Don DeLillo: Mao II, Underworld, Falling Man

Don DeLillo: Mao II, Underworld, Falling Man

Language: English

Pages: 207


Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Introduction: Don DeLillo and the Dream Release-Stacey Olster

PART I: Mao II (1991)
Delphic DeLillo: Mao II and Millennial Dread-David Cowart
Mao II and the New World Order-Peter Knight
Mao II and Mixed Media-Laura Barrett

PART II Underworld (1997)
Underworld, Memory, and the Recycling of Cold War Narrative-Thomas Hill Schaub
Underworld and the Architecture of Urban Space-David L. Pike
Underworld, Ethnicity, and Found Object Art: Reason and Revelation-Josephine Gattuso Hendin

PART III Falling Man (2007)
Global Horizons in Falling Man-John Carlos Rowe
Bodies in Rest and Motion in Falling Man-Linda S. Kauffman
Witnessing Trauma: Falling Man and Performance Art-John N. Duvall

Love Letters to the Dead


Boy Toy (The Mark Manning Mysteries, Book 5)

Time Present and Time Past



















seems to block comment, including those devices designed to facilitate communication. When Bill leaves a long, rambling message on Brita’s answering machine, she hears it, not after the fact but during his monologue. She eavesdrops on her own private message, rendering even more astute Bill’s observation that “[t]his is a new kind of loneliness you’re getting me into” precisely because he is not, as he thinks, “playing to an empty room” (91). As Bill notes, “The machine makes everything a

juice and Agent Orange (463, 465), rubber kitchen gloves and plutonium-protection gloves (519–20, 419), major league baseballs and atom-bomb cores the size of baseballs (172)—and connected “at levels outside your comprehension” (465), we long ago were tossed into the trash. Predicating that system on “death from the sky,” as incarnated by the Bomb (458), and recalling the “screaming [that] comes across the sky” that famously opens another novel structured around a movement to zero (3), DeLillo

famous in Mike Nichols’s The Graduate (1967) reappearing in the bit on Erica Demming’s love for her “rubberoid gloves” (519–20) and Lenny Bruce’s condom rap (581–82)? Or the suggestion that art is made from cultural waste and detritus (see Duchamp inter alia)? All the language of Cold War paranoia, conspiracy, the association of all technology with the bomb and Lenny Bruce’s “We’re all gonna die!” (594), even Eric Demming’s parody of the paranoid: UNDERWORLD, MEMORY, AND COLD WAR NARRATIVE 79

paragraph (thirteen in all, for the numerologically inclined) with the pronoun “They” followed by a predicate, most frequently the visionary form, “They saw”: They saw a man with epilepsy. They saw children with oxygen tanks next to their beds. They saw a woman in a wheelchair who wore a Fuck New York T-shirt. [. . .] They saw a man who’d cut his eyeball out of its socket because it contained a satanic symbol, a five-pointed star. (246–47) Similarly, Sister Edgar is reminded by the subway tunnels

disputation: Fordham University. DeLillo himself graduated from that Jesuit domain whose scholarpriests can claim that Aquinas’s Summa Theologica can explain it all. But what flourishes on neighborhood streets is a vernacular theology. Italians and Italian Americans have their own dogma—the l’ordine della famiglia, the strict rules and values governing family life. These enshrine the father as head of the family and the mother as its heart, establishing the certainties of family stability. These

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