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of the DeLillo i’ve read, this seems to have the least on its mind, which is fine. there’s only so much “musing” i’m willing to entertain
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Great Jones Street
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A troubling satire of the romantic myth of stardom and the empty heart of rock and roll, more relevant than ever in our celebrity-obsessed times.
Bucky Wunderlick is a rock and roll star. Dissatisfied with a life that has brought fame and fortune, he suddenly decides he no longer wants to be a commodity. He leaves his band mid-tour and holes up in a dingy, unfurnished apartment in Great Jones Street. Unfortunately, his disappearing act only succeeds in inflaming interest. As faithful fans await messages, Bucky encounters every sort of roiling force he is trying to escape.
DeLillo’s third novel is more than a musical satire: it probes the rights of the individual, foreshadows the struggle of the artist within a capitalist world and delivers a scathing portrait of our culture’s obsession with the lives of the few.
Bucky Wunderlick is a rock and roll star. Dissatisfied with a life that has brought fame and fortune, he suddenly decides he no longer wants to be a commodity. He leaves his band mid-tour and holes up in a dingy, unfurnished apartment in Great Jones Street. Unfortunately, his disappearing act only succeeds in inflaming interest. As faithful fans await messages, Bucky encounters every sort of roiling force he is trying to escape.
DeLillo’s third novel is more than a musical satire: it probes the rights of the individual, foreshadows the struggle of the artist within a capitalist world and delivers a scathing portrait of our culture’s obsession with the lives of the few.
272 pages, Paperback
First published January 1,1973
This edition
- Format
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272 pages, Paperback
- Published
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January 1, 1994 by Penguin Books
- ISBN
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9780140179170
- ASIN
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0140179178
- Language
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English
Characters More characters
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Bucky Wunderlick
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About the author
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Donald Richard DeLillo is an American novelist, short story writer, playwright, screenwriter and essayist. His works have covered subjects as diverse as television, nuclear war, the complexities of language, art, the advent of the Digital Age, mathematics, politics, economics, and sports.
DeLillo was already a well-regarded cult writer in 1985, when the publication of White Noise brought him widespread recognition and the National Book Award for fiction. He followed this in 1988 with Libra, a novel about the Kennedy assassination. DeLillo won the PEN/Faulkner Award for Mao II, about terrorism and the media's scrutiny of writers' private lives, and the William Dean Howells Medal for Underworld, a historical novel that ranges in time from the dawn of the Cold War to the birth of the Internet. He was awarded the 1999 Jerusalem Prize, the 2010 PEN/Saul Bellow Award for Achievement in American Fiction in 2010, and the 2013 Library of Congress Prize for American Fiction.
DeLillo has described his themes as "living in dangerous times" and "the inner life of the culture." In a 2005 interview, he said that writers "must oppose systems. It's important to write against power, corporations, the state, and the whole system of consumption and of debilitating entertainments... I think writers, by nature, must oppose things, oppose whatever power tries to impose on us."
DeLillo was already a well-regarded cult writer in 1985, when the publication of White Noise brought him widespread recognition and the National Book Award for fiction. He followed this in 1988 with Libra, a novel about the Kennedy assassination. DeLillo won the PEN/Faulkner Award for Mao II, about terrorism and the media's scrutiny of writers' private lives, and the William Dean Howells Medal for Underworld, a historical novel that ranges in time from the dawn of the Cold War to the birth of the Internet. He was awarded the 1999 Jerusalem Prize, the 2010 PEN/Saul Bellow Award for Achievement in American Fiction in 2010, and the 2013 Library of Congress Prize for American Fiction.
DeLillo has described his themes as "living in dangerous times" and "the inner life of the culture." In a 2005 interview, he said that writers "must oppose systems. It's important to write against power, corporations, the state, and the whole system of consumption and of debilitating entertainments... I think writers, by nature, must oppose things, oppose whatever power tries to impose on us."
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A quietly unnerving downward spiral.
