I have no idea how to rate this book. I hated it. I loved it. I hated it more. I loved it again. I threw it across the room. There is so much to hate, but then you find lines like, "We are what we remember," or "If you let yourself be what you want to be, physically and spiritually, you can kill a lot of the death inside you," so you keep reading because there's more like them, shining and beautiful among the muck.

DeLillo reread. 2021/2022. Starting from the top…

перший роман, великий, але не величний, власне, надто багатослівний і без стрімкої фабули, якісь невиразні едіпальні ретроспекції + багато розмислів про кіно- і телеобрази+але вже є все, що він потім вдосконалить у подальших романах: філософія, скепсис, екфрасис, секс (у Делілло чоловік завжди спочатку "притискає" жінку), історія тощо. книзі бракує глибини, це ніби пласкі образи на екрані (особливо, сцена фінальної п'яної оргії), але вона підбиває підсумки певного американського етапу, кінець бітників і зародження (чи розквіт?) консьюмеризму з переважанням зображень над текстами.

I had not previously read any of DeLillo’s work when, as I sat perplexed in my office late on a Monday afternoon wondering what to listen to next during my lengthy daily commute, while browsing my awesome library’s mind-boggling collection of electronic audiobooks, I stumbled across Americana. Hmm, I thought, the title is eye-catching, and the blurb sounds intriguing, so why not give it a whirl?

While Americana was downloading to my trusty Kindle, I did some quick research on DeLillo and learned that he is most often labeled as employing Modernist as well as Postmodernist literary styles while exploring largely Postmodern themes. I was raised and largely trained on Modernist literature, and though I’ve never been a huge fan of Postmodern style and structure (or the lack thereof), I do find value in some of its themes. I certainly didn’t learn anything that would indicate I had made a poor choice. In fact, after reading how much he is credited with influencing some of today’s most lauded authors and noting his impressive list of prestigious literary awards and nominations, I had begun to think he’d be a good candidate for the resumption of a periodic project I’m engaged in of reading in a single year a given author’s ouevre or at least as much of it as I can get my arthritic hands on. Previously I’ve done so with Kurt Vonnegut, José Saramago, and Umberto Eco and loved them all.

I listened to the first 90 minutes of Americana on my way home from then the next day back to work and almost immediately struggled with whether or not to continue. Protagonist David Bell is a handsome child of privilege and a young, successful, and rising executive at “a network”. But he’s bored. And disillusioned. And an alcoholic. And an incorrigible, unfaithful, womanizer. And paranoid. And a ruthless, backstabbing, treacherous gossipmonger. And he’s surrounded by a passle of similar types, all flat, stock characters. I hated David Bell, I hated most of his supporting cast, and I hated hearing about their vapid, petty, despicable lives. Nevertheless, I pressed on, admittedly with less attention to the narrative and a jaded ear. I was
sure that it would begin to get better once the promised road trip across America got underway.

But it didn’t. Instead, part 2 is a flashback to Bell’s youth. And although it was not as painful to listen to as part 1 was, and Bell is not yet as revolting as he later becomes, there are a couple of stock Postmodern diatribes against the absurdity of modern life that served only to make me tune out. Also, we learn a lot about Bell’s highly dysfunctional family, especially his father, who is as irredeemably entitled and judgmental as Bell is. As frustrating as it was to listen to, it at least serves to fully explain what Bell later becomes. As Part 2 ended, I again struggled with whether or not to give up on it.

And yes, friends, intrepid reader and auditor that I am, I carried on. At last, the road trip began, a chance for the loathsome and increasingly self-loathing lead man to begin to learn about his flaws and start to improve. Alas, Part 3 dashed my hopes again. Bell and his traveling companions alight, and instead of taking inspiration from the peace of the road and the peculiarities of the towns they drive through and the locals they meet, they become benumbed and bewildered, hypnotized by what they perceive as the monotony and banality they encounter. By the time Bell hits upon the idea of embarking on a side project, to make a film about his life and where he came from, he and others have gone off on several additional rambling, distracting Postmodern rants. And it is at that point in the tale, after I had for the third time almost decided I couldn’t continue to listen, that fate intervened, very probably to the benefit of my sanity or at least my peace of mind: my audiobook malfunctioned! It just quit playing and, after I pulled on to the shoulder of the road and fiddled with my Kindle momentarily, persisted in refusing to play. Hallelujah! Saved by the gods of reading!

To be fair to Mr. DeLillo and in order not to offend the more sensitive of his fans and fans of Postmodern literature in general, I will concede that maybe the medium and, to a larger degree, my own frame of mind at the time contributed to my dislike and my inability to give a fair listen following my initial disgust. Given DeLillo’s exalted status among living authors, I think once I’ve attained a little distance from this disappointing experience I will check out a copy of the physical book and give it another chance. Depending on how that goes, I may even read some more of his work.

No star rating for now; I’ll let you know what I think after I read the actual book.

‘Til then, take care, be well, and happy reading!

you cannot tell me this isn’t mad men s7 part2 so obviously i loved it

Η ενδοσκοπική προζα του DeLillo , απο τα golden boys του Big Apple, στις εσχατιες της Αμερικής, με μια καμερα στο χερι

Mai più! Ho provato la stessa sensazione di insofferenza e claustrofobia di quando si è obbligati ad ascoltare qualcuno che vomita parole per te senza importanza

Fa l'effetto di un lavoro preparatorio se letto con in mente Underworld, ma è comunque un'ottima prova per essere un'opera prima (e potrebbe essere un'opera matura per molti altri scrittori). È disomogeneo (la prima parte scorre compatta come una sorta di Easton Ellis sulla business life dieci anni prima di American Psycho, la seconda si dilata in rivoli narrativi provenienti dal passato) e a tratti inconcludente (l'indefinito profilo del protagonista), ma regala istantanee ("americane", per l'appunto) che restano impresse nella mente. La scrittura è già grande (e la traduzione Einaudi all'altezza).

