professional and existential demise, his absence of credible motives for any actions he takes, his weird idea that the rise of terrorism has reduced the moral power of writers of fiction, and his compulsion to do something about that - all of it is alien and contrived. I'm left cold and unmoved in any direction.
There are many captivating phrases. This is DeLillo after all. But some appear to be nonsense: "We understand how reality is invented. A person sits in a room and thinks a thought and it bleeds out into the world. Every thought is permitted. And there's no longer a spatial distinction between thinking and acting." Is this a philosophy? A new understanding of the world? Or just a novelist's novelistic hubris?
Other of DeLillo's quips read like they came from Pseuds Corner in Private Eye Magazine: "... when the Old God leaves the world, what happens to all the unexpended faith?... When the Old God goes, they pray to flies and bottle tops." He also very much likes to bite the hand that feeds him, particularly that of publishers: "The secret force that drives the industry is the compulsion to make writers harmless." Indeed, that threat of the powerful writer must keep them up at night at Penguin.
The narrator's snobbishness is obvious:
"They are a nation, he supposes, founded on the principle of easy belief. A unit fuelled by credulousness. They speak half a language, a set of ready-made terms and empty repetitions. All things, the sum of the knowable, everything true, it all comes down to a few simple formulas copied and memorised and passed on ... This is what people have wanted since consciousness became corrupt."Who is it, does one suppose, DeLillo is addressing? Not his readers surely. More likely the unread masses, at least those not having read DeLillo, including all those dead folk born after corruption but before the DeLillian Enlightenment .
And of course, authors don't fair much better. "If you've got the language of being smart, you'll never catch a cold or get a parking ticker or die," says his sarcastic protagonist who has a houseful of notes, drafts, proofs, corrections, and emendations of a book he refuses to finish for no clear reason. He's a lush, a lech, and an absent father who sleeps with his assistant's wacky Moonie girlfriend and thinks that having his photograph taken is equivalent to a notice of impending death. His apparent intention is to allow Lebanese terrorists to 'trade-up' on their literary captive Swiss poet by sacrificing himself. His life, as they say, is complicated. Mostly because his egotism appears unbounded.
References to Mao, Arafat, and Khomeini abound. I can't understand why. Are these the terrorists who have undermined the importance of Western fiction? If they have, does this imply that authors are compelled to involve themselves in terrorist liaisons and media-manipulation? "Great leaders regenerate their power by dropping out of sight and then staging messianic returns," notes one of the characters. And? Are great novelists included as great leaders? Someone involved with this novel apparently thinks such a pretentious conceit has merit. Good luck with that.
March 6, 2024
All right, I think I gave DeLillo enough chances. The funny thing is that when I started this book, I was enjoying it a lot and even started to think this might be my favorite of his. And then it was all downhill for me. And the book ended up being weak (I think it's the weakest one I've read from him) and a bit ridiculous. For me of course, all those spouting about fiction and terror. The hallmarks of DeLillo's writing are all present here - everyone sounds exactly the same, I assume as DeLillo himself. Wistfulness for the America of yore, of DeLillo's youth maybe? But there's nothing here that is not done and done better in something like Underworld. You'll get all the wistfulness and regrets of the old guy dreaming of the past. Of greatness. Of failure. Before the Vietnam war, homelessness, drug addiction, cults, terrorists. Before getting tired of living I suppose? I don't know, something vague about all of this, but I just feel this incredible gulf between Delillo and myself, I can't help but get annoyed a bit over this nostalgia I have no connection to. Maybe. But better read Underworld if this sounds intriguing.
July 11, 2007
This is the only book I've ever read that I wanted to start reading again immediately after finishing it. I have read his description of two people watching the funeral of the Ayatollah Khomeini a dozen times. I wish I could have written that. The description of the mass wedding at the start of the book is also remarkable.
March 30, 2022
Mao II is a bleak novel about a world where the moral consciousness of the people are controlled by terrorists and messiahs rather than writers. The writers are in state of retreat because their freedom of speech and expression has narrowed. Their space is now occupied by terrorists. Delillo writes: "What terrorists gain, novelists lose. The degree to which they influence mass consciousness is the extent of our decline as shapers of sensibility and thought. The danger they represent equals our own failure to be dangerous."
Bill Gray, a reclusive writer is approached by a former colleague to negotiate the release of a poet held hostage by a relatively unknown Maoist group in Beirut. Before this, Bill is photographed by a famous photographer - Brita (who specializes in photographing writers across the world) with whom he starts a dialog about the role of the writer in forming and raising the moral consciousness of the people. A character called Karen has escaped from a Christian cult under which she was mass married. The book starts off with her marriage at a mass wedding. Delillo uses the mass wedding and Ayotollah Khomeni's funeral to emphasize his idea that the future belongs to crowds. The book ends on a bleak note with Brita being asked to photograph upcoming terrorists instead of writers.
I liked a lot of Delillo's ideas in the novel. But Mao II is a very tough book to get through. It is almost as if Delillo wants to keep the reader at a distance. I am glad i read it, though.
Bill Gray, a reclusive writer is approached by a former colleague to negotiate the release of a poet held hostage by a relatively unknown Maoist group in Beirut. Before this, Bill is photographed by a famous photographer - Brita (who specializes in photographing writers across the world) with whom he starts a dialog about the role of the writer in forming and raising the moral consciousness of the people. A character called Karen has escaped from a Christian cult under which she was mass married. The book starts off with her marriage at a mass wedding. Delillo uses the mass wedding and Ayotollah Khomeni's funeral to emphasize his idea that the future belongs to crowds. The book ends on a bleak note with Brita being asked to photograph upcoming terrorists instead of writers.
I liked a lot of Delillo's ideas in the novel. But Mao II is a very tough book to get through. It is almost as if Delillo wants to keep the reader at a distance. I am glad i read it, though.
April 24, 2018
Sotto gli occhi di tutti
鈥淒a qualche tempo ormai ho l'impressione che i romanzieri e i terroristi stiano giocando una partita che si conclude zero a zero. Quello che guadagnano i terroristi, lo perdono i romanzieri. Il potere dei terroristi di influenzare la coscienza di massa 猫 la misura del nostro declino in quanto forgiatori della sensibilit脿 e del pensiero. Il pericolo che essi rappresentano 猫 pari alla nostra incapacit脿 di essere pericolosi. [鈥 Beckett 猫 l'ultimo scrittore che abbia forgiato il nostro modo di pensare e di vedere. Dopo di lui, le opere principali comportano esplosioni a mezz'aria e crolli di edifici. Questa 猫 la nuova narrativa tragica. [鈥 Il loro modo di vivere nell'ombra, di vivere volontariamente con la morte. Il loro modo di odiare molte delle cose che odiate anche voi. La disciplina e l'astuzia. La coerenza delle loro vite. Il loro modo di provocare l'ammirazione, se la provocano. In societ脿 ridotte allo sperpero e alla sovrabbondanza, il terrore 猫 l'unica azione significativa. C'猫 troppo di tutto, ci sono pi霉 cose e messaggi e significati di quanti ne possiamo usare in diecimila vite. Inerzia e isteria. E' possibile la storia? C'猫 qualche persona seria? Chi dobbiamo prendere sul serio? Solo il credente letale, la persona che uccide e muore per la fede. Tutto il resto viene assorbito. L'artista viene assorbito. Il pazzo per strada viene assorbito, trasformato e incorporato. Gli d脿i un dollaro, lo metti in uno spot televisivo. Solo il terrorista resta fuori. La cultura non ha ancora trovato il modo di assimilarlo. E' sconcertante quando uccidono l'innocente. Ma questo 猫 precisamente il linguaggio per essere notati, l'unico linguaggio che l'Occidente comprenda. [鈥 E' il romanziere che capisce la vita segreta, la rabbia che cova sotto ogni oscurit脿 e negligenza. Voi siete dei mezzi assassini, quasi tutti voi鈥�.
Don De Lillo 猫 uno scrittore emozionale e intermittente; ma con una coscienza razionale inattaccabile. Non si accontenta mai di raggiungere narrativit脿 e stile. E' interessato a indagare i grandi temi umani: volont脿, memoria, coscienza, libero arbitrio (capacit脿 di distinguere tra bene e male, empatia, intelligenza emotiva). Mi pare che questo pensiero critico di una studiosa del NY Times sia ben rappresentativo del lavoro di De Lillo del 1991, con la sua prosa concettuale e performativa: 鈥淢a lo scrittore 猫 ancora pericoloso per il suo impegno nell'estendere la coscienza. Un romanziere crea un personaggio per rivelare qualcosa di ignoto, per aumentare il flusso di senso nel mondo. E' il sistema della letteratura di rispondere al potere e allontanare la paura, modulando nuove frequenze per la consapevolezza e le possibilit脿 umane鈥�. Due immagini sono state all鈥檕rigine di Mao II, con le sue storie molteplici, intrecciate: il ritratto rubato di Salinger, apparso sul New York Post; e la fotografia che ritraeva il matrimonio collettivo della setta messianica e apocalittica del reverendo Moon. Questo libro, ambientato tra New York e Beirut, riesce in qualcosa di molto difficile: esprimere un discorso complesso e coinvolgente sul senso del dolore collettivo, sulla distruttivit脿 agita dalle masse, sulla specie umana contenitore della 鈥渘ostra parte lunare che sogna un suolo devastato鈥�. Riflette sui tentativi artistici e politici di eliminare il s茅 attraverso la sua riproduzione iconica, di creare un immaginario culturale come residuo antropologico di esperienza, un fossile vitale che si prolunghi oltre la mortalit脿. Percepisce l'essenza del male, come altri grandi scrittori novecenteschi hanno fatto: il male non ha a che fare tanto con oscure pulsioni di morte, ma con la volont脿 di sopravvivere a oltranza, con la insensata negazione della mortalit脿. Questo racconto 猫 focalizzato sul nostro essere massa: seguaci, persone in lutto, spettatori, senzatetto, dimostranti, voci; collettivit脿 transitorie ferite e orgogliose, minacciate o pericolose, dimenticate o illuminate. Ritratte e rappresentate in fotografie che catturano il rischio, il corpo, la strada, l'istante, la nullit脿, il confine. Mao, Khomeini, il reverendo Moon, Tien an men, la folla in uno stadio, intrappolata o esaltata, lo scrittore recluso e disperato, l'ostaggio. De Lillo segnala cos矛 il doppio legame che si crea nell'esporre soggetti e oggetti, agenti e partecipanti, emittenti e destinatari alla violenza del discorso mass-mediatico. Amore e morte si sposano, inizio e fine si confondono, e caos e ragione non sono pi霉 in conflitto, ma prigionieri del medesimo impulso, dello stesso orrore, di un programma fuori controllo. Lo scrittore Bill Gray non riesce a resistere alla fermezza del valore conoscitivo, non pu貌 arretrare di fronte alla razionalit脿 di mettersi in gioco, e in questo modo si condanna ad una fine biologica inaccessibile e silenziosa. Vive la solitudine come ossessione e non vuole pi霉 esporsi al giudizio di s茅 come restituito dagli altri. Quando crede che il mondo sia suo, ecco che questo lo schiaccia, soffoca il suo grido democratico. La sua vita sprofonda in se stessa tornando allo smarrimento del primo dolore. Tra resoconti, profezie e avvertimenti, non volendo provare ci貌 che prova la gente, realizza in un destino di estinzione la sua cosmologia del dolore.
