DeLillo slows down time, deliberately, stunningly.
Bookended with an elaborate depiction of Douglas Gordon's film project 24 Hour
Psycho, in which the classic Hitchcock film is reduced to play at two frames
per second, DeLillo slows the lives of Elster, a former military analyst, and
Finley, a wannabe filmmaker, stretching out their time into a series of blurred
together sun rises and sets. Their discussion works. The reader yearns for that
next conversation particularly from Elster, his theories, his philosophy; he sees war as a haiku.
Intellectually deep and mono/dialogue heavy – this is good stuff.
Yet, yes and yet, as a lover of stories, this one doesn’t
go anywhere. The arrival, and subsequent departure, of Elster’s daughter
Jessie, is the only element denoting time moving forward, as the two men are
stuck in their own two fps lives. Ideas are discussed, dreams are forgotten,
and again yet, there isn’t any true development for them as the lack of a
narrative-heavy arc prevents any true catharsis or evolution. Then the book
simply ends, leaving the men stuck in the inconsequence of their own inaction.
To be watched, frame by frame, with no resolution in sight.
As Always,
theJOE
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