Blog Post 3: Falling Man

Delillo’s American characters, in Falling Man, constantly struggle to effectively communicate with speech, all throughout the novel. They just can’t articulate the words; they’re just not there, except maybe on paper, in writing, which is what makes Lianne’s group significant.  Instead, they refer to physical action as a means to express their sentiments—pleasant or not.  It has been suggested that Falling Man isn’t a provocative story; I disagree.  Although the words aren’t always there, the American characters manage to commune in other ways. 

            “He said, ‘Hey, fuckhead’…He said it again, louder this time, and waited for the words to register… Because if anyone said a harsh word to Florence, or raised a hand to Florence, or insulted her in any way, Keith was ready to kill him” (133). 

            “He reached over and knocked on Justin’s head, knock knock, to alert him to a revelation in the making as the camera located the hole cards of a player who didn’t know he was dead. ‘He’s dead,’ he told his son, and the kid sat without comment in his makeshift diagonal, half in the chair, half on the floor, semi-mesmerized” (117-118).

            “He would tell her about Florence.  She would say she could understand the intensity of the involvement, in view of the completely uncommon nature of its origin, in smoke and fire, and this would cause her to suffer enormously.  He would tell her about Florence.  She would get a steak knife and kill him” (161-162). 

            In the first quote, Keith, having difficulty communicating with Florence—it seems there is only ever one of them capable of speech, trading  off intermittently—shows   her the emotional importance that she covets with him, by attacking the origin of the insult.  This assault is a demonstration of not only his internalized emotions for Florence, but, also, his willingness to skip straight from the talking to the fighting, not even giving words much of a thought. 

            The second quote is a moment, Lianne, Keith, and Justin watch television together.  They don’t talk much, but they aren’t distant from one another; their minds aren’t shrouded by the television, wrapped up in immediate doses of gratification.  They are alive, and aware that they are.  The conversation isn’t necessary, instead a look into the reflection that the television provides, a mirror of their scene, framing their existence.  Eyes meet; Justin’s father includes his son the way he knows how: poker. 

            The third quote enters Keith’s head for a rare look into his thoughts.  As others have mentioned, Keith’s character doesn’t receive the same amount of attention to inner detail as does Lianne’s.  He is guilt-ridden, but unapologetic.  He wants to come clean with Lianne, but is hesitant, scared by her possible reaction.  Keith ends the relationship with Florence because he knows he is complicating things, in his already complex relationship with Lianne, but he doesn’t seem to regret the fact that he had it, because it meant something to him.  That’s why the sexual component to the story is so essential. For a story that is primarily concerned with the importance of the exhibition of physical emotions, there is no physical act more intimate and important, to the novel, than sex.  The story would be missing something without it. 

            I’ve enjoyed reading Falling Man so far.  That seems to put me out on an island.  I dunno. 

Blog Post Two: Comedy following Tragedy

            Comedy allows people to approach—socially—topics of discomfort; that is its purpose.  A comedian on stage will riff on anything from sex to race—these two happening to be amongst the most commonly prodded subjects.  But if it’s not uncomfortable, if it doesn’t flick that switch in your head (the one that gets you squirming in your seat), doesn’t ramp up your heart rate, then it’s probably not funny material.  Comedy Central’s Tosh.O is as entertaining and hilarious as it is because of its unfailing devotion to the arbitrary and the unpleasant.  That’s right, they should be grouped together because that show—which, for those of you who haven’t seen it before, is essentially one comedian, Daniel Tosh, ranting in front of a green screen on which internet video clips are shown—is  a massive accumulation of really random, eccentric, and often repulsive things.  So, we laugh.  Comedy doesn’t necessarily have to be viewed as making fun of something, in the negative sense; it could be viewed as a form of acknowledgment, a way of keeping something in people’s heads, keeping them thinking. Comedy as an homage.  However, there is a question of whether some subjects are just plain off limits.  There are a few events in American history that, as someone mentioned in class, Americans simply seem to steer clear from.  These taboo subjects, which would include Pearl Harbor and 9/11, are repressed to the public eye, short of anything memorial-related.  There isn’t a complete absence of comedy, but anything geared towards an historical event of any significant emotional and physical destruction for the American, is viewed as ill-conceived, and with the worst intentions.  This humor is shunned.  Time is obviously a major issue concerning the considered appropriateness of said comedy.  Yet, interestingly, Americans still tend to avoid joking around about some particular things, even after substantial time has elapsed.  Years is one thing, but decades? 

            The Boondocks episode we watched in class poked a little fun at, as Chris Rose calls it, “the Thing.”  That-which-must-not-be-named—feels like being plopped down in a Potter story.  But the principal is there: this person, this storm, this “Thing” is so traumatic for the people intimately involved with the disaster, that it hurts to hear it spoken aloud.   The cartoon is clever about the way it approaches this particular borderline unmentionable subject in the sense that it is very serious when it shows the imitation depictions of the storm.  It toys around with the aftermath, and the people involved.  The assortment of stereo-type based characters manages to give the ole Stephen Colbert “wag of the finger” to the New Orleans citizens that Rose calls out in disgrace, in 1 Dead in Attic.  For example, the character that basically goes around committing aggravated larceny inside of the home that he has been welcomed into, is a strong metaphor for the figurative raping of New Orleans from the inside-out, by its own citizens. This is the reason why the episode of The Boondocks works: it isn’t in poor taste.  It highlights real issues and calls out the people who committed any of the insidious, ridiculous crimes against community in the wake of the disaster.  Plus, as a general rule, shows that give the cutest character the voice of racism typically tend to be well-intentioned.