Don DeLillo's works are often regarded as novels of ideas, and I wholeheartedly concur. Many of his novels are built upon an idea, concept, or contemporary social issue, with the characters serving as mere props. For instance, in 'White Noise', it's about consumerism and the threat of nuclear warfare; in 'Mao II', it's about the power of the mob and television. However, this doesn't mean DeLillo is force-feeding these ideas to the readers. On the contrary, it seems he has something profound to convey, and instead of using the non-fiction format, he opts for novels. I don't pretend to fully understand his novels (can anyone truly claim to understand any work of art?), nor can I say I enjoy reading them in the most basic sense. But he engages me. I sense he has something to tell me, something I may have overlooked or been unable to express as eloquently as he does. That's why I keep returning to his works. I notice I'm writing more about the man than the novel itself, but as I mentioned earlier, his novels are often novels of ideas, so an introduction to the author is as necessary as one about the work. Another aspect I've observed is that his works are sometimes deeply rooted in America or a specific time period in America, which might be off-putting to some readers. For example, 'Libra' is about Harvey Lee Oswald, and the reader needs some basic knowledge of the Kennedy assassination and perhaps an interest in it to fully appreciate the novel. Otherwise, it might not have the same impact. Or, take the prologue in 'Underworld', which is a 60-page description of a baseball playoff game set in the 50's. I had to struggle through it, not knowing the baseball rules or the context of the game, which is apparently a part of American sporting folklore. (To put it this way, an American would feel the same if he read a novel where the prologue is about India's 1983 World Cup final match and winning it. He would be completely lost, wouldn't he?) But by and large, his novels address a broader world view, and we can relate to them from anywhere. Again, from my personal experience, you need to be in a certain mindset to read him. If you're not in the mood to read about television images and their impact, you might miss the point of 'Mao II' (like what happened to me the first time around). Considering all this, 'Americana', DeLillo's first novel published in 1971, is the best place to start. It also conforms most closely to what could be considered a conventional novel. The novel is divided into two parts. The first part is of the office novel genre, and the second part is of the road novel genre.

The protagonist of the novel is 'David Bell', who is also the narrator. He is a film student and an executive at a television studio. Young and highly successful, with a promising future, he is constantly looking over his shoulder to see if any younger competitor is emerging and at the same time looking forward to the people he needs to surpass. Like Janus of the myths, he is looking in both directions. He seems to be living in a vacuum. The beginning of the novel itself reveals his current mindset: 'Then we came to the end of another dull and lurid year.' (P.S Joshua Ferris's first novel is named after the first part of this line: 'Then we came to end'). As the novel progresses, David sinks into a state of ennui. He loses interest in his work, doesn't care about the ratings, and generally settles into a stupor of blank emptiness. He knows he is neglecting his work and that it will have serious consequences, but he couldn't care less. It's like sitting on a ticking bomb or driving a car at high speed towards a mountain cliff. You know you're going to crash, but you're beyond caring about what's going to happen. (Shades of this mood can be seen in Eric Packer of DeLillo's 2003 novel, and some things don't seem to change over the years, do they?). This part of the novel is sometimes funny, with a lot of black humor, but nothing really new if you've read other office novels ('Something happened' comes to mind). At the end of the first part, David finally wakes up from his ennui and goes on a road trip with a video camera, officially for work but in reality on a personal quest. This is the second part of the novel.

Armed with his camera, David ventures into the heartland of America, to a sort of nowhere land. He meets various people. As his trip progresses, David starts using his camera as a voyeuristic tool, capturing people at their most primitive level, with all their defenses down. People are willing to bare their deepest thoughts about families, friends, and relationships in front of the camera. They are even ready to perform sexual acts in front of the camera. It's not just about voyeurism but also about the willingness of people to be the object of voyeurism. This is something very relevant in today's era of reality shows, MMS scandals, and so on. In some ways, DeLillo seems to have predicted in the 70's what's happening today. David becomes increasingly distanced from the reality of his professional life, which is spiraling towards disaster, and becomes more and more obsessed with the trip and the camera itself, capturing not only people but also the American landscape and having reminiscences about his childhood. The novel meanders all over the place (much like the protagonist) and ends with David going off to Dallas to the site of Kennedy's assassination. (Again, a more American preoccupation from the 60's and 70's about Kennedy's assassination).

