What?!

This simple exclamation can convey a wide range of emotions. It can express surprise, shock, disbelief, or even excitement.

Imagine hearing some unexpected news. You might blurt out "What?!" in a tone of utter astonishment.

Or perhaps you witness something truly remarkable and can't help but exclaim "What?!" in awe.

"What?!" can also be used in a more rhetorical sense, to emphasize a point or to express incredulity.

For example, if someone makes a particularly outlandish claim, you might respond with "What?!" to show that you find it hard to believe.

In short, "What?!" is a powerful and versatile expression that can add emphasis and drama to any conversation or situation.

Jennifer and I had a long talk. She was afraid of everything—subways, strangers, high buildings, the number nine, plastic, smoke, airplanes, snow, pigeons, insects, parties, cabdrivers, elevators, suburbs, Bergman films, Spanish cuisine, men in Gucci loafers.

“Nice apartment,” I said.

“Do you think it’s too conventional?” she asked.

“It’s so conventional it transcends convention. It’s like a premature art-form. A room in a museum a hundred years from now. The American Wing.”

Hidden energies filled the air, small secret currents, as happens in every business which thrives in the heat of the image. There was a cult of the unattractive and the clever. There were points scored for ruthlessness. There were vendettas against the good-looking. One sought to avoid categories and therefore confound the formulators. For to be neither handsome nor unattractive, neither ruthless nor clever, was to be considered a hero by the bland, a nice fellow by the brilliant and the handsome, a non-entity by the clever, a homosexual by the lunatic fringe of the unattractive, a bright young man by the ruthless, a threat by the dangerously neurotic, an intimate and loyal friend by the alienated and the doomed.

Words and meanings were at odds. Words did not say what was being said nor even its reverse.

The only problem I had was that my whole life was a lesson in the effect of echoes, that I was living in the third person.

I never read books this quickly. He’s truly a perfect writer. 5/5.

Strangely surreal, Americana is both a document and a satire that sets the tone for a plethora of works of American fiction.

It is truly astonishing how the tone established by this novel can be seen in works like "American Psycho" or even "Mad Men". Despite veering off into various tangents, Americana manages to find its own unique identity.

The influence of this novel is far-reaching and has had a profound impact on the American literary landscape.

I am so glad that I finally got my hands on a copy. It has opened my eyes to a whole new world of American fiction and has given me a deeper understanding of the cultural and social context in which these works were created.

Overall, Americana is a must-read for anyone interested in American literature or culture.

Don DeLillo’s first novel presents a rather complex and somewhat uneven picture, and it won't necessarily appeal to every reader.

Clearly, DeLillo is a writer of great talent, but in this work, he appears to struggle with precisely defining what he wants the novel to achieve.

Seen through the eyes of young New York television executive David Bell, who is troubled, DeLillo initially plunges us into a 'Mad Men' style comical portrayal of high-rise office life. Then, he flashes back to David's childhood and finally takes us on a long-distance road trip. So far, it all seems quite appealing.

In the hands of Richard Yates, this might have had the potential to be one of my all-time favorite novels. However, DeLillo has more ambitious goals. He aims to展示the fragmentation of an individual's identity against the backdrop of a country深陷于越南战争的艰难时期，同时自身也在经历一场身份危机。

Ultimately, for me, the fragmentation, the diverse literary styles, and the endless cycling and recycling around formative events became overwhelming. One trait of truly great writers is that their ambitious aspirations sometimes outstrip their abilities. For me, 'Americana' is like the Great White Whale that DeLillo just can't quite catch. Nevertheless, it's a nice attempt...

**A Polished Set of Pieties**

My initial encounter with the DeLillo-Rama was through “The Names,” and until now, I had only delved into one of his earlier novels, “Great Jones Street,” while attempting to keep pace with his later works. Little did I know that a precious gem awaited me in “Americana,” DeLillo's very first novel.

This 377-page masterpiece, divided into four parts and 12 chapters, reads with the fluency of a novel two-thirds its size. Its relative brevity in no way diminishes its capacity to explore and dramatize profound concerns. As the narrator, David Bell, remarks about his own writing in a film script, “Large issues will begin to manifest themselves out of the dull set of pieties I've been constructing here. This is not easy work for me.” DeLillo spent four years penning this novel, and I'd venture to say that his reservations were likely more formal than stylistic, as the quality of the sentences is nothing short of exemplary.

