The Body Artist by Don DeLillo
Some books needed time and maturity to have affinity. The first reading found myself wanting in wisdom to understand the deeper brushes of pain and helplessness. Hence, I thought it was a rather odd book. It is about a woman drowning, perhaps, in her own melancholy or in her own art moving eerily around her house. Of old ghosts and broken sense of reality. In short, the book is almost one big metaphor. Reading The Body Artist felt like being inside a white room slowly closing in and you never know the passage of time or days. All you are left with is your own mind which sometimes torments or becomes a dreamy haze in which you never find yourself. DeLillo knows his language and brilliantly plays with words that renders the reader grasping thin vapors instead of solid form. He plays with the spaces and shadows in our heads, the silences between one memory to another in the mundane poetry of day to day. I could ignore the vagueness of the plot and just thoroughly enjoy re...