"Questo romanzo 猫 un gioiello. DeLillo ci conduce in un viaggio sconvolgente intorno alle versioni ufficiali della nostra storia quotidiana, a tutte quelle facili rassicurazioni su chi 猫 chi. E lo fa con un occhio tanto attento e una voce cos铆 espressiva e diretta da non somigliare a nessun'altra". Thomas Pynchon
鈥淒a qualche tempo ormai ho l'impressione che i romanzieri e i terroristi stiano giocando una partita che si conclude zero a zero. Quello che guadagnano i terroristi, lo perdono i romanzieri. Il potere dei terroristi di influenzare la coscienza di massa 猫 la misura del nostro declino in quanto forgiatori della sensibilit脿 e del pensiero. Il pericolo che essi rappresentano 猫 pari alla nostra incapacit脿 di essere pericolosi. [鈥 Beckett 猫 l'ultimo scrittore che abbia forgiato il nostro modo di pensare e di vedere. Dopo di lui, le opere principali comportano esplosioni a mezz'aria e crolli di edifici. Questa 猫 la nuova narrativa tragica. [鈥 Il loro modo di vivere nell'ombra, di vivere volontariamente con la morte. Il loro modo di odiare molte delle cose che odiate anche voi. La disciplina e l'astuzia. La coerenza delle loro vite. Il loro modo di provocare l'ammirazione, se la provocano. In societ脿 ridotte allo sperpero e alla sovrabbondanza, il terrore 猫 l'unica azione significativa. C'猫 troppo di tutto, ci sono pi霉 cose e messaggi e significati di quanti ne possiamo usare in diecimila vite. Inerzia e isteria. E' possibile la storia? C'猫 qualche persona seria? Chi dobbiamo prendere sul serio? Solo il credente letale, la persona che uccide e muore per la fede. Tutto il resto viene assorbito. L'artista viene assorbito. Il pazzo per strada viene assorbito, trasformato e incorporato. Gli d脿i un dollaro, lo metti in uno spot televisivo. Solo il terrorista resta fuori. La cultura non ha ancora trovato il modo di assimilarlo. E' sconcertante quando uccidono l'innocente. Ma questo 猫 precisamente il linguaggio per essere notati, l'unico linguaggio che l'Occidente comprenda. [鈥 E' il romanziere che capisce la vita segreta, la rabbia che cova sotto ogni oscurit脿 e negligenza. Voi siete dei mezzi assassini, quasi tutti voi鈥�.
Don De Lillo 猫 uno scrittore emozionale e intermittente; ma con una coscienza razionale inattaccabile. Non si accontenta mai di raggiungere narrativit脿 e stile. E' interessato a indagare i grandi temi umani: volont脿, memoria, coscienza, libero arbitrio (capacit脿 di distinguere tra bene e male, empatia, intelligenza emotiva). Mi pare che questo pensiero critico di una studiosa del NY Times sia ben rappresentativo del lavoro di De Lillo del 1991, con la sua prosa concettuale e performativa: 鈥淢a lo scrittore 猫 ancora pericoloso per il suo impegno nell'estendere la coscienza. Un romanziere crea un personaggio per rivelare qualcosa di ignoto, per aumentare il flusso di senso nel mondo. E' il sistema della letteratura di rispondere al potere e allontanare la paura, modulando nuove frequenze per la consapevolezza e le possibilit脿 umane鈥�. Due immagini sono state all鈥檕rigine di Mao II, con le sue storie molteplici, intrecciate: il ritratto rubato di Salinger, apparso sul New York Post; e la fotografia che ritraeva il matrimonio collettivo della setta messianica e apocalittica del reverendo Moon. Questo libro, ambientato tra New York e Beirut, riesce in qualcosa di molto difficile: esprimere un discorso complesso e coinvolgente sul senso del dolore collettivo, sulla distruttivit脿 agita dalle masse, sulla specie umana contenitore della 鈥渘ostra parte lunare che sogna un suolo devastato鈥�. Riflette sui tentativi artistici e politici di eliminare il s茅 attraverso la sua riproduzione iconica, di creare un immaginario culturale come residuo antropologico di esperienza, un fossile vitale che si prolunghi oltre la mortalit脿. Percepisce l'essenza del male, come altri grandi scrittori novecenteschi hanno fatto: il male non ha a che fare tanto con oscure pulsioni di morte, ma con la volont脿 di sopravvivere a oltranza, con la insensata negazione della mortalit脿. Questo racconto 猫 focalizzato sul nostro essere massa: seguaci, persone in lutto, spettatori, senzatetto, dimostranti, voci; collettivit脿 transitorie ferite e orgogliose, minacciate o pericolose, dimenticate o illuminate. Ritratte e rappresentate in fotografie che catturano il rischio, il corpo, la strada, l'istante, la nullit脿, il confine. Mao, Khomeini, il reverendo Moon, Tien an men, la folla in uno stadio, intrappolata o esaltata, lo scrittore recluso e disperato, l'ostaggio. De Lillo segnala cos矛 il doppio legame che si crea nell'esporre soggetti e oggetti, agenti e partecipanti, emittenti e destinatari alla violenza del discorso mass-mediatico. Amore e morte si sposano, inizio e fine si confondono, e caos e ragione non sono pi霉 in conflitto, ma prigionieri del medesimo impulso, dello stesso orrore, di un programma fuori controllo. Lo scrittore Bill Gray non riesce a resistere alla fermezza del valore conoscitivo, non pu貌 arretrare di fronte alla razionalit脿 di mettersi in gioco, e in questo modo si condanna ad una fine biologica inaccessibile e silenziosa. Vive la solitudine come ossessione e non vuole pi霉 esporsi al giudizio di s茅 come restituito dagli altri. Quando crede che il mondo sia suo, ecco che questo lo schiaccia, soffoca il suo grido democratico. La sua vita sprofonda in se stessa tornando allo smarrimento del primo dolore. Tra resoconti, profezie e avvertimenti, non volendo provare ci貌 che prova la gente, realizza in un destino di estinzione la sua cosmologia del dolore.
"Questo romanzo 猫 un gioiello. DeLillo ci conduce in un viaggio sconvolgente intorno alle versioni ufficiali della nostra storia quotidiana, a tutte quelle facili rassicurazioni su chi 猫 chi. E lo fa con un occhio tanto attento e una voce cos铆 espressiva e diretta da non somigliare a nessun'altra". Thomas Pynchon
May 6, 2021
I have an up and down relationship with Don DeLillo鈥檚 novels. I have enjoyed some of them thoroughly (Underworld and Libra) and others not so much. Similarly, I find my appreciation of DeLillo's writing vacillates quite a bit even as I read a particular novel. There were times in Mao II where I was thoroughly enjoying the reading experience; other times I felt like I was plodding uphill. I am always impressed, although certainly at times depressed, by DeLillo鈥檚 depiction of our world. He, more than any other writer I have come across, can provide a vivid picture of today while accurately foretelling what is to come. His images seem to span time in a way that does not feel dated even after 20 to 30 years.
In Mao II it is the author of fiction versus the terrorist. The writer of fiction鈥檚 role to define or at least clarify our culture has been usurped by the terrorist. Bill Gray, one of the most respected authors of his time, even though he had only published two novels, has spent many years hiding from his readers, hiding from the media. He writes every day on his third novel but is unable to produce work that he is confident about publishing or that his assistant, Scott, even supports publishing. Scott organizes Bill鈥檚 life, his writing and what interaction Bill has with the outside world. Scott effectively collects and classifies information, but for what purpose? Bill eventually runs from his work and secluded life. He runs toward the terrorists. In the process his writing returns to its former vibrancy.
Even as I have struggled at times through a DeLillo novel, I feel I gain insight and greater understanding of my world. That is one of the reasons I read, and DeLillo fills that particular need as well as any author I have encountered.
In Mao II it is the author of fiction versus the terrorist. The writer of fiction鈥檚 role to define or at least clarify our culture has been usurped by the terrorist. Bill Gray, one of the most respected authors of his time, even though he had only published two novels, has spent many years hiding from his readers, hiding from the media. He writes every day on his third novel but is unable to produce work that he is confident about publishing or that his assistant, Scott, even supports publishing. Scott organizes Bill鈥檚 life, his writing and what interaction Bill has with the outside world. Scott effectively collects and classifies information, but for what purpose? Bill eventually runs from his work and secluded life. He runs toward the terrorists. In the process his writing returns to its former vibrancy.
Even as I have struggled at times through a DeLillo novel, I feel I gain insight and greater understanding of my world. That is one of the reasons I read, and DeLillo fills that particular need as well as any author I have encountered.
February 9, 2017
Another of the second tier of DeLillo's books, this one talks of writer's block and of the crazy marriage cult of Kim Jo Pak's Unification cult. Bizarre and full of action, it is well-written and a page-turner. It is however one to read after the masterpiece of Underworld.