Check out this link (http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/feat...) of a DeLillo short story.

It attempts to emulate Heller and Kerouac, but unfortunately, it falls short in both endeavors.

Heller is renowned for his unique style of black humor and satirical take on war and society. His works, such as "Catch-22," are masterpieces that have left a lasting impact on literature.

Kerouac, on the other hand, is associated with the Beat Generation and his spontaneous, stream-of-consciousness writing style. His novel "On the Road" is a classic that captured the spirit of a generation.

This particular piece that tries to imitate these two literary giants fails to capture the essence and magic of their works. It lacks the depth, originality, and authenticity that made Heller and Kerouac so great.

Perhaps it is trying too hard to be something it is not, or maybe it simply does not have the talent or vision to pull off such an ambitious undertaking.

In conclusion, while it is admirable to strive to be like the greats, it is important to remember that true artistry comes from within and cannot be replicated by mere imitation.

I finally completed this novel recently and I can most definitely state that I relished it to a great extent. It is, I believe, Don DeLillo's first work and it is truly remarkable. Right from the start, it showcases his fine writing talent. I read another novel by him a long time ago called White Noise, and that was also an excellent read. However, out of the two, I think I actually favored this one more. In some ways, it offers a rather strange reading experience and has fairly distinct sections. It begins with David's life in New York, where he works as an ad executive and enjoys the vibrant life of sixties Manhattan. There are numerous wryly humorous bits in this first section, and I actually found myself laughing several times. This surprised me as I wasn't aware that DeLillo could be a funny writer, but it seems he can be when the inspiration strikes him!

This first section was filled with plenty of odd little details, giving a wonderful sense of one of those ad agency environments with the hidden drinking, executives chatting with their secretaries, glasses in hand, on a rainy afternoon instead of working, and all the fascinating office politics and scheming that seemed worryingly prevalent. I probably enjoyed this part the most, although the rest of the book was still really captivating as well. In the next part, you learn more about David's background and see how certain events have shaped him. This was also very readable, although perhaps not as much as part one, but it still added depth and a broader scope to the novel, which all contributed to its overall allure.

The remainder of the book is all about David and his friends embarking on a road trip as he endeavors to discover what modern America is all about and starts filming life in a small town where they all end up spending some time. His friends patiently humor his cinematic ambitions. The pace is quite slow and the mood very thoughtful by this stage, but it is always engaging and, as always, contains plenty of unusual, rather unpredictable little moments that are liberally scattered throughout the pages of the book, from beginning to end.

I truly enjoyed Americana and it is one of those books that has a quite unique feel and is difficult to adequately describe in a brief review. But if you appreciate very well-written, unusual, thoughtful, and yet entertaining reads where you can't be entirely sure where the journey will lead you, then by all means give this a try. I have Don's Underworld sitting on my shelf, but being a large and hefty-looking volume, I'll have to prepare myself to attempt it one day, once I'm in the right mood for it.

Mai più!

I have experienced the same feeling of impatience and claustrophobia as when one is forced to listen to someone who vomits words that are unimportant to you.

It is truly a frustrating and suffocating experience. You sit there, trapped, as the person rambles on and on, oblivious to the fact that their words are falling on deaf ears.

The air seems to thicken with each passing moment, and you can't wait to escape from that situation.

It makes you realize how precious our time is and how important it is to surround ourselves with people who have something meaningful to say.

No longer will I subject myself to such pointless conversations. I will be more selective in who I listen to and make sure that my time is spent in a more valuable and fulfilling way.

I feel like a great deal could be expounded upon regarding this novel as a social commentary. Obviously, it delves into the shallowness of capitalism. The almost Kafkaesque mechanisms of rumours, terminations, and promotions at David Bell's company form a hilarious thread that is intricately woven throughout the novel. There is also the intersection between toxic masculinity and the construction of identity through Accomplishment. This leads to David's identity crisis and the sense that nothing about him is real, except through what he attempts to rebuild in himself via the camera lens. Additionally, the hollowness of a closed social world of upper-class white kids who grow up to become upper-class white kids in suits is explored. However, I believe many people have already made these points, so I simply wish to offer some remarks on the reading experience.

