Confessions

I haven’t really been able to express unconditional love for a Don DeLillo novel since “White Noise” and I’m relieved that no less skilled a writer than Aleksandar Hemon gives me an excuse to not be smitten with the latest, and not feel guilty about it either.  I love the last sentence of the last paragraph of Hemon’s Bookforum review.

Perhaps the novel contains the critique of its own high concepts; perhaps it does question the progress of thought that turns war into abstraction. But it is hard to detect the positions within the book that can sustain such a critique—they are lost in the fog of perpetual deferral. Point Omega revels in its rarified concepts, as DeLillo loves watching thought evolve and meaning dissolve in the pressure chamber of abstraction. It is a fascinating spectacle indeed, if for no other reason than its rarity. But in the end, I’d rather eat a strawberry, smell my daughter’s hair, or read a book that, against all postmodern odds, conjures up the intense experience of human life.

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