Finished reading Falling Man on sunday. As I am a bit of a DeLillo-specialist (having read all of his prose and most of his plays) I guess I have to give my opinion here… Falling Man is a novel about the effects of 9/11 on the lives of a group of Americans – DeLillo-characters, all with something to hide, a secret maybe, though this ‘something to hide, this secret, might be just nothingness, a big hole. It’s a novel on the scale of Endzone or Players. It doesn’t compare badly to his earlier prose at all. I say this because his novels after Underworld seemed to be the work of a free-wheeling writer returning to his subject matter, without any urgent reason. Whereas in the earlier prose DeLillo seemed to struggle – sign of urgency. Underworld was a sort of summary of all of DeLillo’s earlier concerns and themes, which resolved most of the loose ends and problems of the earlier novels – (a reason why I never feel compelled to pick up that book a second time, yet continue to read the others. like Americana). Though sometimes praised by reviewers who discovered DeLillo through Underworld, The Body Artist, Valparaiso and Cosmopolis are simply the least interesting works from his oeuvre. The lack edge, and even seem false/fake sometimes.

Falling Man, I think, is simply the book DeLillo had to write, although he might not have longed to write it. It has to exist. Without it, there’s a lack in his oeuvre. Libra is the novel which defines the ‘postmodern age’; all of his other novels project a world that is running toward 9/11. One could even say that DeLillo’s prose pointed towards 9/11 in an eerie way.

And to be silent then, afterwards, after what for the New Yorkers signifies catastrophe, would be too much. I can imagine, that being DeLillo one feels compelled to take the impact of the catastrophe as subject matter.

Falling Man then, might not be Delillo’s best novel, but it’s all there. The characters, the short sentences, the distanced, ‘objective’ observations, the scenes that seem to be overexposed (a metaphor I’ve used for years trying to describe DeLillo’s style, and never have been able to explain in detail). Maybe a critique could be that DeLillo doesn’t delve deep enough into the post-9/11-American-soul, nor deep enough into the soul of the terrorist. (The theory was already there in Mao II, the soul I guess in Libra). Maybe a critique could be that most of what DeLillo tells, reminds one of the journalistic accounts of 9/11. But even if that is the case, it is there: descriptions of the impact of the planes, of people going down the stairs of the WTC, of the moment just before the impact. And these descriptions are precise. DeLillo-esque (which is scary enough I guess, for a writer, to describe historical scenes and then someone saying that such scenes are DeLillo-esque…)

But that said, this book is not about terrorist or terrorism, not at all about victims, not about ‘our age’ It is a novel about the soul of white, well-to-do Americans and their secrets (see above). It is also an attempt to look into the soul of an Arab terrorist, but this fails just as it fails in Mao II: it makes sense, theoretically. It shows how ‘we’ (Westerners) think terrorists think, and bringing European terrorism in, does not alter that. It shows the surface. But it might also be that there is no more. That said, not many writers go where DeLillo goes, and the prose in Falling Man doesn’t sound false or weak for one sentence. It’s ‘Delillo’ – and in the world of his characters, 9-11 was always already there.

Well, I could’ve also pointed you to Omar’s review at: http://www.cut-up.com/reviews/detail.php?id=561.

Oorbeek was scheduled to play at the the Vondelpark Openluchttheater tonight – the outdoor theatre in the park, together with the dance group Bodies Anonymous of Jack Gallagher: http://www.openluchttheater.nl/ and http://www.bodiesanonymous.nl/. The weather forecast was: 90% chance for rain. We were supposed to perform on the dancefloor outside, (so not under the roof on the podium), and for that it had to be dry. To dance on it, it would have to be completely dry.

Well, we set up out equipment on the podium. Knowing the chance for rain was simply to great to put amplifiers out on the dancefloor (that had been the plan). At 6.30 it began to rain. Then it started pouring. And then: lighting and thunder. First we’d still hoped to play, now we even had to turn off all the electric equipment. It was 7.30. It kept on raining. No soundcheck. We were supposed to start at 8.30. The group after us – the much more famous dance ensemble Leine and Roebana – would play from nine on.

We heard that the dancefloor had not been used yet. Every friday since june the 3d they’d put it there, and every time they had had to cancel due to rain.

It kept on pouring. Even if the rain would stop at 8.30 there was no chance the dancefloor would be dry. There was like a few centimeters of water on top of it. The rain was torrentuous.

And then, when finally the moment came to decide what to do and everybody – and surely the people of the Vondelpark – thought the programme would be cancelled, Jack said: “I just wanna do my thing, rain or not, water or not.”

The Vondelpark people were happily surprised. The soundman was off to his booth and quickly turned on the mics for Maarten.

And at 8.30 Jach Gallagher was out there in the torrentuous rain on a horribly slippery dancefloor, and we were on stage with our instruments, and the lightmen turned on the stagelight, it seemed as if the sun was coming out to shine, we gave the sign: he danced, slided through the puddles of water – finally the dancefloor was used – and we played.

About 40 people had come out to watch.

It was wonderful.

We played for just 10 minutes, and Jack danced.

Funny to think, that one lives for such moments, those 10 minutes to do one’s thing.

Leine and Roebana had already decided to not play, but when they saw that we played, they decided to come out and do something too. Not the whole performance (the dancefloor was unusable, dangerous – what Jack did was extraordinary), just two Rennaissance songs, accompanied by theorbe and dance from their star performer.

That was beautiful. Breathtaking. (Is it allowed to exaggerate a little?)

