This is an amazing book.

It is short, strange, slightly surreal, filled with numerous small details, and it works with the most direct, vivid, and simple fundamentals: love, death, grief. The body, and art.

I was deeply impressed. I hope there will be a good Hungarian translation.

The book's unique style and its exploration of these profound themes make it a truly captivating read.

Each page seems to offer a new and unexpected perspective, drawing the reader in and making them think about the nature of life and human emotions.

Whether you are a lover of literature or simply looking for a thought-provoking read, this book is definitely worth checking out.

I can't wait to see how it will be received in the Hungarian language and how it will touch the hearts and minds of Hungarian readers.

A very short book caught my attention, and I thought, in line with my favorite author of the month, I would finish this one.

The story begins with a seemingly innocuous breakfast between a man and a woman. The description of the scene is quite vivid, as if painting a picture in our minds.

‘You know more surely who you are on a strong bright day after a storm when the smallest falling leaf is stabbed with self-awareness.’ This quote sets a certain tone for the story, making us wonder what lies ahead.

The interactions between the characters are very unexpected, perhaps created for a particular effect. The details provided, such as ‘It was her newspaper. The telephone was his except when she was calling the weather. They both used the computer but it was spiritually hers,’ add depth to the relationship between the man and the woman.

The next chapter takes an abrupt turn with the sudden death of the man from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. He is revealed to be a famous movie director from the 1970s in the US.

The rest of the book delves into the varying emotions of his surviving third wife, Lauren Hartke, who is a body artist. It describes in fine detail the grief that follows his death.

She speaks to his first wife and then to her friend Mariella, who advises her to speak more to vent. Instead, she immerses herself in a period of body artistry, contorting herself into various poses.

Body artistry is presented as an opium to grief, which is a unique and interesting concept. As she engages in this activity, she experiences new things.

“You stand at the table shuffling papers and you drop something. Only you don’t know it. It takes a second or two before you know it and even then you know it only as a formless distortion of the teeming space around your body. But once you know you’ve dropped something, you hear it hit the floor, belatedly. The sound makes its way through an immense web of distances. You hear the thing fall and…” This passage beautifully captures the essence of her experiences.

Fleeting remains the word for his prose, which adds to the overall charm of the book.

What’s good about the book is that it’s a short read, yet it manages to convey a powerful message about grief and the ways in which we cope with it.

How can I make a review of this strange book?

I know it is about grief and it has the ability to make the reader question reality. Indeed, I found myself questioning reality while reading it. However, the stream of conscience that was full of gaps and the half sentences really made it difficult for me to enjoy the reading experience.

And perhaps that is the whole point of this book. I did not enjoy the time that I spent with the book, and it seems that the woman grieving in the book also did not enjoy that time either.

I will not deny that the book is powerful. It has a certain impact and can make people think deeply. But unfortunately, it was just not for me. Maybe for some other readers, they will find a special charm in it. But for me, this strange book did not meet my expectations.

I am very tempted to put one star instead of two, but I feel that anyway DeLillo's style has its own reason, and it's not to be thrown away. However, I haven't been able to appreciate anything else. The plot doesn't exist. The characters are shadows that do (few) things that are not explained, or rather, that are explained so much, analyzed in such detail, dragged out for so long, that they end up being emptied of any meaning. And, above all, it's a book of deadly boredom. Its 100 pages seem like 400 and it's not at all pleasant to read.

EDIT: The more I think about it, the more I tell myself that certain stylistic choices of the author do not compensate for the things that I hated about this book, that is, everything else. I have given one star for much less.

Don DeLillo's Combo: Poetic Prose. A wonderful translation by Yaroslav Striha.

P.S. + My afterword, which begins like this -

Time, language and human grief

In the title - DeLillo's answer to the question about the theme of "The Body Artist" and explaining it - is like precisely explaining the miracle described in his twelfth novel, although the writer is not used to this: he does not tire of amazing his readers since 1960. There are numerous classifications of DeLillo's multi-decade creativity, but most often the boundary passes precisely through the novel that you hold in your hands. Thus, Joseph Dewey divides the writer's creativity into three chronological stages, which, in his interpretation, represent different strategies for restoring the authenticity of one's own "I" after the punishment of "innocent helplessness" experienced by Americans over the past 50 years:
1) the author "perceived the street": from "Americana" (1971) to "Great Jones Street" (1978);
2) tested his deep fascination with the word: from "Names" (1982) to "Mao II" (1991);
3) turned to the "subtexts of the soul": from "Underworld" (1997) to "Falling Man" (2007).
The last so far third stage is also called philosophical or minimalist, if we take into account that the previous century Don DeLillo ended with an 827-page novel "Underworld", and ours began with a novella seven times smaller, which summarized the 20th century. In the writer's opinion, two events determined the American history of the past century - the assassination of Kennedy (1963) and the tragedy of September 11 (2001). The latter is a boundary date, with which many associate the symbolic beginning of a new century, and cultural scholars - the end of postmodernism, and both of them could not escape the attentive visionary gaze of Don DeLillo. He dedicated the novel "Libra" to the investigation of all the circumstances and contexts of the president's death, which was published 25 years after the event itself, and for the understanding of the 9/11 tragedy he needed much less time - the novel "Falling Man" was published 6 years after the terrorist attack.
"The Body Artist" was published in 2001, but in February, so, of course, it does not yet mention the great American tragedy, instead DeLillo understands a small, family tragedy, in which, like in a mirror, a person of the new millennium is reflected. Despite the small volume of "The Body Artist" - it is practically a poem in prose, a lyric-epic étude that, looking at his modern prose, encourages us to redefine the entire modern period of the writer's creativity as poetic...

