I finished Cosmopolis. To my surprise, I more or less loved it. Hints of Ballard and Joyce throughout it. It would be difficult to easily summarise what I thought it was about, even if I knew what I thought it was about, but I thought it was at least PARTLY about the 'in-built obsolescence' of technology, the problem (for the author) of the same phenomenon afflicting language, the authenticity of actions in a world comprehended through cliche-ridden language... and so on. I've bought Libra, DeLillo's book about Lee Harvey Oswald, which is certainly chunkier and I will read later this year, I hope.
Now I'm reading Philip Roth's Patrimony, a (more or less) non-fiction account of his father's death and preceding life. It's funny, warm, eloquent, and - due to personal issues I've been confronted with this week - its qualities are a consolation in the face of the harshness and senselessness of life, as laughter generally seems to be.*
*Obviously the harshness/senselessness of life I've been confronted with are relatively benign, I'm hardly Primo Levi.**
** I am nearly the guy from Portnoy's Complaint. Minus the Jewishness, and the sex.