In his ongoing survey of modern America, DeLillo's third book saw him looking at art and commerce through the lens of rock music and celebrity. One gets the sense that the narrator, rock star Bucky Wonderlick, having fled the stage mid-tour and retracted into a cold, empty apartment in a Lower East Side that was still both of those things (compared to its scrubbed, crowded modern counterpart), is somewhat paralyzed by his need to fully consider and understand what his actions mean, after years of skirting such introspection in favor of the constant sprint onwards. But his inactivity itself becomes a sort of action and ideology (and an unconsidered one, at that), as well as perhaps another marketing angle in his music career. All of these things twist the book up into a plotline and send it on its way.
Despite the fairly direct and active plotting this time around, as with most DeLillo there's a lot of depth and beauty to incidentals, from the sounds of the downstairs neighbor dreaming to a hallucinatory burning fire station. Unfortunately, the bracing austerity of Wonderlick's thoughts and activities (as well as of DeLillo's prose, scalpel sharp even without the complete rhythm and poetry of his more recent work) are undercut by the steady stream of visitors required to advance the story, a drugs-and-cults-and-paranoia arc which seems far less interesting than the tone and central setting.
In his ongoing survey of modern America, DeLillo's third book saw him looking at art and commerce through the lens of rock music and celebrity. One gets the sense that the narrator, rock star Bucky Wonderlick, having fled the stage mid-tour and retracted into a cold, empty apartment in a Lower East Side that was still both of those things (compared to its scrubbed, crowded modern counterpart), is somewhat paralyzed by his need to fully consider and understand what his actions mean, after years of skirting such introspection in favor of the constant sprint onwards. But his inactivity itself becomes a sort of action and ideology (and an unconsidered one, at that), as well as perhaps another marketing angle in his music career. All of these things twist the book up into a plotline and send it on its way.
Despite the fairly direct and active plotting this time around, as with most DeLillo there's a lot of depth and beauty to incidentals, from the sounds of the downstairs neighbor dreaming to a hallucinatory burning fire station. Unfortunately, the bracing austerity of Wonderlick's thoughts and activities (as well as of DeLillo's prose, scalpel sharp even without the complete rhythm and poetry of his more recent work) are undercut by the steady stream of visitors required to advance the story, a drugs-and-cults-and-paranoia arc which seems far less interesting than the tone and central setting.
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A quick review of Great Jones Street - simply didn't like this. I picked it up at Book Off with the rest of my "to Steve from Steve" Christmas presents. My initial view was a Penguin label (generally a positive), a book about musicians and a book about NY. None of this sounds bad to me. I just didn't get it. I suppose I'm not Rock and Roll enough, because the whole sitting around doing nothing did nothing for me. On the cover this mentions nihilism. I'm thinking maybe I don't enjoy nihilistic endeavors…but yet some of my favorites are nihilistic in nature. Maybe its just that I read those ten years ago and I'm too old for it now.
I don't know. I just didn't get it. The plot of moving the drug package was eh and the peripheral characters were just unappealing. Its tough for me to offer up a 1 rating…but this was damn close (editor's note: changed this to a 1 rating. In retrospect, it sucked). I'm just not seeing where things were enjoyable here. I'm not seeing how rock and roll this was. Guy decides his music isn't appreciated the way it should be (don't get me started on rock musicians and artistry) and he'll hole himself up and pretend he's dead for a while. Just in general, unappealing.
Do I sound bitter? Good…wasted a week and a whole dollar on this.
I don't know. I just didn't get it. The plot of moving the drug package was eh and the peripheral characters were just unappealing. Its tough for me to offer up a 1 rating…but this was damn close (editor's note: changed this to a 1 rating. In retrospect, it sucked). I'm just not seeing where things were enjoyable here. I'm not seeing how rock and roll this was. Guy decides his music isn't appreciated the way it should be (don't get me started on rock musicians and artistry) and he'll hole himself up and pretend he's dead for a while. Just in general, unappealing.
Do I sound bitter? Good…wasted a week and a whole dollar on this.