**Four Parts**

Although DeLillo is regarded as a Post-Modernist author, in this case, it's more overtly due to his subject matter than his structural approach. The four parts of the novel do, however, offer some scope for metafictional play. Part One presents a self-portrait of David Bell as a vain 28-year-old producer for a New York-based television network. There's ample corporate rivalry, sexual flirtation, prurient gossip, and mutual suspicion. DeLillo flawlessly captures the speech patterns of this subculture. Part Two delves into Bell's childhood and his relationships with his legendary advertising exec father, socialite mother, and two sisters, Mary and Jane. In Part Three, David absconds from work to create a semi-documentary, semi-autobiographical film in the Midwest, causing him to miss his engagement on a documentary project about the Navaho people in Arizona for his network. Part Four sees David continue his westward road trip to California, after which, much later (possibly 1999), he is living in isolation on an island (rather than the continent of North America) where he completes an autobiographical novel (possibly this very novel?).

**Part Dream, Part Fiction, Part Movies**

The film script provides David with an opportunity to write about himself in dialogue form. Thus, DeLillo crafts the narrator David Bell, who then employs fictional friends, colleagues, and actors to dramatize his own life and elaborate on the issues that preoccupy both himself and DeLillo. It's a charming touch of metafiction that neither distracts nor detracts from the psychological realism of the novel as a whole. “I'm thinking of making a long messy autobiographical-type film, part of which I'd like to do out here in the Midwest, if that's where we are - a long unmanageable movie full of fragments of everything that's part of my life, maybe ultimately taking two or three or more full days to screen and only a minutely small part of which I'd like to do out here. Pick out some sleepy town and shoot some film.” After a while, the novel takes on the form of the film, and the movie's style influences the structure and style of the novel. Perhaps the book is the real motion picture: “The illusion of motion was barely relevant. Perhaps it wasn't a movie I was making so much as a scroll, a delicate bit of papyrus that feared discovery...It takes centuries to invent the primitive.” Bell describes the film in terms that apply equally to the novel: “What I'm doing is kind of hard to talk about. It's a sort of first-person thing but without me in it in any physical sense, except fleetingly. It'll be part dream, part fiction, part movies. An attempt to explore parts of my consciousness.”

**The Rumble of Public Opinion**

The network positions Bell at the heart of mass culture in 1971. He views television as “an electronic form of packaging” for the products that the network's sponsors are advertising. He and his colleagues rely on sponsorship and advertising sales for the continuity of their programs and their status within the organization. They have “orchestrated their lives to the rumble of public opinion,” the emotional response of the crowd. David's independent film is both an escape from the corporate crowd and a rebellion against mass culture, “the larger madness.” In contrast to television, “The film is a sort of sub-species of the underground.”

**Modernist Literary and Filmic Precursors**

The novel is replete with references to modernists like James Joyce, Antonioni, Samuel Beckett, and Godard, especially “Ulysses”: “Mollycuddling my bloomless bride”; and “I've got the Stephen Dedalus Blues and it's a long way to Leopoldville.”

**A Leap Too Far**

In Part Four, David encounters a community of hippies sharing accommodation with self-exiled Apache Indians who have refused to embrace the life of ranchers. Their leader believes in aliens and flying saucers, which proves to be a step too far for David, and he moves on. He's not yet ready to surrender to all aspects of the American counter-culture. His is a more individual and personal journey, one that is religious, almost sacred to him.