Much looser and more abstract than what I’ve come to expect from Delillo. This particular work feels like a rather cool exercise in style and language. The way the words are crafted and the sentences flow gives it a certain charm. However, it does lack the complexity and social commentary that I hold in such high regard in his other works. That doesn't mean there isn't any of that here. He is definitely touching on something unique when it comes to grief and intimacy. But to be honest, I just didn't find it all that moving. It didn't tug at my emotions in the way that some of his other books have.

Still, it's an interesting read. It has its moments that make you think. But I doubt I'm going to spend a great deal of time reflecting on it once it's back on the shelf. It seems like it probably would've made a great film though. The visuals and the way the story could be brought to life on the big screen might have added an extra dimension to it that was lacking in the written form.

I was wrong.

This simple admission holds a world of meaning. It acknowledges that I made a mistake, perhaps in judgment, in action, or in understanding.

Admitting that I was wrong is not easy. It requires humility and the courage to face the consequences of my error. It means that I have to take responsibility for my actions and make amends if possible.

However, admitting that I was wrong is also an important step in personal growth. It allows me to learn from my mistakes and avoid repeating them in the future. It helps me to become a better person, more understanding and forgiving of myself and others.

In conclusion, although it may be difficult to say "I was wrong", it is a necessary and valuable admission that can lead to positive change and personal development.

A well-written, clearly and vividly described, mesmerizing novella takes us into the life of Lauren Hatke, a body artist, for a few months. Lauren leads a lonely existence in a rental house on the coast, still coming to terms with the recent death of her husband. In this house, she encounters a strange man who has difficulty communicating properly.

Here is an example of DeLillo's masterful writing:

"She began to pick up the phone. She used a soft voice at first, not quite her own, a twisted, tentative other's voice at first, to say hello, who is this, yes. Word had gotten around that she was here, and the calls were from New York, where she lived, and from friends and colleagues in other cities. They called from the cities to tell her they didn't understand why she'd come back here. It was the last place she ought to be, alone in a large house on an empty coast. She stepped through the rooms, climbed the stairs, and planned the days in advance because there was more to do in less time as the light grew threatened. You looked and it was dark, always unexpected." (Page 36, Scribner edition)

The novella beautifully captures Lauren's inner turmoil and her attempts to find meaning and connection in the midst of her grief and isolation. DeLillo's writing style adds depth and atmosphere to the story, making it a truly engaging read.

“….I don’t know, maybe you shouldn’t shave first thing in the morning. Wake up first and enjoy the moment. Why shave at all? Let your mustache grow back. Grow a beard and embrace a more natural look.”

“Why shave at all? There must be a reason,” he said, looking a bit confused. “I want God to see my face as it is, without any artificial alteration. I believe that my true self should be presented to the divine. Maybe shaving is a way to show respect or to conform to certain social norms, but I wonder if there isn't a deeper meaning behind it.”

He stood there, lost in thought, as he contemplated the significance of shaving and the role it played in his life. Was it just a routine, or was there something more profound at stake? Only time would tell.

I hadn't read anything by Don DeLillo before, so perhaps this was a bad book for a first experience.

After I finished this book, I had this very powerful sensation. You know how when you go to see some obscure foreign film with your friends or you see an art exhibit that everyone else feels is so profound and deep while you are just sitting there wondering if your friends are insane because you don't see anything at all? That is the same feeling I had when I finished this book.

I found this to be rather pointless, meandering, and more like a writing exercise than an actual work of fiction. There's no real plot, nothing really happens, and half the conversations in the book are disjointed and nonsensical. I tried to appreciate the nuances and just enjoy the writing style or the essence of the moments the writer was trying to convey, but I just felt disengaged. It was as if I was constantly struggling to find a connection, to understand the purpose behind the words. The lack of a clear narrative made it difficult for me to invest in the story or the characters. I wanted more substance, more direction. Maybe I'm just not the right audience for this type of literature, but for now, I'm left with a sense of disappointment.

Past, present and future are not amenities of language. Time unfolds into the seams of being. It passes through you, making and shaping.

In the backdrop of consumerist America, a couple quarrels. What do our bodies mean in what feels like a long state of emergency? What happens when a body is gone? When it comes back, but not fully formed? What does it mean to produce language for speech after grief? How do we piece words together and form connection?

This is Don DeLillo at his best. DeLillo doesn't write people, but predicaments. And what better way to explore this than through the idea of a "body artist" - creating art out of the body. In DeLillo's stripped back yet lyrical prose, he is able to delve deep into themes such as how the body is affected by grief, art, and the very damaged state of a doldrum America.

Perhaps this isn't the best DeLillo novel to start with, but it's one that can be buffered in between the bigger ones. It offers a unique perspective on the human condition and the power of art in a world that often seems lost and adrift. READING VLOG

You can't go wrong with DeLillo. His works have a certain allure and depth that keep readers coming back for more.

When you pick up a book of his and initially feel that it doesn't quite measure up to the grandeur of "White Noise" or "Underworld", you soon realize that you are reading DeLillo and your expectations are sky-high. This is because his writing is known for its complexity and ability to explore profound themes.

"The Body Artist" is a wonderful novella that delves into the themes of loss, memory, thought construction, longing, and confusion. It can be read in a short sitting, making it accessible to those with busy schedules. One of my friends, who is also a bookseller and a fellow DeLillo enthusiast, names this as his favorite DeLillo offering. So, as another friend, Chris, would say, put that in your book and read it. You might just discover a new favorite among DeLillo's works.