Thursday, August 2, 2007

NONFICTION: don delillo and astrology

I've read three or four Delillo Novels. The first one was Underworld. I was so in love with his wording and scope, that I thought he must be the greatest American novelist. (I still kind of think that.) But when i began to read criticism of Delillo, I began to understand what he was popular for: Post-modern cynicism critiqueblablalbla. I was ashamed. How could such a powerful talent be degraded down to the cliches of modern literature? Critique of technology and capitalist blabla bla. Who isnt?

Finally, after underworld and mao II, i read white noise. It was my least favorite. Aside from the ironic, but not quite laughable humor, and his usual descriptive genius, the novel just exaggerated modernity to the point of absurdity in order to demonstrate the absurdity of modernity.

So, why does such a grand ability waste itself on lopsided criticism and comparing himelf to a terrorist?

I think part of it is because he is a Scorpio. Scorpio's are great at emotionally intense criticism. They are also good at detail.

In Underworld, the scene where the guy is going over the dessert and seeing all the planes makes me think that delillo must love this image too. His fascination with Americana (i havent read that one) obviously suggests more than a criticism. He is in love with his idea of the past.

Anyways, I've written the last two posts instead of working on the novel, so back to work.
My point about delillo is just that his greatness is in his diction and description not in the accidental coincidence of his negativity and the trite condemnation of modernity that predominates Real Literature.

P.S. I really love Delillo. He's a fucking genius.

POEM: Subjugation Withdrawal

My tyrants are dying.
And already I've realized
The mistake spread through
all our moves.

We partied, bringing down their statues
Thinking the concrete was an obstacle
To our freedom

They linger around,
Serving as comfort
For the new world's hesitation

Weakness stored up,
by their stoppering feet
Unleashed as explosions,
Crushing insights

The paradise they stepped on
Is suddenly no closer

All the nights spent talking
With them
Only weaken the struggle
Slogans and forts,
in fragility, equal
to theirs

All dissolved
by the security of an ungripped shoulder
or an open cell