Well, maybe because I worked a standing fifteen-hour shift yesterday, but when I came in and finished this book I was reading it hard and heavy with the idea of getting it done. So maybe that’s why I’m less than enchanted with it.
The little man disappears, leaves, whatever, Lauren has a performance of her body art based on her experience, and I’m not convinced at all that he meant anything except what she wanted to make of him and his visit.
Perhaps because I personally am so intrigued by the question of time I was really hoping to find some depth to DeLillo’s story. It may be there and I am just resisting it, but his observations, ruminations and explanations–while offering the reading the two roads to take of reality or otherly–aren’t, to me, backed up in any way that made me sit and ponder or question possibilities.
More later. I’m back in the shop and freezing.