Before I get to a final conclusion on Don DiLillo’s The Body Artist, I must make it clear that while I was not thrilled with this book, it is one I am holding onto for another read someday. Whether it is my current frame of mind or my resistance to the reviews (at which I finally took a cheat-peek) and DiLillo’s concept of time and space versus my own, there is no doubt that he is an exceptional writer who has honed the writer’s tools and developed some new ones. First though, I would think that I shall delve into one of his better known and more conventional books such as Underworld or White Noise.
I should be closing this book out tonight in a final post. Maybe I’m just still stuck in Marquez’s 100 Years of Solitude, or antsy to get back together with McCarthy in any of his five more books I have lined up to read on the hearth.