White Noise

It's funny how you come across a word or phrase you haven't thought of for a while, and then you start seeing it everywhere. Well, perhaps that's an exaggeration, but after reading a review of Don DeLillo's new book, Zero K (2016) I think it's called, I decided to look around for something of his to read. He's another of those writers I have known about for a long time but never actually read. So while we were browsing at our local Half Price Book Store, I picked up a copy of White Noise (1985) and started reading it. I'm not sure what I expected. I knew it was another novel about a college professor, so I figured if nothing else it would be a notch on my still growing list of academic fiction. What I found was a very strange book with some almost surreal plot elements and a cast of rather disturbed characters, and yet at the same time a book that seemed rooted in the ordinary and quotidian reality of a small college town.

I guess if you're an academic, even an academic manqué as I am, some of the more bizarre qualities of the story nevertheless remain within the realm of one's experiences interacting with colleagues, many of whom seem burdened with a greater degree of social dislocation and range of personality disorders than are usually encountered in a more typical workplace. At first the book just seems to be recording the daily interactions of Jack Gladney with his wife, children (his and hers), and colleagues. Only gradually does the plot thicken and then begin to veer off into the world I suspect those familiar with DeLillo have come to anticipate, but it was pleasantly amusing to me to discover I was enjoying the excursion. When I finished reading the book, I found I missed it, which is a good sign. I'll probably read some more of his work to test my reaction. I've also got his recent book of short fiction, The Angel Esmeralda: Nine Stories (2011), which I'll look at next, then decide if I want to go back and read some of the early stuff. My initial response was that White Noise is darkly funny and entertaining, but I'm not sure what else I would add to that.

Next, I picked up my July assignment for the Men's Book Club, Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (2003). I knew a little about this one before I started reading. J had read it as an ARC and liked it. I knew it was told from the point of view of a talented autistic boy of about 15. I've always found autism and the less extreme variations such as Asperger's Syndrome interesting. It seems to have been a recurring feature in some of the books I've read lately: certainly Alan Turing biography; also to some extent On the Move, the Oliver Sacks memoir; as well as The Big Short, and last year's All the Light We Cannot See. Christopher, the narrator, has a familiar list of issues. He doesn't like different kinds of food to touch on his plate, nor does he like to be touched by others. And when he feels overwhelmed by social interaction or an overload of sensory information, he does mathematical calculations or makes lists of prime numbers in his head, or he groans (sometimes very loudly) or listens to white noise on the radio if that's available.

There it is again: white noise. It's an interesting concept. A signal with random, uncorrelated elements or variables, a flat spectrum over a range of frequencies with no discernible pattern. Beyond that explanations get very technical. It's supposed to be soothing. They sell white noise machines to help us sleep. And it's supposed to help those suffering from tinnitus. It's better than silence, which can drive you out of your mind, I'm told. I'm not sure what DeLillo intended by calling his novel White Noise. Since the central theme seems to be the haunting fear of death that practically paralyses Jack and his wife, perhaps white noise is the rest of quotidian existence, the distractions that block out the fear with life's flow of meaningless rituals. It's an interesting concept. Life is white noise.