Cosmopolis is a title that makes you think of something big and sweeping. This book tells a story that is just that, while topping out at a tightly margined and large-typed two hundred & nine pages.

It’s begging to be made into a movie because of the picture-worthy and epic scenese, the snappy dialogue and the tragic-hero main character who is the jerk that you pull for anyway.

It screams American Literature classic with it’s focus on the rewards and trappings of capitalism and wealth, its setting in New York City, and the push-pull between the innocence/belief/hope of youth and the corrupted/doubt/cynicism of age and “success”. Toss in a healthy helping of the a twist on the phoenix story and you’ve got turn of the century masterpiece. And that is what DeLillo wrote.

And of course, Nothing screams classic of Western storytelling than something that helps itself to the metaphors and sweeping drama of Odysseus. DeLillo does and pulls it off with the flourish of myth, the magic of detail, and the touch for conversation that make a novel worth reading. Replace a warrior-captain with a rich stock/commodities trader, a ship with a white limo, the journey home with the journey across town, and the islands and adventures of Ulysses with mistresses, employees, memories and self-destructive glory (hubris turned on its head) and you’ve got Cosmopolis. 

But DeLillo’s gift is telling a story that stays exciting and fresh even as it gives generous nods to classic themes and mythological characters.

Early on the main character stops to have breakfast with his wife of two weeks, a woman he does not know and acquired like a stock. She is, of course, a “writer” from a rich family, the emotional yin to his oversized yang that he does not understand.

They have breakfast at a café:

“What are we going to talk about?” she said.

[him] “We want a heliport on the roof. I’ve acquired air rights but still need to get a zoning variance. Don’t you want to eat?”

It seemed, the food, to make her draw back Green tea and toast untouched before her.

[him] “And a shooting range next to the elevator bank. Let’s talk about us.”

[her]  “You and I. We’re here. So might as well.”

“When are we going to have sex again?”

“We will. I promise,” she said.

“We haven’t in a while now.”

“When I work, you see. The energy is precious.”

“When you write.”

“Yes.”

“Where do you do this? I look for you, Elise.”

…

“Tell me this. Where will you go now?” she said. “To a meeting somewhere? To your office? Where is your office? What do you do exactly?”

She peered at him over bridged hands, her smile in hiding.

“You know things. I think this is what you do,” she said. “I think you’re dedicated to knowing. I think you acquire information and turn it into something awful. You’re a dangerous person. Do you agree? A visionary.”

…

[his bodyguard] “Report from the complex. There’s a credible threat. Not to be dismissed. This means a ride crosstown.”

[him] “We’ve had numerous threats. All credible. I’m still standing here.”

“Not a threat to your safety. To his.”

“Who the f*** is his?”

“The president’s. This means a ride across town does not happen unless we make a day of it, with cookies and milk.”

And so the journey begins.

Read it.

Photo Credit: cdrummbks (via Flickr under CCL)