Pankaj Mishra has a wonderful article in the Guardian Book section on 9/11 and literature. He shows the different ways in why writers have tried to deal with this decisive event and the ways they have chosen to give it meaning. He focuses partly on Don DeLillo’s new book on the same subject 9/11 to argue the point that this terrorist event opened American writers to the world. Sugary excerpt:
Some of the most interesting young American novelists were alert to the self-indulgent mood of the 90s. Novels such as Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections (published, coincidentally, on September 11) and Richard Powers's Gain explored the perennial American theme of the gap between reality and the American dream against the context of aggressive new ideologies of profit and materialism. Bret Easton Ellis and Bruce Wagner described the weirder and darker mutations in sensibility and manners in this period.
But, on September 11 2001, these preoccupations were broken into by the previously invisible conflicts and traumas of an interdependent world. "Our world, parts of our world," DeLillo wrote in an article in December 2001, "have crumbled into theirs, which means we are living in a place of danger and rage." But the collision between the paradise of domestic security and the hell of global insecurity had happened long before it horrifyingly manifested itself on 9/11. The cold war and then economic globalisation had knitted the world closer together. Yet the western vision of endless prosperity and well-being had proved a deception for the billions of people living outside the west.
The aggressive paternalism and self-righteousness of American business and politics provoked resentment among even the beneficiaries of an American-ordered world, such as the secular middle-class Turks in Istanbul who told Orhan Pamuk on 9/11 that the terrorists had done the "right thing". (The attacks bring a similar gratification to the Princeton-educated Pakistani financial analyst in Mohsin Hamid's The Reluctant Fundamentalist, who, watching the twin towers collapse, finds himself smiling - "remarkably pleased".)
In a world rendered deeply unequal, television and the internet stoked many people's aggrieved sense of being "crowded out", as DeLillo writes in Falling Man, "by other cultures, other futures, the all-enfolding will of capital markets and foreign policies". Reflecting on his compatriots' callous response to 9/11, Pamuk described how an ordinary citizen of the non-western world is today more aware than before "of how insubstantial is his share of the world's wealth; he knows that he lives under conditions that are much harsher and more devastating than those of a 'westerner' and that he is condemned to a much shorter life. At the same time, however, he senses in a corner of his mind that his poverty is to some considerable degree the result of his own folly and inadequacy, or those of his father and grandfather."
"The western world," Pamuk wrote, "is scarcely aware of this overwhelming feeling of humiliation that is experienced by most of the world's population." This indifference came to be particularly entrenched in the pre-9/11 decade, when the dotcom boom promised to enlist the entire world in the forward march of western capital and technology.
I wonder if writers in general aren’t always isolationists. I think that people expect American writers to be opened to the world, when it isn’t the propensity of writers in general to focus on something other than their world whether it is American or something else. Of course, 9/11 changed things, but not as much in the way that Pamuk argues that it has. 9/11 revived Sartre’s litterature engagée (militant literature) because many writers realized that literature could again change the world and that writers could do what politicians, journalists, and consultants couldn’t do by imagining a world where clashes and fears aren’t necessary and thus inspiring a frightened citizenry to not fear the world and the other.
I haven't read Falling Man and I’m not even sure that I want to read it. However, I've read many reviews of the book and wondered whether it was possible to review as any other book especially for people who “experienced” 9/11 and whose experience is very different from the characters in the books. For example, Chad Roedemeier of the Canadian praises the novel, but has the following complaint:
But the flaws of this slim novel are almost to be expected. The aftermath of 9-11 fits too neatly into the Big Ideas that DeLillo has about American society and culture. Keith is the perfect DeLillo Man, alienated from his work, his family and himself, conditioned by the faceless mass culture. "By the time the second plane appears," Keith says, "we're all a little older and wiser." It's a novel that sometimes reads more like a political essay.” He wonders “if this ghostly automaton is an accurate reflection of what we have become after Sept. 11? Aren't we still hopeful and stupid and connected to each other? Didn't we blink the soot out of our eyes and look up again?
Roedemeir refuses to treat DeLillo’s novel as any other by accepting that it may not have been written to answer his questions or any other reader’s question, but solely DeLillo’s and therefore cannot be expected give “the” answer that will make him say “Ah” by making him feel like a perfect man or like a god.
Eric Homberger wrote the following in his review in the Independent:
Falling Man is an excavation deep into the heart of a world in which only fanatics and terrorists, with calm certainty, claim to grasp the sense of things. In the immediate aftermath of the plane crash above him in the World Trade Center, Keith saw a man in a striped shirt falling from the building. Richard Drew's troubling photo of that man, against the stark vertical side of the building, gives DeLillo a title, and a recurring trope: we are all there, with the falling man, in a world without safety nets or the hope of rescue.
Reading Homberger’s review I wondered whether DeLillo had given him what our parents gave us when we were children when we wondered where the dead went: a soothing, beautiful, hopeful, but shallow answer designed to stop questions and to quash anxiety in front of the nothingness.
Michiko Kakutani’s review of DeLillo in the Times shows my concern that it isn’t really his work, which reviewers are judging, but his attempt to deal with 9/11 and whether it enables them to make sense of that event, to give it meaning. Sugary excerpt:
It was Mr. DeLillo who, years ago, wrote about the rise of the terrorist, “the lethal believer, the person who kills and dies for faith”; the power of crowds, melded by mass media into a violent, history-changing mob; the seduction of technology and its magnification of the glut and glare of pop culture; the institutionalization of paranoia and conspiracy thinking in the collective mind; and the realization that “the rules of what is thinkable” have changed ineluctably in recent years.
Given this achievement, the reader approaches Mr. DeLillo’s post- 9/11 work with great anticipation. Unfortunately, his strangely stilted 2003 novel, “Cosmopolis,” was a terrible disappointment, and so is his spindly new novel, “Falling Man.”
Certainly it’s unfair for the reader to expect any work of fiction about 9/11 to come close to the visionary scope and depth of Mr. DeLillo’s masterpiece “Underworld,” which so brilliantly captured the American experience of the cold war era: not enough time has passed for any novelist to put the events of that day and its shuddering consequences into historical perspective; perhaps not even enough time has passed for any novelist to grapple convincingly with those actual events, without being eclipsed by the documentary testimony (from newspaper articles, television footage and still photographs) still freshly seared in readers’ minds. And yet even within these parameters of reduced expectations, “Falling Man” feels small and unsatisfying and inadequate.
Whereas “Underworld” gave the reader a big panoramic window on history by tracing the intersecting, crisscrossing lives of dozens of people, “Falling Man” — like the author’s 1977 novel, “Players,” which also grappled with terrorism and also featured a character who worked in the World Trade Center — focuses on the lives of one man and one woman.
People read 9/11 novels with great and unfair expectations. They don’t just want to read a great, fascinating, and well-written story, they expect to read a meaningful story, one, which will soothe them by making fit in their worldview the horrific images they saw that day and by making them comprehend the incomprehensible with a satisfying answer to their unspoken questions. The truth may just be that it is impossible to get some satisfaction with a 9/11 novel.