May 10, 2024
A reclusive writer named Bill (possibly modelled on Thomas Pynchon), is struggling to finish a novel, mostly through self-sabotage and lives in a sort of limbo. Much to the surprise of his assistant and devoted friend, Scott, he agrees to have his photograph taken, and may or may not step back into the public domain.
The novel features a number of DeLillo鈥檚 usual themes including TV, advertising, and manipulation of the masses. The book is typically funny although it takes a darker turn as the story progresses.
This is my fifth DeLillo story and they have all been highly entertaining. The author is known for his brilliant dialogue and it鈥檚 no different here. Bill is a great character. I don鈥檛 know why but I imagine him as a young Brendan Gleeson. His bleak outlook on life is, at least for me, deeply relatable. The other characters are fine but they aren鈥檛 particularly memorable. Nevertheless, they serve a purpose. I like the way the story takes an unexpected shift. It kept me guessing until the end.
I understand some believe DeLillo to be ostentatious, and I鈥檓 inclined to agree but what makes me enjoy his books so much is that they are so funny. I mean, no book makes me cry with laughter but I find myself regularly chuckling at his snappy humour.
Finally, Mao II rouses plenty of reflection on the state of the current world, in particular with the relationship between reader and author, viewer and broadcaster, civilian and terrorist.
3.8/5
DeLillo Ranked:
1. White Noise
2. Mao II
3. The Silence
4. The Names
5. The Body Artist
Next To Read: Libra
The novel features a number of DeLillo鈥檚 usual themes including TV, advertising, and manipulation of the masses. The book is typically funny although it takes a darker turn as the story progresses.
This is my fifth DeLillo story and they have all been highly entertaining. The author is known for his brilliant dialogue and it鈥檚 no different here. Bill is a great character. I don鈥檛 know why but I imagine him as a young Brendan Gleeson. His bleak outlook on life is, at least for me, deeply relatable. The other characters are fine but they aren鈥檛 particularly memorable. Nevertheless, they serve a purpose. I like the way the story takes an unexpected shift. It kept me guessing until the end.
I understand some believe DeLillo to be ostentatious, and I鈥檓 inclined to agree but what makes me enjoy his books so much is that they are so funny. I mean, no book makes me cry with laughter but I find myself regularly chuckling at his snappy humour.
Finally, Mao II rouses plenty of reflection on the state of the current world, in particular with the relationship between reader and author, viewer and broadcaster, civilian and terrorist.
3.8/5
DeLillo Ranked:
1. White Noise
2. Mao II
3. The Silence
4. The Names
5. The Body Artist
Next To Read: Libra
April 16, 2019
Consuming Images
Don Delillo鈥檚 1991 novel (his 10th) isn't just about the individual versus the crowd, but about the written word against the picture or the image.
Fiction is the preserve of the writer, while television (and now social media) is the vehicle of the mass media. Early in the novel, DeLillo鈥檚 character, Karen, observes:
鈥淚t was interesting how you could make up the news as you went along by sticking to picture only.鈥� (32)
We've got used to consuming images, whether with or without words. Words are the product of thinking, and require thinking in order to consume and absorb them. For DeLillo's characters, images are for the unthinking masses, who will ingest any image force-fed to them by the media. Images are for the undiscriminating. After a while, "they are reduced to blur and glut":
鈥淭he streets run with images. They cover walls and clothing - pictures of martyrs, clerics, fighting men, holidays in Tahiti.鈥� (229)
鈥淚n our world we sleep and eat the image and pray to it and wear it too.鈥� (37)
鈥淭he more banal, the more commonplace, the more predictable, the triter, the staler, the dumber, the better.鈥� (111)
鈥淟et's destroy the mind that makes words and sentences.鈥� (161)
The writer, the individual, the individual writer, is, apparently, the enemy of ordinary people. The masses have him (or her) in their sights. (S)he is a threatened species.
Remoteness from the Masses, Retreat from the Crowd
The proper role of the writer, or at least DeLillo's author Bill Gray, is to remain remote from the masses and the mass media. The pain of writing enhances the separation of the writer from the masses:
鈥淚 have my own cosmology of pain. Leave me alone with it.鈥� (45)
鈥淚 exaggerate the pain of writing, the pain of solitude, the failure, the rage, the confusion, the helplessness, the fear, the humiliation.鈥� (37)
鈥淥nly writing could soak up his loneliness and pain. Written words could tell him who he was.鈥� (204)
鈥淓verything we do that isn't directly centred on work revolves around concealment, seclusion, ways of evasion.鈥� (45)
Bill Gray chooses loneliness and remoteness from other people. Withdrawal. Seclusion. Evasion. Escape. Recoil. Flight. Refuge. Retreat from the crowd. "Silence, exile and cunning."
Terrorist News and Raids on Human Consciousness
Writers are no longer as influential on people as they once might have been (at least in Bill's opinion):
鈥淒o you know why I believe in the novel? It's a democratic shout...The spray of talent, the spray of ideas.鈥� (159)
鈥淵ears ago I used to think it was possible for a novelist to alter the inner life of the culture. Now bomb-makers and gunmen [i.e., terrorists] have taken that territory. They make raids on human consciousness...Because we're giving way to terror, to news of terror, to tape recorders and cameras, to radios, to bombs stashed in radios. News of disaster is the only narrative people need. The darker the news, the grander the narrative.鈥� (41-42)
鈥淲hat terrorists gain, novelists lose. The degree to which they influence mass consciousness is the extent of our decline as shapers of sensibility and thought. The danger they represent equals our own failure to be dangerous.鈥�
鈥淲ho do we take seriously? Only the lethal believer, the person who kills and dies for faith...Only the terrorist stands outside. The culture hasn't figured out how to assimilate him. It's confusing when they kill the innocent. But this is precisely the language of being noticed, the only language the West understands.鈥� (157)
鈥淭he novelists feed our search for meaning. Quoting Bill. It was a great secular transcendence. The Latin mass of language, character, occasional new truth. But our desperation has led us to the news, which provides an unremitting mood of catastrophe. This is where we find emotional experience not available elsewhere. We don't need the novel. Quoting Bill. We don't even need catastrophes, necessarily. We only need the reports and predictions and warnings.鈥� (72)
鈥淎 writer creates a character as a way to reveal consciousness, increase the flow of meaning. This is how we reply to power and beat back our fear. By extending the pitch of consciousness and human possibility.鈥� (200)
Writers can no longer influence those for whom words are meaningless or secondary.
Delirious Crowds and Lethal Believers
Like the cult members (in the (fictional) mass wedding in Yankee Stadium in the prologue - It was actually modelled on a wedding in Seoul), the masses end up 鈥減rogrammed, brainwashed, indoctrinated" by the mass media.
"The future belongs to crowds." (16)
鈥淭his is what you fear, that history is passing into the hands of the crowd.鈥� (162)
鈥淒elirious crowds swirling beneath enormous photographs of holy men.鈥� (174)
Ironically, Delillo's descriptions of the crowd scenes, some juxtaposed with more private scenes (the mass wedding, the funeral of Ayatollah Khomeini, and the Beiruti wedding that ends the novel), are beautully worded portrayals of scenes that could perhaps have been adequately captured by the images themselves (alone).
Into the Glow
Reality has been superseded by the artifice of the media:
鈥淣ature has given way to aura...All the material in every life is channelled into the glow.鈥� (44)
The writer is more concerned with the truth than the glow (of televisi9n):
鈥淥n one level this truth is the swing of the sentence, the beat and poise, but down deeper it's the integrity of the writer as he matches with the language...There's a moral force in a sentence when it comes out right. It speaks the writer's will to live.鈥� (48)
Bill Gray doubts whether anybody values this swing or integrity or moral force anymore.
Andy Warhol's Fused Images
Paradoxically, the writer's will to live combats the tendency of all plots to move deathwards, which direction is shared by terrorism.
It's no coincidence that, after 23 years, Bill Gray can't finish (or hasn鈥檛 finished) his last novel. To finish it would be a premonition of his own death.
In the first chapter, Scott (Bill's personal assistant) visits an exhibition of Andy Warhol silkscreen prints, where he views a work called 鈥淐谤辞飞诲" and several editions of 鈥淢补辞", a print of one of which (鈥淢ao II鈥�) he buys for Karen, an ex-Moonie who attended the mass wedding, with whom he lives in Bill's home. It's significant within the structure of the novel that people know Mao Zedong, more as a result of consuming images of him than by ever having seen him in person (or even on TV) or in context, and thought about what he and his work means/signifies.
At another Warhol exhibition, the portrait photographer, Brita Nilsson (who has been engaged to photograph Bill for posterity, i.e., after his death), detected in Warhol's work 鈥渁 maximum statement about the dissolvability of the artist and the exaltation of the public figure, about how it's possible to fuse images.鈥� (134) Warhol鈥檚 silk screen on canvas painting of Mikhail Gorbachev was 鈥渞eprocessed through painted chains of being, peering out over the crowd from a pair of burnished Russian eyes.鈥� (135)
Trudging, Totally Calm in the Long Lens
The individual has become secondary to the crowd, the mass(es), the swarm, the flock, the following. Scott says:
鈥淐rowds...People trudging along wide streets, pushing carts or riding bikes, crowd after crowd in the long lens of the camera so they seem even closer together than they really are, totally jam packed, and I think of how they merge with the future, how the future makes room for the nonachiever, the nonaggressor, the trudged, the nonindividual. Totally calm in the long lens, crowd on top of crowd, pedalling, trudging, faceless, sort of surviving nicely.鈥� (70)
鈥淏ill doesn't understand how people need to blend in, lose themselves in something larger. The point of mass marriage is to show that we have to survive as a community instead of individuals trying to master every complex force. Mass interracial marriage.鈥� (89)
Bill doesn't want to blend in, he wants to stand out, on the outside, even if he still wants to have influence.
SOUNDTRACK:
Don Delillo鈥檚 1991 novel (his 10th) isn't just about the individual versus the crowd, but about the written word against the picture or the image.
