As a writer, there's a lot to like about Don Delillo. Over his career, he's done an excellent job of capturing the human condition with insight and humor, often forcing the reader to recontextualize the world around them. While he's better known for his bigger novels like "White Noise," there is something to be said for his shorter writing, such as the novella "The Body Artist." The idea of trying to boil down everything that matters to the author in such a short space means that every page is economic, forcing only the important details to emerge. The results are a bit muddled and don't fully meet their potential, but it's a decent exercise from an author who is known for always taking surprising turns and creating worlds that are much more complex than they initially appear.
"The Body Artist" is a story about the impacts of grieving. Whereas most would turn this subject into a grand journey, there is something mundane and uneventful about Delillo's approach. In place of self-discovery is a lingering sense of detachment, an inability to feel connected to the world around them. As the story progresses through details that are intentionally uninteresting, Delillo searches for meaning in what these everyday moments are supposed to mean. there needs to be something more to what one possesses and does with their lives. Jumping from topic to topic, he observes with clinical detail the meaning of achievement and significance of loss, finding that sometimes they aren't a conventional problem to resolve. Sometimes the pain lingers and that's all one can do.
Along with the short page count, it's easy to argue that the story feels undercooked. It's over before it has time to truly grow intimate with its setting. With that said, that may be the most affecting part of the novel. By shifting emphasis to only important details, it creates a more pragmatic view of death and asks the reader to consider what matters to a person. Sometimes it's heartbreaking, other times it's an empty void without anything to offer. Both can be scary. It's a reflection of trauma impacting humanity in different ways from what society has desired. It's something a bit unnerving and all that unsatisfying. Again, Delillo writes with such purpose that it's easy to understand the underwhelming tone as essential, though it only helps to make this feel like a minor work.
For the most part, "The Body Artist" isn't one of the best books about grieving. It isn't even one of the author's best. It mostly dwells in this interesting middle zone for those who can relate to its themes and recognize that sometimes emotions are a complex beast, difficult to understand and appreciate. The effort to explore the world with this new perspective and not have it define everything is impossible. While it's a great exercise that finds the author continuing to push readers into directions unexpected from the author, it's still not a triumphant epiphany but a mere shrug. It does enough to warrant Delillo fans' attention, but little else.
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