**Westward to the Wilderness Dream**

It's hinted at the end of the novel that David returns to New York City to resume his participation in mainstream culture, despite having lost his job during the film project. Only later does he end up on the island, where he writes his book. It's difficult to determine just how deeply ingrained the mainstream is in his consciousness. The individual is overwhelmed by the multifarious images and dreams of commercial culture and advertising: “...the mightiest of the visionaries [were] those strong enough to confront the larger madness. For the rest of us, the true sons of the dream, there was only complexity. The dream made no allowance for the truth beneath the symbols, for the interlinear notes, the presence of something black (and somehow very funny) at the mirror rim of one's awareness...but as a boy, and even later, all the impulses of all the media were fed into the circuitry of my dreams. One thinks of echoes. One thinks of an image made in the image and likeness of images. It was that complex.” It was so complex that David had to flee from his reality by heading westward, ironically a source of new and different dreams (“westward to the wilderness dream... to match the shadows of my image and my self”): “I'm trying to outrun myself.” “I've spent twenty-eight years in the movies...” “It is so much simpler to bury reality than it is to dispose of dreams.” DeLillo seems to be contending that the dreams of the crowd lead to the death of individuals, their reality, and their possibilities. Society had become a “death machine,” and television had become its “festival of death,” a “death circus.” The world may remain a mystery, but DeLillo's fiction has become a sort of guidebook that directs us to pockets of life and individuality, and perhaps even a mirror that reflects our own. May 29, 2016

Un po' Kerouac, un po' Roth, un po' Tom Wolfe. Don DeLillo leads us into this incisive criticism of American society and the desire for escape that the numerous paradoxes of this cultural reality induce in the most sensitive and intellectually less conformist souls. I greatly appreciated the brilliance of the dialogues, worthy of a true screenplay, and some passages in the third part. Much less so the overall development of the novel. Prolix, disorganized, surreal in many passages, with too many characters to follow and too many secondary digressions not always functional to the plot and message. The break between the first and second parts is excessive (they seem two juxtaposed novels without a true underlying continuity). In short, just as I didn't like Wolfe much, I find myself not liking DeLillo much either. Perhaps it is the characteristics of the literary current to which they belong that always make me feel strange during reading.

I once witnessed this book being referenced (alas, I can no longer recall by whom) as a prime example of the "First Novels Are Most Quintessential" principle. It doesn't necessarily mean it's the best, but rather the one that most closely resembles the body of work it inaugurates. This idea holds some merit, especially in this particular instance. DeLillo has constantly grappled with the meaning of modernity in American life, using a plethora of lenses. However, it is only in this first and appropriately named novel that he dives in head-on, delineating thematic territory that we would revisit time and again. Just like in a lot of DeLillo's works, the opening chapter attains a level of precision and refinement that the rest struggles to maintain. But this is more because of the surpassing excellence of the beginning rather than any deficiency in the remainder. Although the novel loses some momentum in the long, dreamlike middle-third memory montage.

It's as if the initial burst of inspiration sets a high bar that the subsequent narrative finds it challenging to match. Nevertheless, this doesn't detract from the overall significance and impact of the novel. It still manages to offer profound insights into the human condition and the complex fabric of modern American society.

DeLillo's debut is not so much a novel in the traditional sense as it is an extensive photographic description of diverse and scattered 'Americana'. It spans from the east coast to the southwestern United States. In many ways, it serves as a writing exercise for the budding author. At this stage, DeLillo had indeed developed the ability to craft interesting and good sentences. However, he had not yet managed to combine them into what could truly be regarded as a novel.

It starts promisingly. There is a satire of American workplace culture that Bret Easton Ellis likely took inspiration from for American Psycho, and a lightness of dialogue that DFW would find inspiring. But about a quarter of the way through, the writing devolves into structureless tangents, monologues, asides, and clusters of various oddities. These attempts to create a portrait of DeLillo's home country through literary collage have mixed results.

Many of the lively and evocative passages are successful, while others become tedious and lack direction. Tom Wolfe's brand of New Journalism comes to mind, especially his 'Electric Kool Aid' with its wandering psychedelia. The much later "Slacker" also shows the influence of Americana. The book has both strengths and weaknesses. In it, we see the nascent DeLillo as a very capable writer, but not quite yet a fully-fledged author.

Exquisite. Prescient.

These are the words that come to mind when one reads Don DeLillo's latest work. It is an incredible debut from the best living American novelist.

Like Mad Men's Don Draper, DeLillo's David Bell is a complex character who doesn't truly know who he is. And just like Draper, he is to a large extent a fiction to himself and the world around him, albeit not as blatantly as Draper.

David's journey of self-discovery not only tears him down but also holds up a mirror to us, to our culture. The entire novel, for me, felt like a prequel to a single anecdotal story related by a secondary character, Sullivan, towards the end.

What a remarkable writer DeLillo is. He is nothing short of a genius. No detail escapes his notice.

Admittedly, the story drags a little in the second act, but that didn't bother me in the slightest. I already knew that I was in the hands of a master. DeLillo will always reward the reader.