Fiction is the preserve of the writer, while television (and now social media) is the vehicle of the mass media. Early in the novel, DeLillo鈥檚 character, Karen, observes:
鈥淚t was interesting how you could make up the news as you went along by sticking to picture only.鈥� (32)
We've got used to consuming images, whether with or without words. Words are the product of thinking, and require thinking in order to consume and absorb them. For DeLillo's characters, images are for the unthinking masses, who will ingest any image force-fed to them by the media. Images are for the undiscriminating. After a while, "they are reduced to blur and glut":
鈥淭he streets run with images. They cover walls and clothing - pictures of martyrs, clerics, fighting men, holidays in Tahiti.鈥� (229)
鈥淚n our world we sleep and eat the image and pray to it and wear it too.鈥� (37)
鈥淭he more banal, the more commonplace, the more predictable, the triter, the staler, the dumber, the better.鈥� (111)
鈥淟et's destroy the mind that makes words and sentences.鈥� (161)
The writer, the individual, the individual writer, is, apparently, the enemy of ordinary people. The masses have him (or her) in their sights. (S)he is a threatened species.
Remoteness from the Masses, Retreat from the Crowd
The proper role of the writer, or at least DeLillo's author Bill Gray, is to remain remote from the masses and the mass media. The pain of writing enhances the separation of the writer from the masses:
鈥淚 have my own cosmology of pain. Leave me alone with it.鈥� (45)
鈥淚 exaggerate the pain of writing, the pain of solitude, the failure, the rage, the confusion, the helplessness, the fear, the humiliation.鈥� (37)
鈥淥nly writing could soak up his loneliness and pain. Written words could tell him who he was.鈥� (204)
鈥淓verything we do that isn't directly centred on work revolves around concealment, seclusion, ways of evasion.鈥� (45)
Bill Gray chooses loneliness and remoteness from other people. Withdrawal. Seclusion. Evasion. Escape. Recoil. Flight. Refuge. Retreat from the crowd. "Silence, exile and cunning."
Terrorist News and Raids on Human Consciousness
Writers are no longer as influential on people as they once might have been (at least in Bill's opinion):
鈥淒o you know why I believe in the novel? It's a democratic shout...The spray of talent, the spray of ideas.鈥� (159)
鈥淵ears ago I used to think it was possible for a novelist to alter the inner life of the culture. Now bomb-makers and gunmen [i.e., terrorists] have taken that territory. They make raids on human consciousness...Because we're giving way to terror, to news of terror, to tape recorders and cameras, to radios, to bombs stashed in radios. News of disaster is the only narrative people need. The darker the news, the grander the narrative.鈥� (41-42)
鈥淲hat terrorists gain, novelists lose. The degree to which they influence mass consciousness is the extent of our decline as shapers of sensibility and thought. The danger they represent equals our own failure to be dangerous.鈥�
鈥淲ho do we take seriously? Only the lethal believer, the person who kills and dies for faith...Only the terrorist stands outside. The culture hasn't figured out how to assimilate him. It's confusing when they kill the innocent. But this is precisely the language of being noticed, the only language the West understands.鈥� (157)
鈥淭he novelists feed our search for meaning. Quoting Bill. It was a great secular transcendence. The Latin mass of language, character, occasional new truth. But our desperation has led us to the news, which provides an unremitting mood of catastrophe. This is where we find emotional experience not available elsewhere. We don't need the novel. Quoting Bill. We don't even need catastrophes, necessarily. We only need the reports and predictions and warnings.鈥� (72)
鈥淎 writer creates a character as a way to reveal consciousness, increase the flow of meaning. This is how we reply to power and beat back our fear. By extending the pitch of consciousness and human possibility.鈥� (200)
Writers can no longer influence those for whom words are meaningless or secondary.
Delirious Crowds and Lethal Believers
Like the cult members (in the (fictional) mass wedding in Yankee Stadium in the prologue - It was actually modelled on a wedding in Seoul), the masses end up 鈥減rogrammed, brainwashed, indoctrinated" by the mass media.
"The future belongs to crowds." (16)
鈥淭his is what you fear, that history is passing into the hands of the crowd.鈥� (162)
鈥淒elirious crowds swirling beneath enormous photographs of holy men.鈥� (174)
Ironically, Delillo's descriptions of the crowd scenes, some juxtaposed with more private scenes (the mass wedding, the funeral of Ayatollah Khomeini, and the Beiruti wedding that ends the novel), are beautully worded portrayals of scenes that could perhaps have been adequately captured by the images themselves (alone).
Into the Glow
Reality has been superseded by the artifice of the media:
鈥淣ature has given way to aura...All the material in every life is channelled into the glow.鈥� (44)
The writer is more concerned with the truth than the glow (of televisi9n):
鈥淥n one level this truth is the swing of the sentence, the beat and poise, but down deeper it's the integrity of the writer as he matches with the language...There's a moral force in a sentence when it comes out right. It speaks the writer's will to live.鈥� (48)
Bill Gray doubts whether anybody values this swing or integrity or moral force anymore.
Andy Warhol's Fused Images
Paradoxically, the writer's will to live combats the tendency of all plots to move deathwards, which direction is shared by terrorism.
It's no coincidence that, after 23 years, Bill Gray can't finish (or hasn鈥檛 finished) his last novel. To finish it would be a premonition of his own death.
In the first chapter, Scott (Bill's personal assistant) visits an exhibition of Andy Warhol silkscreen prints, where he views a work called 鈥淐谤辞飞诲" and several editions of 鈥淢补辞", a print of one of which (鈥淢ao II鈥�) he buys for Karen, an ex-Moonie who attended the mass wedding, with whom he lives in Bill's home. It's significant within the structure of the novel that people know Mao Zedong, more as a result of consuming images of him than by ever having seen him in person (or even on TV) or in context, and thought about what he and his work means/signifies.
At another Warhol exhibition, the portrait photographer, Brita Nilsson (who has been engaged to photograph Bill for posterity, i.e., after his death), detected in Warhol's work 鈥渁 maximum statement about the dissolvability of the artist and the exaltation of the public figure, about how it's possible to fuse images.鈥� (134) Warhol鈥檚 silk screen on canvas painting of Mikhail Gorbachev was 鈥渞eprocessed through painted chains of being, peering out over the crowd from a pair of burnished Russian eyes.鈥� (135)
Trudging, Totally Calm in the Long Lens
The individual has become secondary to the crowd, the mass(es), the swarm, the flock, the following. Scott says:
鈥淐rowds...People trudging along wide streets, pushing carts or riding bikes, crowd after crowd in the long lens of the camera so they seem even closer together than they really are, totally jam packed, and I think of how they merge with the future, how the future makes room for the nonachiever, the nonaggressor, the trudged, the nonindividual. Totally calm in the long lens, crowd on top of crowd, pedalling, trudging, faceless, sort of surviving nicely.鈥� (70)
鈥淏ill doesn't understand how people need to blend in, lose themselves in something larger. The point of mass marriage is to show that we have to survive as a community instead of individuals trying to master every complex force. Mass interracial marriage.鈥� (89)
Bill doesn't want to blend in, he wants to stand out, on the outside, even if he still wants to have influence.
SOUNDTRACK:
April 30, 2018
DeLillo's signature mixture of splendid prose and jazzy broodings on contemporary life make it a priceless experience even when the pace slows down painfully. There's also some great humor here, and explosions. Would be an excellent introduction to his fiction if White Noise and Libra weren't somewhat fuller experiences.
February 5, 2024
"Does the future belong to crowds?" appears to be the central question of Mao 2. Is there such as thing as benevolent collective conscience? What happens to individual thinking if the society creates in its spurious ways a system that makes is exceedingly easier to think alike, to feel like; the mass surrender of the individual consciousness to create a collective one far too susceptible to indoctrination and thought reform. Who raids the consciousness of the people now? Is it the novelist, the creator of inwardness, or the gunmen and bombmakers? Does the novelist no longer hold the power to change the inner workings of a culture? Does art hold the power to affect us anymore or is it now completely within the territory of news that seems so incessant and unending that one can't help but become desensitised?
Bill Gray is a reclusive American novelist, who has been contacted by an old friend in London who works in the literary industry, informing him of a poet who has been held hostage by a terrorist group in Beirut. Why him? What did he do? The obvious response seems to be: why not? That's the whole point behind a terror attack surely? The innocence and blamelessness of the victim is what drives the point of terror which is mostly about control; to handover their distinctiveness for a "greater cause"? how does one perform the thought-reform process if one is aware and insisting of not letting their individuality to be corroded by the incessant tyranny of mass-thinking? Quoting DeLillo "It is possible to change history by changing the basic nature of a people". But why Bill Gray must now come to the aid of this hostage? Because who else can be more understanding of this hostage, held in isolation not of his own accord, but Bill, who has accepted this life of glorious solitude, willingly, solely to perform the act of thinking, to place thought after thought into the world, sustaining a thought after thought in the form of writing.
Mao 2 was published in 1991, and I thought of Mr. Rushdie's Fatwa all along although Delillo might not have drawn any inspiration from this event. But he makes a splendid case for the importance of writing as a democratic tool; to be able to exercise the right to sustain an individual thought devoid of any tyranny, political or otherwise. DeLillo is, arguably, my favourite living novelist, and Mao 2, although just under 250 pages still feels very slow going because DeLillo bombards readers with more questions that are unanswerable. These are pertinent questions, now timely than ever. And the legitimacy of these questions appears alarmingly urgent. Mid-Tier DeLillo but as always, he makes me look at the world a little differently every time I read. He has had the profoundest of impact on this twenty something reader than any writer I could think of.
Mao 2 was a Pulitzer Prize finalist. And a PEN Faulkner Award Winner.
Bill Gray is a reclusive American novelist, who has been contacted by an old friend in London who works in the literary industry, informing him of a poet who has been held hostage by a terrorist group in Beirut. Why him? What did he do? The obvious response seems to be: why not? That's the whole point behind a terror attack surely? The innocence and blamelessness of the victim is what drives the point of terror which is mostly about control; to handover their distinctiveness for a "greater cause"? how does one perform the thought-reform process if one is aware and insisting of not letting their individuality to be corroded by the incessant tyranny of mass-thinking? Quoting DeLillo "It is possible to change history by changing the basic nature of a people". But why Bill Gray must now come to the aid of this hostage? Because who else can be more understanding of this hostage, held in isolation not of his own accord, but Bill, who has accepted this life of glorious solitude, willingly, solely to perform the act of thinking, to place thought after thought into the world, sustaining a thought after thought in the form of writing.
