Book Reviews
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White Noise – Don DeLillo

White Noise by Don DeLillo


I remember distinctly when I bought this one at a second-hand book store. The black and white cover was gleaming from where it was laid, right in front of the store’s doors. It did not yell at me; it telepathy communicated its wish to be bought. It was like a magnetic force, or something more superior than that.

I read this while on the audition queue of Survivor: Philippines. That has to be the longest queue that I survived in my life. Ever. I didn’t feel displaced though because someone, a guy of my age just a few heads behind me, was reading Jane Austen.

I passed the initial interview, where I ranted about my take on the law of universal balance. Then I failed the second part, the VTR part. I think this book might have had a significant effect on my audition had I been able to reach a particular chapter before our batch, which included the Jane Austen reader, who had a lovely British accent, was called on stage.

The Rhapsody

But really, I am not even sure what this book is telling the reader. Yes, the language is captivating, there is a plot, the overarching themes are laid bare, but I am still stumped. I don’t even know what white noise is. I think it has something to do with radio frequencies, which is too scientific for me given the state of my waning wits.

So there’s this professor of German studies, rather Hitler studies, who is so obsessively afraid of death. He shares this fear with his wife. I also shared the same fear. Shared because I am no longer as afraid of death as I was before. I used to be so afraid of death mostly because I haven’t achieved much yet in this life. Not that I have achieved a lot of things as of this moment; I just realized that it’s not that great being an achiever. But I would still tremble at the face of death with a sigh of resignation, mentally scanning the things that I have not done or experienced, like my trip to Venice, my half-polished Concerto in A Minor by Vivaldi, my plotless novel.

So let’s go back to this novel before I go on talking about the outline of mine. I am not going to focus on the plot, which involves a chemical leak of sorts that prompts the families to leave their homes and evacuate in camp sites. I just want to talk about Dylar, that experimental drug taken by the professor’s wife to counter her fear of death.

I think it is as natural as breathing to fear death, but there’s a sense of perversity when you try to overcome it. I again invoke the law of universal balance: where there is life, there is death. So yes, no Dylar can rid anyone of this fear, which rings true in the case of the professor’s wife. She thinks Dylar is working. She religiously consumes it according to the manufacturer’s prescription. She becomes a little nuts.

She is mostly afraid of death because she doesn’t know what will happen to her kids. Who’s going to cook breakfast, who’s going to check over their homework, who’s going to take charge, et cetera, et cetera. She is too concerned for the future, which I think we all somehow share, which is a problematic part of ourselves.

It’s like we are bound to feel terrible after we exhale our last breath. There might be some physical pain. I can’t tell because I haven’t been in a near-death situation, but after that, what’s next? The future does not owe us anything. We don’t even know what’s going to take place. An inkling perhaps, but really, it’s just plain wild guesses. Why worry about things that we cannot control? Do we really have to scramble over the things that we feel like we need to do just because death might be here anytime? Why not just take it one day at a time?

I think we all note these things to do before dying because there is no assurance that there is a second chance. A second chance to make things rights, to achieve, to accomplish, to take care of something, to experience what we have not. After all, there might be an after life or a second or third or fourth life, but even if it is true, we still don’t consciously remember the still hypothetical previous lives.

Maybe what I am trying to really point is that it’s pretty normal to be afraid of death. It’s a human thing. So stop taking that Dylar, missus. And yes, she did.

4 star - really liked itFinal Notes

I tried linking this book to my Survivor: Philippines audition because of the interviewer’s question: why should we cast you in the series? I answered the question with some references to the monumental novel of William Golding, but thinking about it now, I don’t think I, or anyone among those people auditioning, could give an answer that would really satisfy the interviewer.

There’s a chapter in White Noise that says something about brain chemistry, which dictates what a person wants and which changes every moment depending on a vast number of factors. At one second, you might be agreeing with all this yakking that I am leading you. A few more seconds, you might feel that all I am saying is trashy. This explains why our tastes change over time.

Well, my only reference to brain chemistry is DeLillo. I hope he did his research. Even if this is not based on scientific studies, it still sounds true. So you see, that interviewer’s brain chemistry at that exact moment of my VTR must have flipped the odds against my chance of being a castaway of Survivor: Philippines. Had I pointed this brain chemistry thing to him, which is a smart-ass way to evade his question, I might have pinned him down and instantly got my ticket to reality TV.

But I really couldn’t tell. It’s his brain chemistry.



  1. Kristel says

    Don De Lillo is one of those writers whom I know is very important but every time I read a summary of one of his novels something stops me from buying. I guess I’m daunted by his scope?

    You should’ve befriended the dude with the Austen book. Missed connection!


    • Never mind his scope. His narrative is fluid.

      Regarding the guy with the Austen book, his British accent intimidated me. He looks very Filipino though. We were eyeing each other all the time we were on the queue, and we even got ourselves in a little circle with mindless conversations. Oh well. I guess I liked my preconceived notions of him too much that I preferred not to shatter them by merely getting ourselves introduced.


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