The Human Buzz of Some Vivid and Happy Transaction

To prepare for the comprehensive exam for my master's, I was given a reading list that I could choose my books from. The list specified that some books had to be read, but other times it had a list of several from which I had to choose 3 or 5. When I was narrowing down the twentieth century American literature section, one of the professors on my committee began by stating that he assumed that I chose White Noise by Don Dilillo, but I didn't. The reason for that is that I hadn't read White Noise yet, which for someone who supposed is focusing on twentieth century American literature is surprising. Thus, after I finished with the exam, I felt sufficiently shamed to go check it out from the library. It's a book that I've wanted to read since my last year of undergrad, so this has been long overdue.

Here I should say that whenever I talk about books that I'm reading, I'm likely to quote from them or to reveal something about them, so if you don't want to have your reading experience spoiled, you might want to skip these posts. I'll try not to mention anything that would ruin the book for you, but still, consider yourself forewarned. Now back to White Noise.

So far it's been quite delightful. I'm only a third of the way through it, but it has lived up to my expectations. Like most post-modern literature, it's about life in our modern world that is so saturated by mass media and consumerism. Also, holding with the trend of postmodernism, it has a somewhat whimsical view of reality; exaggeration and the outlandish are expected and everyday experiences are cast in a new light. It recalls William Thackery's observation that "the two most engaging powers of an author are to make new things familiar, familiar things new." That certainly seems the case with Delillo.

Two passages stick out to me as I think about the novel. In the first, one of the main characters, who is a professor of cultural studies, is reflecting on America while in a supermarket:

"Dying is an art in Tibet. A priest walks in, sits down, tells the weeping relatives to get out and has the room sealed. Doors, windows sealed. He has serious business to set to. Chants, numerology, horoscopes, recitations. Here we don't die, we shop. But the difference is less marked than you think."

I remembered this first passage after reading the next one. Later, the main character, Jack, who is also a professor, comes across a colleague outside of work. On campus, Jack is one of the more famous professors, achieving almost celebrity status among colleagues. Devoid of his flowing academic robes, and his pomp and circumstance, however, Jack's formidable presence has diminished. His colleage tells him, "you look so harmless, Jack. A big, harmless, aging, indistinct sort of guy."

What follows is one of the best passages I've read in a while. Jack consoles himself by a frenzied shopping spree that spans a page and a half:

"We moved from store to store, rejecting not only items in certain departments, not only entire departments but whole stores, mammoth corporations that did not strike our fancy for one reason or another. There was always another store, three floors, eight floors, basement full of cheese graters and paring knives. I shopped with reckless abandon. I shopped for immediate needs and distant contingencies. I shopped for its own sake, looking and touching, inspecting merchandise I had no intention of buying, then buying it..."

As the passage progresses, both the characters and the language itself build in intensity and crescendo out of control, ending in:

"Voices rose ten stories from the gardens and promenades, a roar that echoed and swirled through the vast gallery, mixing with noises from the tiers, with shuffling feet and chiming bells, the hum of escalators, the sound of people eating, the human buzz of some vivid and happy transaction."

I'll post again about the book after I've finished it.