This novel at times feels slow and at others seems aimless. But as it reaches its conclusion, it becomes evident that it is a masterfully constructed story about a man's downfall, or perhaps a breakdown and a reconstruction. It is astonishing to consider that this is DeLillo's first novel. The characters, even the minor ones, are fully realized and completely believable. The most minor interactions between characters strike a perfect balance between the symbolism and profundity we anticipate in the characters of a novel and the authenticity of average, real people we have encountered.

For personal reasons, the first half of the novel is sheer enjoyment. David Bell is a conniving advertising executive who is having an affair with his secretary (and a few other women as well). He hears rumours about others hearing good rumours about him, sits exasperated in a work meeting, frets about office politics, and obsesses over his age. DeLillo flawlessly captures male bravado and fragility in one individual. David's vulnerabilities are counterbalanced by the arrogant facade demanded by his job (as well as the good face he presents to his friends and family). He is unlikeable yet sympathetic. From the outset of the story, DeLillo reveals sufficient of David's self-consciousness and doubt that the character's perverse, self-sabotaging decision to abandon a work project for a personal home video seems less like a contrived story about the All-American Man turning his back on capitalism/modern life and more like an honest reversion to a person David has buried deep out of necessity.

DeLillo is also adept at taking what could be clichés and making them believable. For example, David's mentally ill mother could have been dismissed as the trope of the wealthy housewife with a drinking problem. Instead, she is a spectre, with the full extent of her illness playing out in the tragedies of her children, such as the daughter who ran away from home or the son who bases his self-worth on how accomplished he is compared to men his age. The character Sullivan, the modern artist, comes across less as a sexualized modern artist and more like a career woman who plays with her image, enjoys her work, and refuses to tolerate the nonsense of men who attempt to pigeonhole her into the stereotype of a hyper-sexualized creative type. I could continue, but the essence is that as the story unfolds, you find yourself encountering characters you have met in other novels, but the iteration of them is thoughtful and purposeful. It is as if DeLillo is aware of these perceptions we have of certain people in society (the reclusive writer, the wealthy exec, the new-money father pretending to be old money) and intentionally breaks them down to show the reader how we form archetypes and the depth behind them (either showing us how we perceive people in a certain way based on their job or showing how people put on masks because of their career or ambitions).

The narrative is also brilliantly constructed in the sense that you are drawn into some machine and do not realize what has occurred until the novel concludes. I mentioned David's breakdown, and it is indeed a breakdown, in an honest and sympathetic way. He abandons work, paints a movie script on a hotel room, and runs out of money due to his obsessive desire to complete his artistic project. The home film itself is hilarious, sardonic, and intensely self-aware. DeLillo perfectly captures the intersection between the desire to produce art and the obviously amateur and clichéd work that David is creating. It speaks to the power of DeLillo's talent that he is able to write a script within a script that is profound, affecting, and illuminating with respect to David's character while also telling a story about the absurdity of a man devoting himself to that same script, a futile, pretentious, navel-gazing project with no relevance to anyone but David. By the time we reach the end and witness the culmination of every memory, every aside, every truth avoided by David, every monologue in his story confronted, other chapters that initially seemed irrelevant become significant and the pieces fall into place. Although, frankly, I think a great deal of the novel went over my head.

Small details were also humorous. David's obsession with his age, even going so far as to ask his secretary to keep track of how old his colleagues are, is so relatable it stings (I am the same age as David and work in the legal profession, and it is precisely the same). David's father feeling extremely self-conscious about the university he attended and the allure of colleagues with Ivy League educations is also something I have experienced, and it reveals a vulnerability behind a character who is otherwise all bravado. Overall, I also find it refreshing to read about the relationship between a son and his father (a conversation about David's father's experiences in the war, which David's father cuts off by saying David can read a book about it, is heartbreaking and shows both how masculinity operates and how the characters are close yet separated by a wall). I also find it admirable, especially considering this novel was written in the 70s, how interesting and fully-developed the women are - not in terms of being rah-rah Strong Female characters but because of their complexity.

Delillo's endoscopic prose, from the golden boys of the Big Apple to the outskirts of America, with a camera in hand.

This description seems to hint at the unique perspective and style of Delillo's writing. His works often explore the complex and often fragmented nature of modern American society.

The "endoscopic prose" might suggest a deep and penetrating look into the inner workings of characters and their environments. It could imply a microscopic examination of the details that make up the larger picture.