Постмодерен роман за връзката на модерния човек със света. Много добра проследява момента в живота, когато човек спира и се заслушва в собствения си пулс и се опитва да го синхронизира с пулса на света. Може би книгата щеше да ми хареса още повече, ако я бях прочел по-рано. Беше много забавна, но и замисляща. В крайна сметка Класически Делило.

Inizia come se il protagonista fosse uscito direttamente da "American Psycho", poi arrivi a un terzo del libro e, a ricordarti che chi scrive non è Easton Ellis, interviene il DeLillo delle opere più mature.

"Americana", che è il primissimo romanzo scritto dall'autore di "Underworld", non ha certo il peso né le pretese dei suoi grandi lavori successivi, a volte si perde anzi in una trama che sembra non avere una direzione precisa. Ma è proprio con questa sua indecisione che DeLillo, ancora una volta, è riuscito a colpirmi: "Americana" parla di tutto ciò che l'America, negli anni '70 così come oggi, rappresenta. Si parla tantissimo di televisione e di pubblicità nelle sue pagine, ma anche di famiglia e di lavoro, è una critica al mondo delle imprese e alle nuove tecnologie, ma anche un inno alla ricerca personale (e in maniera artistica) della propria strada.

Tutto passa attraverso gli occhi del protagonista, David Bell, giovanissimo ventottenne con già un posto di rilievo in una grande rete televisiva, una sorta di yuppie ante litteram. Al suo successo personale, costellato da importanti traguardi nel lavoro quanto da una vita privata all'insegna di innumerevoli conquiste, si contrappone però una ricerca sempre più spasmodica del proprio essere. È così che, approfittando di un impegno di lavoro, David Bell si troverà a girare in camper per l'America registrando il suo personale film, un lungometraggio autobiografico in cui riprese amatoriali e attori improvvisati rappresentano il "sogno americano" del giovane ventottenne, interpretandone, spesso accentuandone i comportamenti, ciò che nei suoi primi 28 anni di vita è stato. Ma non solo: nella lente della sua cinepresa vengono catturati dialoghi che esprimono tutto il malessere del popolo americano, tutti i sogni e le paure, i successi e gli imprevisti, la rabbia e le relazioni, i tradimenti e le scoperte.

Ne esce fuori quella trama imprecisa di cui parlavo: "Americana" è un libro che predilige a una storia lineare una "raccolta" di momenti, sempre più slegati fra loro man mano che si procede con la lettura. L'ossessione e la ricerca del protagonista coincidono con la "rarefazione" del romanzo, fino a un finale in cui del protagonista sembra quasi perdersi traccia.

"Americana" non è un libro per tutti, e non è assolutamente il DeLillo che consiglierei a chi ancora non ha letto altro di suo. È un romanzo però che apre la strada a molti altri: i temi trattati in questo libro diventeranno fondamentali per il postmodernismo americano, e in particolare per tutti quegli autori della generazione immediatamente successiva — David Foster Wallace su tutti — che si troveranno a dover affrontare tematiche connesse al sogno americano e alla sua rappresentazione (spesso distorta) tramite i media.

I chose to read this because DeLillo's odds of winning the Nobel Prize jumped days before it was awarded and I was curious to see what DeLillo's writing was like at the beginning of his career. I found the novel enjoyable, very much of the time, sometimes beautifully written, but maddeningly uneven. Nearly halfway through, I realized that I had lost interest in the novel and put it aside. Perhaps I’ll pick it up again some day.

There's an excerpt I really like which pretty much encapsulates the essence of the entire novel;

“What we really want to do, he said, deep in the secret recesses of our heart, all of us, is to destroy the forests, white saltbox houses, covered bridges, brownstones, azalea gardens, big red barns, colonial inns, riverboats, whaling villages, cider mills, waterwheels, antebellum mansions, log cabins, lovely old churches and snug little railroad depots. All of us secretly favor this destruction, even conservationists, even those embattled individuals who make a career out of picketing graceful and historic old buildings to protest their demolition. It’s what we are. Straight lines and right angles. We feel a private thrill, admit it, at the sight of beauty in flames. We wish to blast all the fine old things to oblivion and replace them with tasteless identical structures. Boxes of cancer cells. Neat gray chambers for meditation and the reading of advertisements. Imagine the fantastic prairie motels we could build if only we would give in completely to the demons of our true nature; imagine the automobiles that might take us from motel to motel; imagine the monolithic fifty-story machines for disposing of the victims of automobile accidents without the bother of funerals and the waste of tombstones or sepulchres. Let the police run wild. Let the mad leaders of our nation destroy whomever they choose…”

I really admire his remarkable prose and attention to detail. Small details make the story enigmatically original. The protagonist decides to embark on his own existential journey but there is nowhere to run. Life seems to be full of events but it all is but froth, just a light blow of the wind and there will be nothing left but emptiness. The yawning emptiness that devours you. One day, when I make films, I perhaps will consider an adaptation of this work.