Mao 2 was published in 1991, and I thought of Mr. Rushdie's Fatwa all along although Delillo might not have drawn any inspiration from this event. But he makes a splendid case for the importance of writing as a democratic tool; to be able to exercise the right to sustain an individual thought devoid of any tyranny, political or otherwise. DeLillo is, arguably, my favourite living novelist, and Mao 2, although just under 250 pages still feels very slow going because DeLillo bombards readers with more questions that are unanswerable. These are pertinent questions, now timely than ever. And the legitimacy of these questions appears alarmingly urgent. Mid-Tier DeLillo but as always, he makes me look at the world a little differently every time I read. He has had the profoundest of impact on this twenty something reader than any writer I could think of.
Mao 2 was a Pulitzer Prize finalist. And a PEN Faulkner Award Winner.
January 9, 2015
What is the role of fiction writers in world peace? This might as well be the aching question that this book tried to answer. Or offered to answer. That, for me, is what made this book different from other books about novelists as the main protagonist. That, for me, is the reason why I really like this book.
This is my 3rd Don DeLillo and he is still to disappoint. This does not have the in-your-face sadness of his (3 days) because it is not about 9/11 but this is not as artsy as the book that made me automatically buy a book whenever I see his name on the cover, (4 stars). There is no turning back. I will have to read all those 6 other DeLillo books that I have in my tbr shelf.
The story revolves around Bill Gray who is like Salinger, recluse and elusive. One day, he lets himself be photographed (like Salinger) it made him popular until he becomes involved as a spokesperson for a Swiss writer being held hostage in Beirut.
For me, my take on the story is this: novelists create dreams and this make them like "gods." Even if their works are not real, there are truths in them. Truths that are universal and timeless. That's why authors like Salinger or DeLillo (although he is not recluse really) are being read. With this impact on readers, they share a part in achieving something positive in this world. Because they speak to the hearts and minds of people, they are, in a way, maybe indirectly, responsible to common good like world peace.
This is a great book. My only small complaint is that DeLillo is fond of non-linear narration with frequent shifts on settings, time and characters. Had I not read "Falling Man" first I would not have enjoyed this as much as I did.
Thought provoking book. Intriguing characters especially Brita who is the photographer focusing on writers. She does not photograph other people except writers. What a novel idea.
I made a good decision welcoming 2015 with this book.
This is my 3rd Don DeLillo and he is still to disappoint. This does not have the in-your-face sadness of his (3 days) because it is not about 9/11 but this is not as artsy as the book that made me automatically buy a book whenever I see his name on the cover, (4 stars). There is no turning back. I will have to read all those 6 other DeLillo books that I have in my tbr shelf.
The story revolves around Bill Gray who is like Salinger, recluse and elusive. One day, he lets himself be photographed (like Salinger) it made him popular until he becomes involved as a spokesperson for a Swiss writer being held hostage in Beirut.
For me, my take on the story is this: novelists create dreams and this make them like "gods." Even if their works are not real, there are truths in them. Truths that are universal and timeless. That's why authors like Salinger or DeLillo (although he is not recluse really) are being read. With this impact on readers, they share a part in achieving something positive in this world. Because they speak to the hearts and minds of people, they are, in a way, maybe indirectly, responsible to common good like world peace.
This is a great book. My only small complaint is that DeLillo is fond of non-linear narration with frequent shifts on settings, time and characters. Had I not read "Falling Man" first I would not have enjoyed this as much as I did.
Thought provoking book. Intriguing characters especially Brita who is the photographer focusing on writers. She does not photograph other people except writers. What a novel idea.
I made a good decision welcoming 2015 with this book.
March 22, 2017
螒位位慰 蔚谓伪 伪蟺慰位伪蠀蟽蟿喂魏慰 渭蠀胃喂蟽蟿慰蟻畏渭伪 蟿慰蠀 螡蟿蔚位喂位慰. 螤蟻伪纬渭伪蟿喂魏伪 蟽慰魏伪蟻喂蟽蟿喂魏慰 蟿慰 蟺慰蟽慰 to the point 蔚喂谓伪喂 慰蟽慰谓 伪蠁慰蟻伪 蟽蟿喂蟼 蔚尉蔚位喂尉蔚喂蟼 蟿畏蟼 魏慰喂谓蠅谓喂伪蟼 渭伪蟼(纬蟻伪蠁蟿畏魏蔚 蟿慰 1991). 螛喂纬蔚喂 位喂纬慰 蟺慰位蠀 慰位伪 蟿伪 胃蔚渭伪蟿伪 蟺慰蠀 蔚渭蠁伪谓喂味慰谓蟿伪喂 蟽蔚 慰位伪 蟿伪 渭蠀胃喂蟽蟿慰蟻畏渭伪蟿伪 蟿慰蠀 蟽蠀纬纬蟻伪蠁蔚伪 蟺慰蠀 蔚蠂蠅 未喂伪尾伪蟽蔚喂, 渭蔚 魏蠀蟻喂慰蟿蔚蟻慰 蟿畏谓 蟿蟻慰渭慰位伪纬谓喂伪 蟺慰蠀 蔚蟺喂魏蟻伪蟿蔚喂 魏伪喂 蟿畏谓 蔚位蔚喂蠄畏 魏蟻喂蟿喂魏畏蟼 蟽魏蔚蠄畏蟼 伪蟺慰 蟿慰谓 魏伪胃畏渭蔚蟻喂谓慰 伪谓胃蟻蠅蟺慰 .蟿伪 蟺位畏胃畏 蠂蔚喂蟻伪纬蠅纬慰蠀谓蟿伪喂 蟺喂伪 伪蟺慰 蠄蔚蠀未慰-畏纬蔚蟿蔚蟼 蟺慰蠀 蟿慰蠀蟼 魏伪胃慰蟻喂味慰蠀谓 蟿畏 味蠅畏 渭蔚 慰蟺位慰 蟿慰谓 蟿蟻慰渭慰, 蔚谓蠅 蟿伪 "渭蔚纬伪位伪 渭蠀伪位伪" 蟿畏蟼 魏慰喂谓蠅谓喂伪蟼 蟺慰蠀 未喂谓慰蠀谓 蟿蟻慰蠁畏 纬喂伪 蟽魏蔚蠄畏 伪谓伪纬魏伪味慰谓蟿伪喂 蟺喂伪 谓伪 味慰蠀谓 蟽蔚 伪蟺慰渭慰谓蠅蟽畏 萎 谓伪 蠀蟺慰尾伪位位慰谓蟿伪喂 蟽蔚 伪魏慰渭畏 蠂蔚喂蟻慰蟿蔚蟻畏 渭慰喂蟻伪. 螠慰蠀 伪蟻蔚蟽蔚 蟺慰位蠀 伪谓 魏伪喂 未蔚谓 蟿慰 胃蔚蠅蟻蠅 蟿慰 魏伪位蠀蟿蔚蟻慰 蔚蟻纬慰 蟿慰蠀 螡蟿蔚位喂位慰, 慰渭蠅蟼 纬喂伪 伪位位畏 渭喂伪 蠁慰蟻伪 纬喂谓蔚蟿伪喂 蟽伪蠁蔚蟼 蟺慰蟽慰 喂未喂慰蠁蠀畏蟼 蔚喂谓伪喂 .
3.5 伪蟽蟿蔚蟻喂伪
3.5 伪蟽蟿蔚蟻喂伪
August 6, 2011
As with Underworld, the opening prologue鈥攂ased upon an actual occurrence鈥攐f the mass-wedding of young and youngish couples of the Unification Church, held in Yankee Stadium and performed by the Reverend Sun Myung Moon, is one of the strongest points of the book. DeLillo excels at such portraits set to the page, crisply and potently capturing the atmosphere of this bizarre and fascinating spectacle, with its ordered ranks of veils and ties, the regimented structure and candle-row colors that delineated the transformation of an intimate ceremony of personal commitment into a crowded and raucous affirmation of cultish charisma. After such a starkly adrenal opening, DeLillo then blurs and abrades with his initial meet-and-greet between reclusive author Bill Gray and Brita, a journalist who is bound and bent upon photographing every living major writer鈥攁nd continuing through to the confusing ending in Beirut, which sees Brita apparently about to compound Bill's failure to spring a versifying hostage held by Lebanese terrorists. This is primarily a series of mobile and difficult dialogues鈥攄elivered by characters who all sound like Don DeLillo鈥攃entering upon the state of art, fiction, photography, and mass-phenomena in this, our modern age, when terrorism was on the verge of becoming the Next Big Thing鈥攃ompared to fictional portraits or visual representations, a far more potent and pyrotechnic means of effecting changes in societies, of steering political discourse, of grabbing the world's attention and focussing it upon problems that were previously ignored. Where are we at when the authorial pen has been displaced in immediacy and influence by the kalashnikov and high-explosives? When murderous theatre proves the ablest way to advance one's political agenda, to broadcast in鈥攁nd capture鈥攖he medium of the real?
Mao II was my introduction to Don DeLillo, read many, many years ago. I enjoyed it even while feeling it cooly kept me at a distance鈥攊ts text, to me, a murky river whose current moved quickly and revealed little upon the first glance. I would actually like to return to this someday, especially in this new millennium featuring the Global War on Terror and that most horrific and course-changing of days: September 11th, 2001. I was impressed with the style and trappings of Mao II the first time around, while never believing I had fully grasped what DeLillo wished to get across鈥攑erhaps a second journey would leave me more appreciative of the author's prescience in gauging the future potentiality for Terror.
Mao II was my introduction to Don DeLillo, read many, many years ago. I enjoyed it even while feeling it cooly kept me at a distance鈥攊ts text, to me, a murky river whose current moved quickly and revealed little upon the first glance. I would actually like to return to this someday, especially in this new millennium featuring the Global War on Terror and that most horrific and course-changing of days: September 11th, 2001. I was impressed with the style and trappings of Mao II the first time around, while never believing I had fully grasped what DeLillo wished to get across鈥攑erhaps a second journey would leave me more appreciative of the author's prescience in gauging the future potentiality for Terror.
