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<text id=91TT1274>
<title>
June 10, 1991: Men Who Work Underground
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991
June 10, 1991 Evil
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
BOOKS, Page 68
Men Who Work Underground
</hdr><body>
<p>By PAUL GRAY
</p>
<qt>
<l>MAO II</l>
<l>By Don DeLillo</l>
<l>Viking; 241 pages; $19.95</l>
</qt>
<p> What do authors and terrorists have in common? That is one
of the many questions raised in this novel, Don DeLillo's 10th,
and it seems a snap to answer without even reading the book.
Authors and terrorists have nothing--zip, zero--in common.
One class creates, the other destroys; one competes in the
marketplace for attention, the other commands it at gunpoint.
Case closed. Those who are satisfied with such commonsense
certainties, though, should probably halt their prog ress
through Mao II, which bristles with unsettled and unsettling
impressions: "Years ago I used to think it was possible for a
novelist to alter the inner life of the culture. Now bomb-makers
and gunmen have taken that territory. They make raids on human
consciousness."
</p>
<p> The speaker is not DeLillo but his main character, Bill
Gray, 63, a famously reclusive writer a la Salinger, Pynchon or
B. Traven who lives in a rural hideaway somewhere within a
200-mile radius of New York City. Bill's household also includes
Scott, his devoted fan, secretary, factotum and nanny; and
Karen, a refugee from the Rev. Sun Myung Moon's Unification
Church who once took part in an arranged group marriage of 6,500
couples.
</p>
<p> Karen's former immersion in mass behavior, which left her
"immunized against the language of self," gives her a
preternatural sensitivity to mob scenes that flicker on TV.
Watching pictures of the frenzied mourners at the funeral of the
Ayatullah Khomeini, she is both appalled and enraptured and
wonders how people, after seeing such a spectacle, can go on
living in the same old ways: "Why is nothing changed, where are
the local crowds, why do we still have names and addresses and
car keys?" Bill, who has made a fetish of his own individuality
and remoteness from others, looks at Karen and says, "You come
from the future."
</p>
<p> Which is the place, it turns out, that Bill would like to
explore. His long-awaited third novel remains only that; Scott
terms the book a "master collapse" and does not want it
published at all, on the theory that "Bill gets bigger as his
distance from the scene deepens." Suddenly, Bill does something
wildly out of character. He allows himself to be photographed
by Brita, a Swedish woman whose obsession is flying about the
globe and taking pictures of every writer she can find. Why, she
asks him, while the shooting session is in prog ress, surrender
his privacy now? "To break down the monolith I've built," he
says. "I'm afraid to go anywhere, even the seedy diner in the
nearest little crossroads town. I'm convinced the serious
trackers are moving in with their mobile phones and zoom
lenses."
</p>
<p> Despite this careful, elaborate buildup, Mao II is not
really about the paranoia of a writer who has lost touch with
his talent. DeLillo uses Bill Gray as one extreme in a taut,
fully dramatized dialectic about the future. Opposed to Bill are
the forces epitomized in the novel by the image of Mao Zedong,
all those who argue that the world has grown too crowded for the
individual and that the only salvation lies in the dissolution
of personalities into the single-headed throng. Even Scott, who
genuinely admires Bill and his work, sees the attraction of a
new world order based on the crowd. "Bill doesn't understand how
people need to blend in, lose themselves in something larger,"
he says. "Think of the future and see how depressed you get. All
the news is bad. We can't survive by needing more, wanting
more, standing out, grabbing all we can."
</p>
<p> This debate cannot be resolved, and in any case the shape
the future will assume remains unknowable. But DeLillo
convincingly shows how abstract ideas take on physical
dimensions, impinging on the behavior of his characters and, in
some instances, on their fates as well. Bill's decision to be
photographed, to touch base with the outside world, leads to an
unexpected complication, precisely the sort of thing he
previously feared and avoided. A former editor and friend
implores him to appear at a press conference calling attention
to the plight of a Swiss poet who has been taken hostage by a
terrorist group in Beirut. The appeal is persuasive. Bill's
presence, after so many years in hiding, will cause an
international sensation and perhaps bring useful pressure to
bear on other men who work underground.
</p>
<p> Bill's willingness to go along with this plan, indeed to
push it still further, would seem implausible were all the
steps leading up to his decision not so meticulously portrayed.
DeLillo's gifts--terse, electric dialogue, descriptive
passages of insidious beauty--have never been more apparent
or put to better use. As it races toward several shattering
conclusions, Mao II triumphs as a thriller of ideas.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>