The mention of the "golden boys of the Big Apple" perhaps refers to the glamorous and successful individuals in New York City, a symbol of wealth, power, and opportunity. However, Delillo may not simply glorify them but rather use them as a starting point to explore the darker sides of this urban paradise.

The journey to the "outskirts of America" could signify a move away from the center of power and privilege, towards the margins and the forgotten corners of the country. This might allow Delillo to examine the inequalities and social divisions that exist beneath the surface of American life.

Finally, the "camera in hand" could be seen as a metaphor for Delillo's role as a writer. Like a photographer, he captures the essence of the moment, freezes it in time, and presents it to the reader for examination and reflection.

Anti-romanticization of media’s portrayal of the West and “soft white underbelly” of America.

I truly felt a profound sort of connection to Bell’s intense desire to experience something deeply moving and literary. However, this book was, in all honesty, entirely depressing in that particular sense. It呈现出一种虚无主义的色彩，并且如果你期望书中的角色能够达成某种宏大的自我认知，那么你将无法获得那种令人满足的回报。

In a way, I find myself preferring this kind of ending. Perhaps there is indeed something rather romantic about the unfulfilled search for meaning and a sense of belonging. But then again, I highly doubt that this is the intended takeaway.

Anyways, I am really looking forward to delving into more of DeLillo’s works. His astute pop culture references and his meticulously crafted prose alone make his novels more than worthy of being checked out. One can only imagine the further literary treasures and thought-provoking ideas that await within his other books.

**"Americana" by Don DeLillo: A Deep Dive**

When I spoke of his novel “The Names”, I already commented on the need to establish different reading rhythms depending on the authors being read. In the case of DeLillo, haste conflicts with the quality of his prose. The more you savor it, the more you let yourself be swayed by his unmistakable verbosity. The surprise is to find his first novel, which the magnificent writer perpetuated in the reissue of Seix Barral, add it to the reading project, start the chronological reading of what is left of his work, and, to your astonishment, encounter a work of an unusual maturity that drinks from the sources of the origins of North American literature.

In “Americana”, David Bell personifies the epitome of the “self-made” man, that self-made man who is the American dream in a fragmented society, full of routines that reflect the contemporary:

“He had the habit of counting those present. The question of how many people there were in a given place seemed important to him, perhaps because the newspaper reports on air disasters and military skirmishes always emphasized the number of dead and missing; that precision is like a spark of electricity for addled minds. After that, the most important thing is to find out the degree of hostility, something relatively simple. All that has to be done is to return the gaze to the people who look at you when you enter. A long glance is usually enough to obtain a more or less accurate reading. There were thirty-one people in the room, of which approximately three or four were hostile.”

Bell, oppressed by that society, will decide to undertake a trip to film small scenes, full of anonymous people, that are supposed to reflect the American essence. The moment when he finds a Sioux Indian is priceless:

“And then I asked him if things had changed much since his childhood. He replied that that was the most intelligent question anyone had ever asked him. Things had hardly changed, only the materials, the technologies. We lived in the same nation of ascetics, of competitiveness experts, of enemies of waste.”

This moment serves to show us one of the themes that he will deepen in his later work, the advance of technology as a dangerous and dehumanizing element and his apparent repulsion to it.

In a curious second part, we will live Bell's past (“It was the winter of my twelfth year of life”) and which will serve to corroborate the importance of time in what we do, the only constant (in reality variable?):

“The only thing that exists is time. Time is the only thing that happens by itself.”

In the third part, the filming proper will take place, fragmented, postmodernist. The cinema and television itself gain importance; common elements, as I already indicated above, that will be repeated successively:

“The illusion of movement was hardly relevant. Perhaps what I was creating was not so much a film as a handwritten roll. A delicate fragment of papyrus afraid of being discovered. The veterans of the film industry would swear that all that dated back to eras before Edison's kinetoscope. For them my answer is very simple. It takes centuries to invent the primitive.”

His opinion of television, in the mouth of the curious protagonist, is more than prophetic, given what we are witnessing:

“-What is the role of commercial television in the 20th century and beyond?
-In my worst states of humor, I feel that it announces chaos to all of us.”