June 26, 2020
I'd describe Mao II as an intellectual novel. Brimming with astute observations about modern life. And gorgeously written.
It begins with a mass cult wedding in a stadium. A troubled young girl called Karen is marrying a Korean man who knows about eight words of English. Her groom was chosen by Master, the head of the endtime cult.
Karen will soon end up as part of the sequestered household of a famous reclusive writer and his secretary.
The novel studies the ways we form into groups to achieve or reaffirm or change identity. (Eventually, we will encounter a terrorist group.) It's an incredibly prescient and prophetic novel. It's almost eerie how prevalent is the image of the Twin Towers in this book which deals with terrorism. It was written in 1991.
It begins with a mass cult wedding in a stadium. A troubled young girl called Karen is marrying a Korean man who knows about eight words of English. Her groom was chosen by Master, the head of the endtime cult.
Karen will soon end up as part of the sequestered household of a famous reclusive writer and his secretary.
The novel studies the ways we form into groups to achieve or reaffirm or change identity. (Eventually, we will encounter a terrorist group.) It's an incredibly prescient and prophetic novel. It's almost eerie how prevalent is the image of the Twin Towers in this book which deals with terrorism. It was written in 1991.
February 7, 2019
It's hard to believe this novel was written pre 9/11. Dandy Don's assessment of the role of terror in our society is almost prophetic. Catastrophe, he observes, is the only thing capable of penetrating our distracted consciousness.
"In societies reduced to blur and glut, terror is the only meaningful act. There's too much everything, more things and messages and meanings than we can use in ten thousand lifetimes. Inertia-hysteria."
Delillo also focuses on the rise of crowds and our need to fit in: to find something bigger than ourselves that gives meaning to our lives. It is a prominent theme that he touches on steadily throughout the novel. "The future belongs to crowds." Meanwhile, our central character spends his time doing everything he can to avoid crowds. A nice bit of irony there.
I liked how Delillo brings these two themes together in the final chapter.
Other than the chapter dedicated to Karen's ramblings in the park, the plot is entertaining. So not only do we have interesting thematic discources, but we have a fun read as well. Not quite 'Libra' great but certainly another excellent work from Delillo.
"In societies reduced to blur and glut, terror is the only meaningful act. There's too much everything, more things and messages and meanings than we can use in ten thousand lifetimes. Inertia-hysteria."
Delillo also focuses on the rise of crowds and our need to fit in: to find something bigger than ourselves that gives meaning to our lives. It is a prominent theme that he touches on steadily throughout the novel. "The future belongs to crowds." Meanwhile, our central character spends his time doing everything he can to avoid crowds. A nice bit of irony there.
I liked how Delillo brings these two themes together in the final chapter.
Other than the chapter dedicated to Karen's ramblings in the park, the plot is entertaining. So not only do we have interesting thematic discources, but we have a fun read as well. Not quite 'Libra' great but certainly another excellent work from Delillo.
March 7, 2021
This was my third time through this book and I read it this time as part of my ongoing Delillo re-readathon where I am reading all his books in publication order. I wrote a fair amount last time I read it (almost exactly 3 years ago - see below). So, just a quote from the NY Times to add:
"If terrorists have seized control of the world narrative, if they have captured the historical imagination, have they become, in effect, the world's new novelists? For sheer influence over the human mind, have they displaced a precariously placed literature? Are writers -- lacking some greater if lethal faith -- the new hostages? "Is history possible? Is anyone serious?" These are some of the questions posed by "Mao II," the latest novel by Don DeLillo, who has already proved with such books as "Players," "White Noise" and "Libra" that no one can match his ability to let America, the bad dream of it, speak through his pen."
(Obviously this was written some time ago and Mao II is no longer "the latest novel by Don Delillo").
---------------
ORIGINAL REVIEW
---------------
This novel is just about ideal for me as its themes combine photography (and the power of the image) with writing (and the role of the novelist). About 90% of my time is spent either taking photographs or reading.
The title of the book is derived from Andy Warhol's famous portrait of Mao Zedong, but the power of the image, especially of a portrait, is a dominant part of the story and it isn鈥檛 just Mao II that is discussed. Alongside images and novelists, the book also explores terrorism and crowds. There are probably other themes you could pull out, but those seem to be the main ones.
Bill Gray is a reclusive writer with two significant novels under his belt. For reasons that are explored through the course of the book, he has never finished his next book: he has withdrawn and hidden himself away (think Thomas Pynchon without the output, or even, to a lesser extent, Delillo himself). He allows a photographer to come to him to capture his portrait, partly driven by the realisation that his seclusion has become a kind of captivity. He is looking for a way to escape. As events pan out, he visits New York and finds himself agreeing to travel to London to give a poetry reading on behalf of a writer held captive in Beirut. This offers him a chance to do what he may or may not have been planning all along: disappear completely.
There are other people involved in the story, but it is a limited cast. In an incomplete list, other than Gray and the photographer, Brita, there is Gray's assistant, Scott, and there is Karen. The opening pages of the book, a preface, describe a mass wedding in a baseball stadium organised by the Unification Church and presided over by Sun Myung Moon. Here is where we meet Karen as she is married to a Korean man she has just met and who was picked out for her by Moon. But, by the time the book starts properly, they are in separate countries and she is with Scott. This is one of several plot developments that Delillo does not explicitly describe until well after they have happened: the reader is left to work it out and then see the details emerge as the novel progresses.
What the mass wedding in the preface does is introduce us to the idea of crowds which is a repeating motif through the book as Delillo contrasts crowds and individuals (Gray is a novelist looking to reach a mass audience - perhaps, but we take time to explore Mao Zedong and Ayatollah Khomeini as well as Sun Myung Moon).
"The future belongs to crowds."
And
"The cult of Mao was the cult of the book. It was a call to unity, a summoning of crowds where everyone dressed alike and thought alike. Don鈥檛 you see the beauty in this? Isn鈥檛 there beauty and power in the repetition of certain words and phrases? You go into a room to read a book. These people came out of their rooms. They became a book-waving crowd. Mao said, 'Our god is none other than the masses of the Chinese people.' And this is what you fear, that history is passing into the hands of the crowd."
Crowds are effectively contrasted with Gray's determination to disappear, to become more and more isolated.
Crowds are also the targets of terrorists. It is an ongoing theme in Delillo鈥檚 novels to compare the roles of novelists and terrorists. Here we read:
"Years ago I used to think it was possible for a novelist to alter the inner life of the culture. Now bomb-makers and gunmen have taken that territory. They make raids on human consciousness. What writers used to do before we were all incorporated."
And
"'For some time now I鈥檝e had the feeling that novelists and terrorists are playing a zero-sum game.'
'Interesting. How so?'
'What terrorists gain, novelists lose. The degree to which they influence mass consciousness is the extent of our decline as shapers of sensibility and thought. The danger they represent equals our own failure to be dangerous.'
'And the more clearly we see terror, the less impact we feel from art.'"
Mao II was first published in 1991, but it makes a fascinating read from the other side of events like 9/11: at times it seems almost prophetic when read 25+ years later. Coincidentally, it was written around the time when Salman Rushdie was condemned by Ayatollah Khomeini. Delillo has said the book is not about Rushdie, but he has acknowledged the connection.
Without doubt, this is a stylised book. No one writes dialogue like Delillo writes dialogue (only Delillo could write in the middle of a conversation "Bill laughed in a certain way" and the reader know what he means) and the story seems deliberately set up to allow Delillo to explore some of these big themes. For me, it is not an emotional book, but it is one that you have to admire and which manages to be engaging despite its lack of emotion.
Just as an aside, I couldn鈥檛 help but notice this quote:
"If they could send a woman wearing stockings who might whisper the word 鈥渟tockings.鈥� This would help him live another week."
and compare it with this from Delillo's earlier work :
"'Say heat. Say wet between my legs. Say legs. Seriously I听want you to. Stockings. Whisper it. The word is meant to be whispered 鈥� Use names,' I said."
The image as a way to bridge the gap between public and private, the contrast of crowds vs. individuals, the role of novelists compared with terrorists, the effect on a novel of its release into the public domain. A fascinating book to read even if, or perhaps because, the world has changed in the 27 years since its publication.
"If terrorists have seized control of the world narrative, if they have captured the historical imagination, have they become, in effect, the world's new novelists? For sheer influence over the human mind, have they displaced a precariously placed literature? Are writers -- lacking some greater if lethal faith -- the new hostages? "Is history possible? Is anyone serious?" These are some of the questions posed by "Mao II," the latest novel by Don DeLillo, who has already proved with such books as "Players," "White Noise" and "Libra" that no one can match his ability to let America, the bad dream of it, speak through his pen."
(Obviously this was written some time ago and Mao II is no longer "the latest novel by Don Delillo").
---------------
ORIGINAL REVIEW
---------------
This novel is just about ideal for me as its themes combine photography (and the power of the image) with writing (and the role of the novelist). About 90% of my time is spent either taking photographs or reading.
The title of the book is derived from Andy Warhol's famous portrait of Mao Zedong, but the power of the image, especially of a portrait, is a dominant part of the story and it isn鈥檛 just Mao II that is discussed. Alongside images and novelists, the book also explores terrorism and crowds. There are probably other themes you could pull out, but those seem to be the main ones.
Bill Gray is a reclusive writer with two significant novels under his belt. For reasons that are explored through the course of the book, he has never finished his next book: he has withdrawn and hidden himself away (think Thomas Pynchon without the output, or even, to a lesser extent, Delillo himself). He allows a photographer to come to him to capture his portrait, partly driven by the realisation that his seclusion has become a kind of captivity. He is looking for a way to escape. As events pan out, he visits New York and finds himself agreeing to travel to London to give a poetry reading on behalf of a writer held captive in Beirut. This offers him a chance to do what he may or may not have been planning all along: disappear completely.
There are other people involved in the story, but it is a limited cast. In an incomplete list, other than Gray and the photographer, Brita, there is Gray's assistant, Scott, and there is Karen. The opening pages of the book, a preface, describe a mass wedding in a baseball stadium organised by the Unification Church and presided over by Sun Myung Moon. Here is where we meet Karen as she is married to a Korean man she has just met and who was picked out for her by Moon. But, by the time the book starts properly, they are in separate countries and she is with Scott. This is one of several plot developments that Delillo does not explicitly describe until well after they have happened: the reader is left to work it out and then see the details emerge as the novel progresses.
