As many have probably guessed by now, my
favourite literary theme in my late teens and early 20s was anti-Fascism, that
on my late 20s (probably owing to a process of – relative – de-politicization) has
been American suburban life, and White
Noise might be the greatest book on the topic that I’ve read so far.
I don’t know why, but reading about the miseries
of the American middle-class somehow makes me happy (hysterically happy at
times – maybe it’s some kind of disorder...). In addition to that, Jack, the
main character, is a fairly successful historian lacking the most basic skill
needed in his trade: he can’t speak the language of the country his research is
focused upon (I picked my Ph.D. topic also because it was the one time in my life in
an English-speaking country in which I could have used my language skills, and
I found Jack’s issue absolutely hilarious).
White Noise is just an excellent work from start
to finish, constantly exploring new issues with a clinic and cynical eye: first
we have a clear picture of the daily lives of the characters and their idiosyncrasies,
then we move on to a wonderful discussion on life and its instability (turns
out we all have to die, whether we have been exposed to an “airborne toxic
event” or not – something really rather banal but that is expressed so
wonderfully in the novel) to finish with great pages on our steadfast faith in
medications of all kinds and the actual value of revenge. Just priceless.
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