White Noise by Don DeLillo
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Every man discriminates between the voluntary acts of his mind, and his involuntary perceptions, and knows that to his involuntary perceptions a perfect faith is due. He may err in the expression of them, but he knows that these things are so, like day and night, not to be disputed.

-----------R.W.Emerson, Nature


White noise compellingly carries with it an inexorable clamour which seems to characterize the kind of lives that are lived today: a fear, panic or anxiety; of death, things terrible or unknown, the noise which prevails and rules over silently; silent as compared to the more audible voices messing with the mind, but a noise nonetheless stronger and discrete, a noise which is as much a wonder of Science as it is of the anxiety brought about by more knowledge.

“A victory for uncertainty, randomness and chaos. Science's finest hour.”

The noise; penetrating all the mediums surrounding, the buzz of TV, Radio, internet, mobiles; the fuss of commercial life, places filled with people and things, an unrest in quest of a solidarity between things and people, between things and happiness:

It seemed to me that Babette and I, in the mass and variety of our purchases, in the sheer plenitude those crowded bags suggested, the weight and size and number, the familiar package designs and vivid lettering, the giant sizes, the family bargain packs with Day-Glo sale stickers, in the sense of replenishment we felt, the sense of well-being, the security and contentment these products brought to some snug home in our souls—it seemed we had achieved a fullness of being that is not known to people who need less, expect less, who plan their lives around lonely walks in the evening.

The noise; prodding the subconscious mind, mocking at the helplessness which its silent reign enforces; a reign of confusion and despair, coercing to leap out while restricting the self with invisible limits, making one wonder if the limits could ever be crossed, if the fear could ever be assuaged.

“Who knows what I want to do? Who knows what anyone wants to do? How can you be sure about something like that? Isn't it all a question of brain chemistry, signals going back and forth, electrical energy in the cortex? How do you know whether something is really what you want to do or just some kind of nerve impulse in the brain?”

The noise; nagging at times, and at times rendering itself with an absolute finality, the fear manifested in actions, forcing one to take a plunge, to leap out and come face to face with the silent ruler. What if that one fear of death you so wish to dispel, makes you to face the futility of effort? What if it brings you to a halt, to stop and think? Thinking; something which you have always feared, something which has made all the other noises even desirable, so that you can put over a façade and be happy, and then once the façade is lifted, the futility made evident, you safely return back to the white noise and resume the course of your life.

White noise seems an effort in the same direction. It makes you to stop and think amidst all the noises, the very question which has plagued the mind for ages: Death. In a comical and satirical way, it observes the routine life, and impress upon the need of white noise to live the life happily even if some fears constantly afflict your mind making you to question the basis of existence; of life or death.

Needless to say I loved the work.






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