What the mass wedding in the preface does is introduce us to the idea of crowds which is a repeating motif through the book as Delillo contrasts crowds and individuals (Gray is a novelist looking to reach a mass audience - perhaps, but we take time to explore Mao Zedong and Ayatollah Khomeini as well as Sun Myung Moon).
"The future belongs to crowds."
And
"The cult of Mao was the cult of the book. It was a call to unity, a summoning of crowds where everyone dressed alike and thought alike. Don鈥檛 you see the beauty in this? Isn鈥檛 there beauty and power in the repetition of certain words and phrases? You go into a room to read a book. These people came out of their rooms. They became a book-waving crowd. Mao said, 'Our god is none other than the masses of the Chinese people.' And this is what you fear, that history is passing into the hands of the crowd."
Crowds are effectively contrasted with Gray's determination to disappear, to become more and more isolated.
Crowds are also the targets of terrorists. It is an ongoing theme in Delillo鈥檚 novels to compare the roles of novelists and terrorists. Here we read:
"Years ago I used to think it was possible for a novelist to alter the inner life of the culture. Now bomb-makers and gunmen have taken that territory. They make raids on human consciousness. What writers used to do before we were all incorporated."
And
"'For some time now I鈥檝e had the feeling that novelists and terrorists are playing a zero-sum game.'
'Interesting. How so?'
'What terrorists gain, novelists lose. The degree to which they influence mass consciousness is the extent of our decline as shapers of sensibility and thought. The danger they represent equals our own failure to be dangerous.'
'And the more clearly we see terror, the less impact we feel from art.'"
Mao II was first published in 1991, but it makes a fascinating read from the other side of events like 9/11: at times it seems almost prophetic when read 25+ years later. Coincidentally, it was written around the time when Salman Rushdie was condemned by Ayatollah Khomeini. Delillo has said the book is not about Rushdie, but he has acknowledged the connection.
Without doubt, this is a stylised book. No one writes dialogue like Delillo writes dialogue (only Delillo could write in the middle of a conversation "Bill laughed in a certain way" and the reader know what he means) and the story seems deliberately set up to allow Delillo to explore some of these big themes. For me, it is not an emotional book, but it is one that you have to admire and which manages to be engaging despite its lack of emotion.
Just as an aside, I couldn鈥檛 help but notice this quote:
"If they could send a woman wearing stockings who might whisper the word 鈥渟tockings.鈥� This would help him live another week."
and compare it with this from Delillo's earlier work :
"'Say heat. Say wet between my legs. Say legs. Seriously I听want you to. Stockings. Whisper it. The word is meant to be whispered 鈥� Use names,' I said."
The image as a way to bridge the gap between public and private, the contrast of crowds vs. individuals, the role of novelists compared with terrorists, the effect on a novel of its release into the public domain. A fascinating book to read even if, or perhaps because, the world has changed in the 27 years since its publication.
April 24, 2025
鈥溾€his city鈥hat nobody expects to be in one place for ten minutes鈥�.Seven nameless men own everything and move us around on a board. People are swept out into the streets because the owners need the space. Then they are swept off the streets because someone owns the air they breathe. Men buy and sell air in the sky and there are bodies heaped together in boxes on the sidewalk. Then they sweep away the boxes.鈥�
January 16, 2010
I could feel DeLillo grappling with something important as I read this book, trying to deliver something profound, and that feeling made me want to press on, to see where he was going, even though I found most of his narrative a slog.
There were astounding moments. The funeral of Ayatollah Khomeini was gorgeous prose. The discussion between Bill and George about the power of the terrorist to affect change was tense and convincing. Karen's time in the homeless shantytown was poetic and always shifting. But nothing in was easy; made us work for every piece of wonder he embedded in his text. And along with these moments of genius was the promise of something profound pushing me on.
DeLillo fulfilled his promise to me, but considering the myriad opinions concerning what was about, I am sure what I found profound is only one possibility.
So here's what was about for me: insignificance. Not the usual evocation of existential nihilism, but a workable insignificance in the face of our search for impossible significance. It wasn't telling us to give up because there is no meaning, but telling us to simply recognize that whatever meaning we find for ourselves is significant for that and nothing else.
engages with issues and artifacts and concepts that our culture endows with the illusion of significance: architecture, the world trade center, terrorism and terror, belief, love, belief in love, religion, home and homelessness, art, the artist, photography, great men, and writing. Yes, even writing. All of it is insignificant beyond ourselves. And the search for significance in these things is equally insignificant.
It's a subtle shift from the nihilist perspective that nothing means anything, but the shift is a profound one (even if DeLillo is only adding to the voices of those who've already spoken about this possibility). It was the pay off I was hoping for. I am only sorry that it wasn't enough to make me love this book.
I wanted to love . But I'll have to cope with simply admiring it and its author. I've been afraid to engage with DeLillo. His reputation is daunting, and so are the issues he tackles. But now that I've begun I am confident that somewhere in his body of work is a book I will love as much as I admire this one. I hope that book is .
There were astounding moments. The funeral of Ayatollah Khomeini was gorgeous prose. The discussion between Bill and George about the power of the terrorist to affect change was tense and convincing. Karen's time in the homeless shantytown was poetic and always shifting. But nothing in was easy; made us work for every piece of wonder he embedded in his text. And along with these moments of genius was the promise of something profound pushing me on.
DeLillo fulfilled his promise to me, but considering the myriad opinions concerning what was about, I am sure what I found profound is only one possibility.
So here's what was about for me: insignificance. Not the usual evocation of existential nihilism, but a workable insignificance in the face of our search for impossible significance. It wasn't telling us to give up because there is no meaning, but telling us to simply recognize that whatever meaning we find for ourselves is significant for that and nothing else.
engages with issues and artifacts and concepts that our culture endows with the illusion of significance: architecture, the world trade center, terrorism and terror, belief, love, belief in love, religion, home and homelessness, art, the artist, photography, great men, and writing. Yes, even writing. All of it is insignificant beyond ourselves. And the search for significance in these things is equally insignificant.
It's a subtle shift from the nihilist perspective that nothing means anything, but the shift is a profound one (even if DeLillo is only adding to the voices of those who've already spoken about this possibility). It was the pay off I was hoping for. I am only sorry that it wasn't enough to make me love this book.
I wanted to love . But I'll have to cope with simply admiring it and its author. I've been afraid to engage with DeLillo. His reputation is daunting, and so are the issues he tackles. But now that I've begun I am confident that somewhere in his body of work is a book I will love as much as I admire this one. I hope that book is .
November 12, 2016
Delillo ha la palese capacit脿 di raccontare l鈥檌mplosione e la fragilit脿 della societ脿 contemporanea come pochi altri.
Qui se la gioca parecchio in anticipo sul clima di terrore e sulla violenza su vasta scala a venire.
Diverse citazioni delle torri gemelle, ancora svettanti nel '91, sono inserite in un contesto che non promette niente di buono.
Personaggi: Bill / Scott / Karen / Brita
Luoghi: New York / Londra / Beirut
Terrorismo, regimi totalitari, povert脿, sette, riti di massa, solitudine.
Il rapporto tra la massa e l鈥檌dentit脿 personale.
Simulacro e iperrealt脿.
Devo ammettere che per貌 mi 猫 sembrato pi霉 volte ripetitivo (Karen e i senzatetto, il poeta recluso, il libro infinito), lasciandomi con pochi appigli in una trama che avanza per singoli momenti senza troppa coesione.
E insomma, con tutti i suoi pregi non mi trovo proprio d鈥檃ccordo con chi grida al capolavoro. [71/100]
Due citazioni su tutte:
鈥淟e notizie dei disastri sono l鈥檜nica narrativa di cui la gente ha bisogno. Pi霉 sono cupe le notizie, pi霉 猫 grandiosa la narrativa.鈥�
鈥淟a gente fa dondolare bustine di t猫 sopra l鈥檃cqua bollente dentro tazze bianche. Le macchine sfrecciano silenziose sulle autostrade, strisce di luce colorata. La gente siede dietro le scrivanie e guarda i muri dell鈥檜fficio. Annusa le proprie camicie e le getta nel cesto della biancheria sporca. La gente si accomoda su poltrone numerate e vola attraverso fusi orari e alti cirri e notti fonde, sapendo che c鈥櫭� qualcosa che ha dimenticato di fare.
Il futuro appartiene alle masse.鈥�
Qui se la gioca parecchio in anticipo sul clima di terrore e sulla violenza su vasta scala a venire.
Diverse citazioni delle torri gemelle, ancora svettanti nel '91, sono inserite in un contesto che non promette niente di buono.
Personaggi: Bill / Scott / Karen / Brita
Luoghi: New York / Londra / Beirut
Terrorismo, regimi totalitari, povert脿, sette, riti di massa, solitudine.
Il rapporto tra la massa e l鈥檌dentit脿 personale.
Simulacro e iperrealt脿.
Devo ammettere che per貌 mi 猫 sembrato pi霉 volte ripetitivo (Karen e i senzatetto, il poeta recluso, il libro infinito), lasciandomi con pochi appigli in una trama che avanza per singoli momenti senza troppa coesione.
E insomma, con tutti i suoi pregi non mi trovo proprio d鈥檃ccordo con chi grida al capolavoro. [71/100]
Due citazioni su tutte:
鈥淟e notizie dei disastri sono l鈥檜nica narrativa di cui la gente ha bisogno. Pi霉 sono cupe le notizie, pi霉 猫 grandiosa la narrativa.鈥�
鈥淟a gente fa dondolare bustine di t猫 sopra l鈥檃cqua bollente dentro tazze bianche. Le macchine sfrecciano silenziose sulle autostrade, strisce di luce colorata. La gente siede dietro le scrivanie e guarda i muri dell鈥檜fficio. Annusa le proprie camicie e le getta nel cesto della biancheria sporca. La gente si accomoda su poltrone numerate e vola attraverso fusi orari e alti cirri e notti fonde, sapendo che c鈥櫭� qualcosa che ha dimenticato di fare.
