The world of literature has been grappling with a way to discuss September 11, 2001 (The World Trade Center Attacks) for close to 20 years. While there have been certain takes that have resonated more, there has not been a definitive text yet that has rocked the zeitgeist. The closest has likely been the one with the least likely protagonist: a young boy with presumed Aspebergers searching through the five boroughs of New York for the answer to a question his deceased father left behind in the symbol of a key. What is discovered isn't so much the exploration of one child's personal grief, but an entire community coming to terms with the past both recent and long gone. The issue with Jonathan Safran Foer's text isn't its emotional ambition, but that it throws readers into the head of people both likable and downright annoying. As much as it's the story of how grief impacts us all, it also does so with an occasional cloying sense of endearment.
To open "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close" is to find something jarring. In a story that will feature staggering the 9/11 imagery, it's bizarre that a lot of the first page exists in this rambling passage of Oskar Schell's life. He wants to invent some abstract creations, all to better understand how the heartbeats. Even then, those looking for symbolism may be thrown for a loop when the page comes to an end and finds Oskar talking about speaking French out of his posterior. Yes, this is a novel that will dedicate a lot of frank sex talk as well as how his body works. Does it make him more endearing, or is it all an attempt to make a realistic farce within the tragedy? Foer seems to want to do it all - including the soporific success of images meant to embody key aspects of the story. Still, the first page (and chapter for that matter) gives off a sense of what to expect with Oskar, and it's not always the most pleasant.
On the one hand, it's easy to understand why he's so confrontational. The story begins at his father's funeral, and to hear him work through ideas reflects a natural thought process for a child distracted by a million thoughts. Still, the idea of placing lengthy passages about farts next to it is staggering and reflects how Oskar doesn't have much in the way of social cues. He barely has a grasp on emotions, and it's exciting to hear him slowly come to terms with things throughout the book. He becomes clearer and more endearing as he comes to terms with the tragedy and accepts that his mother grieves differently than he does. The issue is that this is in between having those distracting thoughts, such as his desire to harass a fellow student onstage during a Hamlet performance. He is aggressive and annoying, though one can't help but enjoy his dedication to find truth in a post-9/11 world.
That's the brilliant part of the book. There is a nonstop uncertainty to every character. They aren't all grieving for 9/11, though they all have some basis in New York and the majority of them share the last name of Black (in reference to Oskar's key, which has the name on it). What is discovered is that the way people come to terms with loss is different. Some collect history to prove their worth, others keep artifacts to symbolize memories. It's all a brilliant tapestry that shows where the book wants to go. It wants to reflect a meditation on loss that is universal, and it does achieve that in spurts. It's heartbreaking to know that Oskar can't fully appreciate those stories, but it shows that sometimes loss is personal and not everyone understands. Then again, Oskar believes that watching videos of people falling from the Twin Towers somehow gives clues to something deeper. He regrets knowing that, but he can't help but indulge morbid curiosity. It appears constantly through imagery in the book, proving that things never truly go away, just become built into the story.
Among the supporting characters that stand out is a man who is revealed to be Oskar's grandfather. This reflects loss from the different sides of life, though his story his more complex than Oskar's - in part because he doesn't fully realize that he's related. With personal trauma caused by the Holocaust, he has become mute and writes his thoughts out in a notebook. In some of the most depressing chapters, he talks about courting Oskar's grandmother (another survivor) and how the apartment became its own maze of personal boundaries. Foer has a gift for using every aspect creatively, allowing text to sparsely paint a bigger picture and give the reader a chance to predict their own emotional response to such things as a "room of nothing" where they each go to cry and be alone.
The book is by no means a failure but shows just how difficult it is to make a 9/11 narrative that will resonate with everyone. Even as he perfectly portrays a phone call fading into white noise by having text overlap on a page, he creates this interactive vision of grief that is at best times revolutionary. It feels like looking into a new style of narrative. Even the way he writes an Asperbergs kid's internal monologue feels groundbreaking in that it goes to David Foster Wallace-level twists and turns to reflect how a paragraph begins with one idea and ends someplace entirely different. There are nonstop tangents, which at their most defensive points reflect the thought process fluidly. At their worst, Oskar is just the rebellious kid readers can't stand because of how his mind wanders and he's too abrasive. As natural as it is, it's just another aspect crowding the narrative's other brilliant points.
For what it's worth, Foer's novel has a lot that is undeniably touching. It succeeds in elevating small moments to a personal reflection that may not capture the 9/11 as a moment, but as a feeling. New York's population gets a chance to speak, and listening reveals something touching. In times like this, everybody hurts and it's important to just listen. Those who are hurting hurt others if they don't. Even if the story is eventually about Oskar's personal struggle, the road there is about maturing and letting go of the little things that make the pain hurt so much. Foer understands this and makes a somewhat successful novel most of the time. It's just that he tries to capture the juvenile with the mature, and it's not always the most engrossing to the reader.
Is "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close" the essential novel about 9/11? Not quite. While there's portions that read like the most intense and emotional explorations of that day, it is sandwiched with dozens of other aspects that are less appealing. Oskar is a protagonist that is likely to grate those who can't handle the annoying child archetype, especially since his worst tendencies come in a redundant fashion. Still, the joy of exploring for the answer gives him enough hopeful endurance for those who can look beyond and see a person struggling to move on. It's the story that many of the readers faced personally and a general feeling that is part of being human. The loss of New York is created so clearly that it's a shame that Oskar had to be the protagonist instead of a supporting player in a swirling group of compelling miniatures. It's good, but only once the reader can get past the contrivances. While it's a good text that captures the feeling of loss, one can hope that a better one comes along eventually.
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