one of the worst reading decisions i made in the year of bad reading decisions that was 2008 was to bring don delillo’s underworld with me on vacation. when i made that decision, i actually assumed it was a good decision, the best maybe. my logic was that even if it wasn’t a good book by delillo, it would still, by virtue of having been written by delillo, be better than almost anything else i could bring along (i count white noise and end zone among my favorites and great jones street not far behind, though i can’t get anyone else to agree with me on the greatness of it) (also, the book’s reputation seemed to have been resurging the previous couple of years, so i thought maybe i had given up on it too soon, having stopped after the opening, novella-length section), but i was wrong.
i want to leave aside the more blatant striving after greatness and relevance that you can see in every aspect of the book, from its sheer size, to its subject matter, to the near-inane attempt to be the first major novel to deal with the internet (which involves a nun, possibly j. edgar hoover’s spirit animal, whose soul seems to be trapped in the Web at the end) (okay, when i put it that way, “near-inane” doesn’t quite do the trick, does it?), and focus on a little prose tic that accretes until it becomes some massive thing that threatens the very core from without.
that was a joke, that last clause, but not because i don’t mean it. just because of the way i said it. the way i said it was an imitation of the tic itself. the tic is to say “some [adjective] thing.” Here is the first example, which comes on page 17 in my edition:
Fame and secrecy are the high and low ends of the same fascination, the static crackle of some libidinous thing in the world, and Edgar responds to people who have access to this energy.
first of all, cut out “in the world.” i was not thinking for one second that the thing was not in the world, and it doesn’t do anything for delillo’s admittedly still-impeccable rhythm. the important word in that phrase is “libidinous,” but “thing” gets the accent. i suppose that the phrasing, as published, is supposed to demonstrate indeterminacy, but what you end up with is two non-measures of indeterminacy, “some” (quantity?) and “thing” (object?), surrounding an adjective that ends up modifying indeterminacy rather than whatever it’s supposed to modify. and the sentence plays this out, because the clauses don’t match up in any meaningful way. what does “this energy” refer to? “fame and secrecy?” “the same facination?” “the static crackle?” that last is the best match for “energy,” but the static crackle refers to the “fascination” of others (i think), the fans of the people Edgar responds to, not the people themselves.
am i making sense here?
even if no, i think we can all agree that the “some [adjective] thing” formulation sounds pretentious, vague (as opposed to abstract, which is fine, abstraction), and like the author doesn’t really have anything to say.
which is rough, because delillo uses the formulation, or variations thereon, throughout, sometimes multiple times on the same page. also, i checked amazon text stats, and “thing” seems to be the most frequently used word in the book if i’m reading the cloud right.
also i lied. that example i used is not the first use of the formulation in the book. the first is on page 14 of my edition, “some gaudy thing,” but i gave delillo a pass on that one, because he was obviously just gilding the lily of something gaudy.
and why would i revisit this disaster now?
can't drop shit if it never flew
because i wanted to be mean. but i haven’t been mean yet. it isn’t mean to slam one of don delillo’s many books (even if it’s obvious it was supposed to be his great one, was written to be his great one). it is, however, mean to slam other young writers who may one day do something great but haven’t yet.
so it turns out i’m only going to be part-mean, because i’m not going to slam the two writers, but i will slam something one of the writers did because that thing made me think of underworld again.
a couple days ago, a friend told me about a book i should check out, so i checked out the book on the internet. and i read this blurb:
[Author's] voice is like some winged thing — brave, victorious, and solitary…
see? this one wins the new prize for abuse of the formulation because it’s cliched, mixaphorical, and imprecise. “Brave, victorious, and solitary” modifies both “voice” and “winged thing” (because otherwise why even use a simile?). a winged thing is not necessarily brave, victorious, or solitary. most winged things are birds. a voice is not usually like a bird, but some writers might hope that their voices soar like birds, even if it is a cliche. but some birds don’t soar. some have wings but are groundbound. a chicken may be but is not necessarily brave, victorious, and/or solitary. i know i’m henpecking here, but the blurb says to me that the blurb’s author had nothing to say.
nevertheless, i looked around and the book’s author’s work does seem interesting and i will check it out.
so much for being mean.
also, when i was slamming don delillo about greatness, i don’t mean it’s wrong to strive for greatness. i think it’s wrong not to. just not for the sake of greatness. or relevance. never relevance.
soon, i think, my brother and i will talk about a book we’re enjoying.