I can't believe I saved this book for last. Read it. Read it. And read everything else the man writes.

And for the record, nobody writes about baseball quite like Don DeLillo. His descriptions are so vivid and engaging that they bring the sport to life on the page.

DeLillo's work is a must-read for anyone who appreciates great literature.

It seems that this has only entered the pop culture discourse as a sort of proto-American Psycho.

The idea is that its first segment is about the shallow nature of corporate America and the personality-free drones within that system. However, I don't quite agree.

I think it ignores two key facets of this novel. Firstly, the "office politics" part lasts only about a hundred pages before David Bell hits the road.

Secondly, Bell really hits the road. Bateman is content with his double life, but Bell wants more.

This makes him a more complex and interesting character. Then again, I prefer DeLillo to Ellis.

Anyway, Americana is DeLillo's first novel, and it's amazing how much he had figured out from the start.

Like his later works, it's haunted by death, features mass media, and has awkward exchanges.

It's more of a "concept novel" than a "plot novel." It also introduces the idea of using childhood events as motivators.

This concept is explored fully in his best novels. It even has elements of other novels' satire and dynamics.

Of course, there are downsides. Bell isn't as great as some of DeLillo's later characters, the desert island subplot is useless, and the last act could be omitted.

Despite that, it's still a fine first novel that should be remembered for itself, not just in relation to a more famous book. I'm now more excited about early DeLillo.

I had never read Don DeLillo before. I had heard good things about him, but until now, nothing had really crossed my path.

The novel is okay. It manages to capture a certain rhythm, which is quite engaging. However, the problem lies with its main character.

The main character seems a bit one-dimensional. There isn't enough depth or complexity to truly make him relatable or interesting. It's as if the author didn't fully explore his inner world or the motives behind his actions.

Despite this flaw, the overall story still has its merits. The writing style is smooth and the pacing keeps the reader hooked. But it's the lack of a fully developed main character that prevents this novel from reaching a higher level.

Overall, I would rate this novel a 3.4 out of 5. It has its good points, but there is definitely room for improvement.

I was deeply pondering which authors have accompanied me throughout my entire adult reading life. Surprisingly, there are not many. Some authors don't write for such a long duration (we're specifically referring to 40+ years), and in certain cases, my reading tastes simply evolved over the years, causing us to drift apart. However, Don Delillo is one such writer who has remained constant.

My memory vividly recalls that I "discovered" Delillo in 1982 when I chanced upon a copy of his then newly published book, The Names. I was just 21 years old and filled with pride as the owner of a shiny new university degree. Ever since then, I have been a dedicated follower of his works. I have read everything he has published since that time and nearly all of his books from before that date.

For my personal tastes, 1982 was the ideal time to engage with Delillo. The period from 1982 - 1997 is what I consider to be Delillo's "purple patch". I notice that I have used this phrase in reviews of several of his books from that era. If there were a competition for "best five consecutive novels from an author", it would be extremely challenging to surpass The Names, White Noise, Libra, Mao II, and Underworld. Again, purely based on my own preferences, Delillo's output on either side of these five novels is rather more inconsistent. But I can sense a project emerging where I will read them all again in chronological order and fill in the one or two remaining gaps.

Americana is Delillo's debut novel, originally published in 1971. The edition I possess is the 1990 paperback, and I mention this because Delillo edited the book in preparation for this edition, removing several passages. I really should conduct research to determine where they were taken from.

The Wikipedia entry for the book provides a useful summary: The book is narrated by David Bell, a former television executive turned avant-garde filmmaker. Beginning with an exploration of the malaise of the modern corporate man, the novel transforms into an interrogation of film's power to misrepresent reality as Bell creates an autobiographical road-movie. The story delves into the roots of American pathology and introduces themes that DeLillo would expand upon in The Names (1982), White Noise (1985), and Libra (1988). The first half of the novel can be regarded as a critique of the corporate world, while the second half articulates the fears and dilemmas of contemporary American life.

Overall, I believe this is probably a book more suited for Delillo completists. It definitely doesn't possess the power of the Big 5 that I mentioned earlier, but it does demonstrate how the themes that Delillo would repeatedly return to were present from the very inception of his writing, along with elements of his unique style.