Don DeLillo does with language what Arvo Pärt does with music. Their work yields little when casually approached. But it rewards close attention with spare and beautiful lines capable of containing truth. Point Omega was a pleasure to read for its pure artistry, if not for its compelling characters.
The characters are barely limned in this slim novel. Richard Elster is an aging academic who spent some time drafted to help create a language with which to sell the Iraq War to the American public. He worked with top level political strategists, looking for a linguistic architecture to frame the war, to give it shape and meaning. Disillusioned in the end, he has retreated to the remote California desert, a landscape so sere and austere that it is as powerful as a character in this book.
Jim Finley is a much younger filmmaker who wants to place Elster against an industrial wall in Brooklyn and film him talking about his experience, his deep cogitation about it and his conclusions about what it all means. Finley joins Elster in his ramshackle dwelling in the desert where time loses all significance and philosophical questions are endlessly debatable over drinks on the porch.
When Elster’s twentyish dreamy daughter arrives from New York, sent away by her mother after a sinister date begins to stalk her by telephone, the dynamic of the story shifts. Elster has been postulating, in and out of his cups, about the absence of time in the desert and the Teilhardian concept of the omega point when the human imagination has exhausted itself and something cataclysmic occurs. The philosophical choices seem to be oblivion or a profound illumination. Finley is no closer to convincing Elster to document his own soul and story and Elster appears to be disappearing into the stark landscape.
Then something cataclysmic does happen but it is in no way theoretical and profundities are rendered meaningless by its mystery. Elster’s daughter disappears. One day they return from picking up groceries and she simply isn’t there. The search for the “otherworldly” Jessica lends some drama to the story but no answers. Tragedy takes away words. Elster no longer speaks. Finley can’t remember the passionate obsession with making his film. Search helicopters break the desert silence.
The events in Point Omega are framed by another kind of stillness, an art installation in which Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho is played in a bare room in a gallery, slowed and stretched to fill 24 hours. The excruciating slow motion mesmerizes a faceless character who returns to the gallery day after day to stand in a corner and experience the obliteration of known time. The silent, painstaking screening, detailed at length in the beginning and end of the story, inspires more contemplation of the nature of reality and perception.
This is a beautiful book, packed with Big Questions about life and meaning but not overly concerned with plots and people. DeLillo is a pure pleasure to read but the usual pleasures of slipping into a book are absent here. You are in thrall to DeLillo’s deserts, the real and the metaphoric ones. The journey will leave you uneasy, impressed and a little bit empty–rich in images and no closer to the truth than when you ghosted into the nameless gallery with Norman Bates on the first page.
Point Omega Don DeLillo | Scribner 2010