The rain did not stop for one moment.

Serge made at least one little movie. When he’s uploaded that to Youtube I’ll post the link.

www.baranbouw.nl

& the start of summer, they say. On friday 15th, from 20.00h on, at Mediamatic in Amsterdam: DNK end of the season event. With an installation, Open DI Night (with a.o. Yolande Harris, Brian McKenna, Marko Ciciliani, Ivo Bol, Alfredo Genovesi and Taylan Susam) and of course party with DJ Bumbum Hey and DJ Scumbag.

Be lots of fun.

Info: http://www.mediamatic.net/artefact-17358-en.html

& also check out the new stunning website of DNK: http://www.dnk-amsterdam.com/.

(Euh, with in the photo-section, a photo of me, looking at my laptop during the previous Open DI Night, trying to make my improvised piece work, which wasn’t a success. Luckily it was just a few minutes).

I am working on an article about epic poetry – well, epic poetry now, in the light of internet, new media. Hmm. Those kind of assignments (“those kind” – what does that mean?) for me are a reason to order books that I’ve been wanting to read for a long time. The occasion presents itself.

So today the postman brought Charles Olson’s The Maximus Poems and Albert B. Lord’s the Singer of Tales.

I’ve read quite a bit of the shorter poetry of Olson (from the Selected Poems, edited by Robert Creeley) and I like his prose-essay Call Me Ishmael. Olson is a bit of a strange type, and he could be a total nuthead it seems. (Is it HC ten Berge who calls him a ‘warhoofd’ in a fairly recent piece? I don’t remember). His poetry is straight out of Pound’s Cantos in many senses, and well, I’m simply drawn toward these really long poems (that one hardly ever finishes reading completely, from first till last page).

The ideas of Lord are well-known to me, as they form the fundaments of much contemporary knowledge of oral poetry and performance – but I’ve never read the actual book. So now’s the time.

I did however recently reread Bauman’s 1970’s essay Verbal Art as Performance – it was requiered reading for Literary Theory back in 1988. Rediscovering in a sense where I’ve picked up ideas on literature…

“We were yesterday three kiple chined, by the grease of God, in the holy bands of mattermoney.”

“As for madam Lashmiheygo, you nose her picklearities.”

No, this is not from FW, this is Smollett The Expedition of Humphry Clinker, Penguin Classics, p. 394-5.

… the Arno Schmidt-reference library (see http://www.gasl.org) is an online collection of pdf’s of books that Arno Schmidt owned and to which he often referred in his novels. Shakespeare, Jules Verne, Tobias Smollett, Herodotos. Nice for the fans of Schmidt and the literature-professors.

But in the 3 years of its existence it has already send 400.000 texts into the world. Interestingly, from december 2006 on the downloads increased dramatically because China allowed province after province access to the reference library.

Says Günter Jürgensmeier of GASL, in an e-mail to the Schmidt-discussion list:

“Die Referenzbibliothek hat damit im zurückliegenden Jahr vermutlich erheblich mehr für die Bildung getan als die Bayrische Staatsregierung. “Jaja”, rufen da die Herren Goppel/Schneider unisono, “für die Bildung der Chinesen!” Naja, immerhin!)”

I’ve been searching for this quote forever. Browsing through old syllabi I find it, somewhere in the text ‘Art as language’ by Yury Lotman – very heavily underlined annotated by myself, but not this sentence:

Art is the most economical, compact method for storing and transmitting information. But art also has other properties wholly worthy of the attention of cyberneticians and perhaps, in time, of design engineers.

[I guess, with design engineers Lotman refers to what we now know as ‘programmers’].

My annotation – dating from around 1988 – “ONZIN” (=nonsense).

Yury Lotman, The Structure of the Artistic Text, Ann Arbor, 1977, (1970), p. 23

Regarding my ‘reading matter’: I finished first Gissing’s New Grub Street, then, on friday, Smollett’s very, very funny The Expedition of Humphry Clinker. (‘Grub street’, or hack writing, being the thread that connects Smollett and this Gissing novel). So, theoretically I’d be unto reading Falling Man, DeLillo’s newest now, before finishing ATD. But I’ve acquired a taste for 18th century stuff and wonder if I shouldn’t first read Joseph Andrews (also on my to-read-list).

The result is that I picked up Vollmann’s Poor People again, although I earlier decided, after reading like 70 pages, to not finish it. Vollmann’s writing in Poor People is too repetitive. Again. It’s not really bad in the way that The Royal Family was, but if you’ver read his other work, you already know what you’ll get to read: page after page of conversations with homeless people and poor people from all over the world, plus Vollmanns ruminations about the nature of poverty, trying to come up with a theory which is a bit too much like ‘amateur philosophy’. I picked it up, because I couldn’t decide yet between DeLillo and Fielding, and well, to say I was ‘captured’ would be an exaggeration, but I was intrigued, again, and Vollmann does know how to engage you (well, me at least) with the poor people of the world. (There’s no other writer who has managed to that with this very reader). And well, Vollmann’s ruminations about respect and cultural differences might not always be as sharp as one would wish for, they are dark and realistic, never cynical. A-and then there’s the chilling reportage about this oil city in Kazakhstan…

Which is to say – that someone, one day, should write a really good essay on Vollmann’s way of engaging with the absolute underclass. I still cannot figure out if he’s too naive, too sentimental (he used to be, for sure!), just ‘too much’, or that his stance is the only really moral position. Ah well. There’s a reason to finish Poor People.