Il futuro appartiene alle masse.鈥�
November 8, 2015
Mao II centers around two events: the emergence of a reclusive author in New York and a hostage crisis in Lebanon. That both events are treated with the glibness and breakneck pace of news cycles isn't, in and of itself, reason to praise this novel, even if you consider that DeLillo does so as a commentary. What makes Mao II great, then, is that he goes all the way with commentary on the media, inviting the reader into the world of the twenty-four hour news rush, making you eagerly await every new update and feel as though you're part of something broader by following each post as it happens. If that wasn't enough, he uses the dark corners of the book as a place to put his understandable fear of what happens when the TV news gains too much influence and the people who watch are so caught up in the spectacle of events that they miss the broader picture, the driving forces behind them. Throw in a clairvoyant woman, a terrorist plot, and a brilliantly realized set piece about a mass Moonie marriage, and you've got better, sharper, smarter TV than most TV.
January 29, 2017
I can't deny that Don DeLillo has great way with words but the lack of traditional storytelling prevented me from enjoying this novel.
January 18, 2023
About 15 years ago I bounced badly off Underworld, supposedly De Lillo's magnum opus but seeing the synopsis of this one decided to give him another crack.
An ultra reclusive author Bill Gray, his fanatically devoted PA, live in fan Scott, ex Moonie cult member Karen and obsessive photographer Brita are the main characters in this very relevant novel that examines terrorism, the subjection of the individual to the lure of mass movements and the threat to novels and novelists themselves.
" Mao said 'Our God is none other than the masses of the Chinese people' and this is what you fear, that history is passing into the hands of the crowd."
Damn right sir.
I found it took me a bit of time to adjust to De Lillo's style after reading a couple of more modernist books but once I did I found his characterization convincing and the plot compelling. Some have criticised the ending of the book but I found it both appropriate.and powerful.
The star of this book is for me " Bill Gray" as he became. Weighed down by early success, frightened of future failure and in many ways doomed from the outset.
" Bill felt joined to the past, to some bloodline of intimate and renewable pain"
I will soon take on "White Noise" , if it is as good as Mao II I will be a happy boy.
An ultra reclusive author Bill Gray, his fanatically devoted PA, live in fan Scott, ex Moonie cult member Karen and obsessive photographer Brita are the main characters in this very relevant novel that examines terrorism, the subjection of the individual to the lure of mass movements and the threat to novels and novelists themselves.
" Mao said 'Our God is none other than the masses of the Chinese people' and this is what you fear, that history is passing into the hands of the crowd."
Damn right sir.
I found it took me a bit of time to adjust to De Lillo's style after reading a couple of more modernist books but once I did I found his characterization convincing and the plot compelling. Some have criticised the ending of the book but I found it both appropriate.and powerful.
The star of this book is for me " Bill Gray" as he became. Weighed down by early success, frightened of future failure and in many ways doomed from the outset.
" Bill felt joined to the past, to some bloodline of intimate and renewable pain"
I will soon take on "White Noise" , if it is as good as Mao II I will be a happy boy.
August 6, 2024
4,5 stelute 馃槉
Banuiam ca o sa-mi placa, insa am primit mult mai mult decat ma asteptam - de la stilul de scriere, la personaje si teme abordate. Cu siguranta voi incerca si alte romane de la acest autor.
Banuiam ca o sa-mi placa, insa am primit mult mai mult decat ma asteptam - de la stilul de scriere, la personaje si teme abordate. Cu siguranta voi incerca si alte romane de la acest autor.
November 4, 2015
The hardest thing about reading a Don Delillo novel is everything is quotable, every sentence he writes is a sentence only Don Delillo could've written, anyway you look at it. This is a short book, shouldn't take one more than a few days, but it's such a rich, deeply profound book that needs to be read slowly, with much concentration lest you miss out on all the cool stuff. Some of it isn't accessible, not right away, but when you mull over it, you do see it make sense. See it define your life somehow, coz that's what a Don Delillo novel does, it defines you, at least at some existential level. It's also a sad sad book, that will break your heart and leave you restless with longing, especially with what happens to all those cool Characters, but it's not all despairing because you can see it coming, I mean, the writer, Bill Gray is like Rorschach and his king-size death wish in Alan Moore's Watchmen. His struggle for total alienation is futile, but so enjoyable to follow him all through his metaphysical blundering.
I know I said a lot of the sentences are very quotable, but here are some of my favourite, at least the ones that resonate--
"We're all drawn to the idea of remoteness. A hard-to-reach place is necessarily beautiful. [...] And a person who becomes inaccessible has a grace and a wholeness the rest of us envy."
"The narrower the boundaries of my life, the more I exaggerate myself."
"The language of my books has shaped me as a man."
"There's a moral force in a sentence when it comes out right. It speaks the writer's will to live."
"The deeper I become entangled in the process of getting a sentence right in its syllables and rhythms, the more I learn about myself."
"This book and these years have worn me down."
"Does writing come out of bitterness and rage or does it produce bitterness and rage?
Or both?"
"Time became peculiar, the original thing that is always there. It seeped into his fever and delirium, into the question of who he was."
"Through out history it's the novelist who has felt affinity for the violent man who lives in the dark."
"Survival means you lean how to narrow the space you take up for fear of arousing antagonistic interest and it also means you hide what you own inside something else so that you may seem to possess one chief thing when it is really many things bundled and tied and placed inside each other, a secret universe of things, unwhisperable, plastic bags inside plastic bags, and the woman is somewhere in there too, bagged with her possessions."
"What terrorists gain, novelists lose. The degree to which they influence mass consciousness is the extent of our decline as shapers of sensibility and thought. The danger they represent equals our own failure to be dangerous. [...] And the more clearly we see terror, the less impact we feel from art."
"The only way to be in the world was to write himself there. His thoughts and words were dying. Let him write ten words and he would come into being once again."
"Is there time for a final thought?"
I know I said a lot of the sentences are very quotable, but here are some of my favourite, at least the ones that resonate--
"We're all drawn to the idea of remoteness. A hard-to-reach place is necessarily beautiful. [...] And a person who becomes inaccessible has a grace and a wholeness the rest of us envy."
"The narrower the boundaries of my life, the more I exaggerate myself."
"The language of my books has shaped me as a man."
"There's a moral force in a sentence when it comes out right. It speaks the writer's will to live."
"The deeper I become entangled in the process of getting a sentence right in its syllables and rhythms, the more I learn about myself."
"This book and these years have worn me down."
"Does writing come out of bitterness and rage or does it produce bitterness and rage?
Or both?"
"Time became peculiar, the original thing that is always there. It seeped into his fever and delirium, into the question of who he was."
"Through out history it's the novelist who has felt affinity for the violent man who lives in the dark."
"Survival means you lean how to narrow the space you take up for fear of arousing antagonistic interest and it also means you hide what you own inside something else so that you may seem to possess one chief thing when it is really many things bundled and tied and placed inside each other, a secret universe of things, unwhisperable, plastic bags inside plastic bags, and the woman is somewhere in there too, bagged with her possessions."
"What terrorists gain, novelists lose. The degree to which they influence mass consciousness is the extent of our decline as shapers of sensibility and thought. The danger they represent equals our own failure to be dangerous. [...] And the more clearly we see terror, the less impact we feel from art."
"The only way to be in the world was to write himself there. His thoughts and words were dying. Let him write ten words and he would come into being once again."
"Is there time for a final thought?"
November 2, 2014
A mess. Opens with the reactionary premise that 鈥渢he future belongs to crowds鈥� (16) and descends from there. Something about a reclusive writer and another writer kidnapped by Lebanese Maoists. I suspect there is a concordance here between the artist who wishes to remain out of the public spotlight and the artist who is forcibly hidden. Dunno. The whole thing is kinda gross.
My copy is a first edition, which has a Pynchon blurb on the back--no surprise he likes it, considering P鈥檚 own alleged reclusiveness. 鈥淲hen a writer doesn鈥檛 show his face, he becomes a local symptom of God鈥檚 famous reluctance to appear鈥� (36). D, you can suck P off on your own time. Even worse: 鈥淭he state should want to kill all writers. Every government, every group that holds power or aspires to power should feel so threatened by writers that they hunt them down, everywhere鈥� (97). We gonna just have to get over ourselves, yo. But, even worser: 鈥淔or some time now I鈥檝e had the feeling that novelists and terrorists are playing a zero-sum game鈥� (156)--鈥淏eckett is the last writer to shape the way we think and see. After him, the major work involves midair explosions and crumbled buildings. This is the new tragic narrative鈥� (157). This is just Marinetti. Barf.
Similar concern as in : "Because we鈥檙e giving way to terror, to news of terror, to tape recorders and cameras, to radios, to bombs stashed in radios. News of disaster is the only narrative people need鈥� (42).
Lotsa weird stuff about Reverend Moon. Uhh, yeah.
Recommended for readers with their own cosmologies of pain, city nomads more strange than herdsmen in the Sahel, and persons with a need for internal dissent, self-argument.
My copy is a first edition, which has a Pynchon blurb on the back--no surprise he likes it, considering P鈥檚 own alleged reclusiveness. 鈥淲hen a writer doesn鈥檛 show his face, he becomes a local symptom of God鈥檚 famous reluctance to appear鈥� (36). D, you can suck P off on your own time. Even worse: 鈥淭he state should want to kill all writers. Every government, every group that holds power or aspires to power should feel so threatened by writers that they hunt them down, everywhere鈥� (97). We gonna just have to get over ourselves, yo. But, even worser: 鈥淔or some time now I鈥檝e had the feeling that novelists and terrorists are playing a zero-sum game鈥� (156)--鈥淏eckett is the last writer to shape the way we think and see. After him, the major work involves midair explosions and crumbled buildings. This is the new tragic narrative鈥� (157). This is just Marinetti. Barf.
Similar concern as in : "Because we鈥檙e giving way to terror, to news of terror, to tape recorders and cameras, to radios, to bombs stashed in radios. News of disaster is the only narrative people need鈥� (42).
Lotsa weird stuff about Reverend Moon. Uhh, yeah.
Recommended for readers with their own cosmologies of pain, city nomads more strange than herdsmen in the Sahel, and persons with a need for internal dissent, self-argument.
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