Re-reads

White Noise – Don DeLillo

I can understand how my younger self (how much younger?) was impressed by this novel’s inventiveness and energy and originality. All of those virtues are indeed present. But on this reading I didn’t buy into much of what DeLillo doles out. He tackles Big Issues, but he fails to succeed in saying anything that meant much to me. As for the major issue of Death – fear of it – I was never convinced that the characters were feeling dread. Instead of imparting that emotion, what we get are long stretches of esoteric verbiage. Though seemingly on a high intellectual plane, I found it to be a lot of white noise. And – if DeLillo is so intelligent – how do we account for the book’s silly shootout ending? His considerable talent is used best in the down-to-earth section concerning the evacuation (due to a toxic cloud) of the Gladney family to a Boy Scout camp. And there’s humor in the book, some good portrayals (I especially liked eleven-year-old Denise), plenty of linguistic vitality. But I think my younger self believed that DeLillo was insightful, even profound. Many critics felt this way, as did those on the committee that gives out the National Book Award. DeLillo was also a believer: he would continue on an elevated track rather than a down-to-earth one. I’m giving the book a 3 for its good points, but I’m tempted to drop it to a 2 for the bad ones.

Murder for Profit – Willam Bolitho

I only read the first section – about the murders committed by William Burke – and couldn’t go on (there are five other mass murderers studied). Not that it wasn’t done well – the problem is the reverse: It was done too well. When younger, I must have had a stronger stomach for an examination of brutality. In Edinburgh, Scotland in the mid-1800s there was a need for corpses for scientific study. Body snatchers dug up fresh graves and sold the remains to doctors. Burke hit on an idea: why bother with the digging? Why not just lure people off the teeming streets, kill them and sell the bodies? They had a willing (and generous) buyer in the esteemed Dr. Knox. Burke didn’t act on his own: he had an accomplice in Hare, and the wives of both men were participants. Bolitho examines the psychology of this grisly bunch (particularly Burke), and the manner in which matters progressed from that initial idea to a thriving business (we’ll never know how many victims there were). The setting in of boldness in their actions ultimately led to their downfall. But only Burke faced the gallows. Scottish law allowed Hare and the women to go free. As for Knox – who knew he was receiving the victims of murder – he was too high up socially to be punished (though in the mind of the public he was disgraced, and he lost everything). There’s no explicit gore in this account, but the horror of the acts come across with a disturbing power. The writing is elegant, though often intricately constructed. I found myself rereading a sentence over and over, trying to decipher the meaning. Maybe, when I was younger (and sharper), I didn’t face this difficulty. In the first paragraph of the Burke section Bolitho points out that mass murder has always been a part of history, carried out by leaders as they accumulated wealth and power, built empires. I’m giving this book a 4 because the little I read got to me in a visceral way.

The Vendor of Sweets – R. K. Narayan

Narayan was a storyteller, no small virtue in a novelist. He could engage a reader, carry him along with ease. His prose is smooth – no bumps. But, more importantly, the characters and situation he creates are interesting. Nothing bizarre about either; rather, they’re quite relatable (even though the setting is India, and contains elements foreign to western sensibilities). A widowed man, Jagan, desires peace and contentment, but those goals are undermined by the behavior of his errant son. He’s glad when the boy heads off to America. But Mali returns with a wife (actually it turns out that they aren’t married ) and an idea of making a fortune off a novel-writing machine. He pressures his father to invest a large sum of money in this plan. That the son shows no love or even respect for his father – he sees him merely as a source of funds – stuck me as strange. Was Jagan lacking in some way in how he brought the boy up? We’ll never know the roots of what went wrong in the relationship, but I didn’t find that to be a problem. The indeterminate ending, with Jagan making a drastic life choice that may (or may not) give him the serenity he desires, was also acceptable to me – even right. After all, loose ends prevail in life, and there’s no need to neatly tie them up. At least, that’s the terms that Narayan is able to establish. This novel rates a solid 4.

A Mother in History – Jean Stafford

This is an account of a three day interview Stafford conducted with the mother of Lee Harvey Oswald. After sections appeared in McCall’s magazine, it came out in book form two years after the assassination of President Kennedy. Maybe I read it then. Why did I consider the book worthy? This time around I see absolutely no value in it. It’s a lazy effort, devoid of substance or insight, written merely for an easy buck. Since only one interview was tape recorded, and Stafford recreates (at length) what Mrs. Oswald says, how much is a true transcription of her words? What we get in Stafford’s portrayal is a woman spouting disjointed conspiracy theories. An addled, embattled woman who feels that she – her perceptions regarding her son and what occurred – are being ignored. But let me pose a few questions: Who among you believe that Lee Harvey Oswald was the lone assassin, acting on his own, with no backing? That Oswald’s claim, after his arrest, that he wouldn’t be a “patsy,” had no basis? That Jack Ruby killed him solely because he was distraught over the death of Kennedy? That the conclusions in the Warren Commission Report are fully valid? Or do you believe that the truth of what happened on that November day in Dallas will never be revealed? Mrs. Oswald had a tough, hardscrabble life. The events involving her son must have been emotionally crushing. My resentment toward Stafford has to do with her attitude toward the woman – who amused and bored her. Her asides are full of sarcasm, ridicule, disdain. Whatever Mrs, Oswald’s faults may be, Stafford’s fault lies in her lack of sympathy, pity, understanding. This is not a fair account of a mother in history. It’s a cruel hatchet job, and thus worthless. (Delete)