In the chaotic last part, the final words of Ton Thumb Goodloe, the midnight evangelist, twenty-six years old and already on the way to glory, bring together all that DeLillo means, for better and for worse; exuberant, magnificent, glorious prose, but, at the same time, tiresome for a rather wide public:

“Fools, hypocrites, Pharisees and scoundrels. With you, Beast and the final hour of Death is around the corner. A bit of philosophical talk. A walk or two through lobotomiland. One or two bags of stale air. It just occurred to me, as it does to patriots and demagogues, that you won't need my particular concept of truth from now on. It has been decided that drugs will have to replace the media. The burning fear of your nights and dawns has to be replaced by a state of dull and listless happiness. Trust that soon you will experience a drug-induced liberation from anxiety, bitterness and happiness. Endoparasites that you are, you will be able to cling to the intestinal walls of time itself. But you will miss me. Pills and chewing gum cannot replace the transistorized love that connects us in the wild night. […]”

This review, made up of snippets, perfectly exemplifies the sensations that the reading of DeLillo's book produces in me. I find it difficult to recommend it. I see all the good, but, just as happens with Pynchon, if you don't get in, you don't get in; you can't force the majority of regular readers, let alone the less regular ones. Even so, this titan began his career with an exceptional work, incredibly good and that, attention, seems to function as a circle with his last written novel, “Point Omega”; where the desert, the protagonist's tour de force, filming in it, … there are too many common points to think of it as a coincidence in a work as narratively consistent as that of DeLillo. Indeed, in “Point Omega”, the obsession had to do with old age and the search for death; in this first work, he was looking for his identity, by extension, the identity of a decaying American people. The reflection of the “zeitgeist” of a nation:

“I drove all night in a northeasterly direction, and once again I felt that all those days I had spent facing literature, the archetypes of a gloomy mystery, the sons and daughters of those archetypes, images that could not reach the certainty of which of two distinct confusions harbored more terror, theirs or what theirs could become if they ever faced the truth.”

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Dico l'ovvio. Siamo eoni di distanza da Underworld, ma questo è un romanzo che chiunque scrittore in erba venderebbe sua madre per porterlo a termine. Il protagonista mi ricorda molto Pasolini quando andava a intervistare la varia umanità che abitava Via del Mandrione a Roma. Questo romanzo sprizza neorealismo italiano da ogni pagina.

Come al solito, chi ha dato 1-2 stelle si aspettava Underworld, ma ci sta. E io che mi stupisco delle 5 stelle a Saviano.

Devo ricordare che questo è il PRIMO romanzo di Delillo? Quindi è ovvio che non si tratti del capolavoro della vita. Delillo qui è uno scrittore che deve ancora capire e padroneggiare non tanto cosa deve dire, ma come. Pertanto, è ben logico che sia prolisso. E se la seconda parte del romanzo è cronologicamente staccata dal resto del romanzo, devo ricordarvi che prima di Delillo, Mario Puzo nel "Il padrino" uscito nel '69 ha raccontato l'infanzia e i primi anni del padrino nella terza parte. Tutti critici, tutti premi Pulitzer qua e là, ma il massimo che hanno fatto come scrittura è il tema alle medie.

I'm tired. Very much so. This was my first encounter with DeLillo. And it definitely went wrong.

I will try again in the future, with another book. Hoping that, over time, as a writer he has improved.

Because here, in this his first novel, it really makes you want to give up.

The story seems disjointed and the characters lack depth. The writing style, while perhaps innovative for its time, is just too difficult to follow.

But I'm not one to give up easily. I know that DeLillo is a highly regarded author, and I'm sure there is more to his work than what I saw in this first attempt.

So I'll keep reading, keep exploring, and hopefully, one day, I'll be able to understand and appreciate his genius.

White Noise by Don DeLillo is a book that holds a special place among my favorites. However, this particular work didn't quite hit the mark for me. It feels rather dated, and the reading experience was almost painful at times. All the characters seem to be overly self-absorbed and one-sided, lacking the depth and complexity that I usually look for in a great novel. The writing style, which is almost stream of consciousness, comes across as forced and grating, as if the author is trying too hard to prove a point.

Despite this disappointment, I am still looking forward to reading Libra by Don DeLillo in the near future. The concept behind the book sounds incredibly interesting, and I'm hoping that it will offer a more engaging and satisfying reading experience. I can't help but wish that I had passed on White Noise and saved my time for something more fulfilling.

Nonetheless, I remain a fan of Don DeLillo's work and am eager to see what else he has to offer with Libra.