DeLillo in a Day

My junior year of college, my second to last semester, the one I used to finish all my degree requirements, I took a class on the works of Don DeLillo.

I had read and enjoyed him before the class (and seemed much more engaging than a class on Blake or Shakespeare). I loved how each sentence is a mouthful of words being presented perfectly, spitting the ABCs out in perfect order while eating alphabet soup. My own yearning for word perfection laid out in front of me as a guideline. I have a goal in DeLillo.

As I am devouring books at the moment I hit the library  with my three-year-old nephew  on my day off to save some money. He isn't as I sort through titles so on this particular trip I grab Wuthering Heights, Saturday (which I got home and discovered I owned), and a few books by DeLillo. I picked up Point Omega during the day but never finished the first page. So Thursday at work I started over. And Thursday at work I finished it.

Fin. Done. Cover to cover. In one work day while working. And though I've read the book and enjoyed it more than most of the books I've read lately I don't think I understood it. I mean I did. And the words!

But in spite of my loving the words and kind of understanding the book I wouldn't, couldn't, write a review about it let alone an essay for fear of looking foolish.

This fear stems from the class I think. From only seeing some of what was being discussed, feeling intellectually dwarfed by hippies, thrift store junkies and film club presidents not to mention the Dude.

And other than the Dude, who was our esteemed professor, I'm not sure they were any more able to grasp the "stuff" in DeLillo than I was, am. But my hair was too neat and my eyes too clear to have the confidence to call B.S. on all of them.

So I try DeLillo again. I'll search the text, the words, my hear for orange juice and if nothing else breathe those words. Dwarf or not I allow myself the words. DeLillo's words are the closest thing to Synesthesia I have ever experienced. They taste good.