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Don Delillo's third novel proves to be a good read, though it's one of his weaker efforts. Delillo's best works are about subtext, not the story he's ostensibly telling. This novel, with its rather straighforward story arc, winds up being a bit of a disappointment to readers overly familiar with his work.
This novels tells the tale of Bucky Wanderlick, a musician in the prime of his career. In the middle of a tour, Bucky walks off stage, leaving his fans, bandmates, and record label in the lurch. Holed up in his grubby apartment, Bucky begins to lose a bit of touch with a reality that might have only been real to him in the first place. Eventually, a tape of "lost" work becomes a bargaining chip in a high-stakes exchange for a wonder drug that finds the ultimate high in silence.
Since Delillo doesn't seem capable of writing an uninspired line, this novel is an entertaining read. But it's merely mediocre Delillo, better served as a starting point for the unfamiliar to jump from than a tome that fans will come back to again and again.
This novels tells the tale of Bucky Wanderlick, a musician in the prime of his career. In the middle of a tour, Bucky walks off stage, leaving his fans, bandmates, and record label in the lurch. Holed up in his grubby apartment, Bucky begins to lose a bit of touch with a reality that might have only been real to him in the first place. Eventually, a tape of "lost" work becomes a bargaining chip in a high-stakes exchange for a wonder drug that finds the ultimate high in silence.
Since Delillo doesn't seem capable of writing an uninspired line, this novel is an entertaining read. But it's merely mediocre Delillo, better served as a starting point for the unfamiliar to jump from than a tome that fans will come back to again and again.
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All artists have peaks and valleys to their careers but it’s crazy that DeLillo’s first three novels are one big plateau
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How important is plot to you on a scale of 1 to 5?
If you answered anything other than 1, don't read this book.
If you answered anything other than 1, don't read this book.
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I really dug this book, a dense but really existentially funny tale about a rock star who just bails on a tour to live in a crappy apartment on Great Jones Street in New York. While there he gets caught up in a bizarre drug deal and has many, many philosophical conversations. The ideas in this book are marvelous in their bleak nature. Below is my favorite quote. If you dig it, and think you can make it through 250 pages of stuff like that, I highly recommend it. If you're looking for a fun, easy book, I don't know who lead you to DeLillo. Although the story is pretty good as well.
"'Places are always what you expect,' she said. 'That's both the trouble with places and their redeeming feature. I'm certain it wasn't like that in the past. But it sure is that way now. A few places are still different from each other but nowhere do you find something different from your own expectations. Look at post-card manufacturers. They take a sleazy tourist-trap lake and try to make it into the canoeing grounds of the gods. But they do such a slick glossy job that you glance at that post card and you know at once this is a shit-filled lake and all the tourists here are either war criminals or people who spit when they laugh. Not that there isn't beauty in such places. That's just it. The whole world is turning into Lafayette Street, the most ugly-beautiful street in New York City. In a way it's nice to get what you expect. It's as though places can be passive just like people. They just sprawl out with their cathedrals and deserts. Passivity is beautiful too. You take what they give you these days and if everything's getting ugly the only thing you can do is try to teach yourself it's beautiful. Eventually maybe it is.'"
Dig the troth.
"'Places are always what you expect,' she said. 'That's both the trouble with places and their redeeming feature. I'm certain it wasn't like that in the past. But it sure is that way now. A few places are still different from each other but nowhere do you find something different from your own expectations. Look at post-card manufacturers. They take a sleazy tourist-trap lake and try to make it into the canoeing grounds of the gods. But they do such a slick glossy job that you glance at that post card and you know at once this is a shit-filled lake and all the tourists here are either war criminals or people who spit when they laugh. Not that there isn't beauty in such places. That's just it. The whole world is turning into Lafayette Street, the most ugly-beautiful street in New York City. In a way it's nice to get what you expect. It's as though places can be passive just like people. They just sprawl out with their cathedrals and deserts. Passivity is beautiful too. You take what they give you these days and if everything's getting ugly the only thing you can do is try to teach yourself it's beautiful. Eventually maybe it is.'"
Dig the troth.
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