Rating: 
Summary: The best book about a limo ride across town ever written.
Review:
But really, not a good book. I am a DeLillo fan. I thought Libra was excellent, and I thought Underworld was also incredible. Taut phrasing, good thrust of narrative, intelligent things to say through the story, especially with the former. I was looking forward to this book as an insight to my home, New York, as much as the previous two were insightful about American experience.
Instead, I received one of the more self-indulgent short books I've ever read. A wealthy "master-of-the-universe" type rides across town, has sex with 3 women whom he could care less about, questions himself, looks down on everyone he talks to, and makes worldly observations that he seems to find important yet are as overly dramatic and weighty as a college freshman's first lit paper.
One of the main problems, in my opinion, is that the book actually seems dated. Very 80's in it's view of powerful young men who seem convinced they know everything as representative of something important or trend in our society. Didn't we go through this already 15 years ago? Granted, the 90's had the dot-coms, but this guy seems to be a particularly irritating rehash of both decades.
Lastly, DeLillo's foray into rap lyrics makes me want to throw up.
BUT, all that being said, DeLillo STILL manages to write sentences and even entire pages that hold together in a way that other writers can only dream about. Insightful and important. But it so infrequent here and so overpowered by phrases such as "His prostate was asymmetrical" that the good is just obliterated by pretension.
Thankfully, it was short. It might be worth reading just for that reason.
Timothy J. Beck
Rating: 
Summary: Curiously flat
Review: I really should like this book. Kind of a contemporary Oddysey thing, with pre-9-11 NYC as its setting and the overall collapse of the 90s as the general theme. Interesting ideas there, and in the hands of DeLillo, it should've ben an interesting novel.
Sadly, this was not the case. And I can't put my finger on why. Or, I can, but the flaws I see here are, to my mind, things that are in other DeLillo works, strengths. Prime amongst these is the flat, uncompelling characters. Halfway through the book I realized that I simply did not care what happened to anyone. The characters are empty, barely differentiated, incredibly uncompelling. Which shouldn't be that much of a surprise - I've always found DeLillo's characterization to be a bit lacking. But usually, flat empty characters seem perfect for the text he's spinning (White Noise being merely the most obvious example of this). Here, however, they left me cold and uncaring.
And the overall theme, the end of the dotcom era, collapse of the 90s, etc., etc., etc. - yes it's an interesting theme. But, by this point, it's been done to death and DeLillo doesn't really add anything new. There are a couple of throwaway notions (Eric's belief that certain words and concepts are outmoded for one) that were compelling, but nothing's ever done with them.
What's good here? The dialogue for one. While it's basically DeLillo talking to himself, it is spritely and possessed of a lively rhythm (though I can't say the same for DeLillo's unfortunate attempts at approximating the rhymes of a Sufi MC). No one out there has quite DeLillo's touch with dialogue, and it's a pleasure to read.
And there are some isolated scenes that are quite good - the ending (though it's given away in the first 50 pages) for one; the barbershop scene for another.
All in all, this is something of a let down. DeLillo's capable of more and, with any luck, his next work will prove to be something a bit better than this.
Rating:
Summary: could have been so much better
Review: After a year passed since I read The Body Artist, I started anticipating what Don DeLillo would write next. While I found The Body Artist to be somewhat of a disappointment, this is still the writer who thrilled me with White Noise and The Names. This is the man who wrote the incredibly beautiful prologue to Underworld. DeLillo can flat out Write. The basic plot of Cosmopolis follows Eric Packer, a 28 year old billionaire, as he crosses New York City (pre 9/11) in his limo to get a haircut. Such a simple trip takes all day since the President is in town and there is marches, riots and a funeral. At the same time, Packer is told that someone is out to kill him. Confused? Don't worry, DeLillo uses plot as a device to enable him to riff on aspects of society and while the characters do not sound like real people, it is the characters the provide the interest and pacing of the narrative. In Cosmopolis, DeLillo takes on high finance and the lives of the ultra-rich. DeLillo's view is very comic and deeply scathing as he reveals how shallow these lives really are. As talented as Don DeLillo is as a writer, this was not a very engaging novel. While plot and character are merely devices for DeLillo (instead of being the point), in a better novel this is not a problem and would barely be noticeable. The fact is that all of the characters sound the same and given a different name would be identical to the other characters. There is very little distinction between characters. This is not unusual for DeLillo, but again, in a better novel I wouldn't be thinking about that. Cosmopolis is a step back in the right direction for DeLillo (after the awful novel The Body Artist), but would still only fall in the middle of his body of work. This is a middle tier novel from a top tier talent.
Rating: 
Summary: A worthwhile read
Review: Cosmopolis is the 13th novel by Don DeLillo. It tells the story of a day in the life of a billionaire asset manager - a day spent mostly in his white stretch limousine, and a day when the currency market crashes (due mostly to his interference) and bankrupts him.
It's also a day anarchists take over Times Square, a day he makes love to his wife for the first time, and the day he sees what he believes is his own demise in his pocket watch.
Were Cosmopolis any longer, I think it would be a failure as a novel. As it is, the unevenness become unbearable toward the last 10 pages or so.
Aside from that, this is a provocative novel with a great array of images, ideas, and characters. Clocking in at 208 pages, it's a perfect length for its subject matter. I loved the passages with his Chief of Theory - she was certainly the most interestingly drawn character.
Rating:
Summary: Phony. Pretentious. Inane. Blase. Uninspired.
Review: Delillo seems to think his "observations" are novel and deep. In truth, Delillo's "observations" in this little novella are phony, pretentious, inane, immature, misguided, blase, uninspired, and downright imbecilic at times.
I'd offer some quotations to back this up but this book already found it's rightful place (before it could be finished): the trash can of a train station.
Rating:
Summary: Delillo Delivers
Review: Dellilo's New York limo ride flows well enough through the first half of the book. The premise allows itself to open an array of bizzare situations: a billionaire twenty-something want to ride in his suped-up stretch limo to get a haircut. On the way he has encounters with lovers, ex-lovers, and advisors in matters of technology, finance, security, and theory. Dellilo's prose is highly restrained with limited, but rich descriptions of neighborhoods that unfold through the eyes of billionaire Eric. There are some truly original hilarious subversive instances where Eric displays his detatchment from society such as when he makes sexual advances to a female executive while getting a prostate exam in his back seat (No pun intended). As allegory, it holds up; the plot itself fails to hold up at times though because of the limited style he chooses with certain situations. The female characters blend into non-memorable hybrids of slut-artist-vixen-heiress-mystic. In a style very reminiscent of Chuck Palahnuik ('Fight Club') Eric's journey unfolds as his own deathmarch which Eric is all too willing to accept. The social critique is clear enough: the market culture is tainting our humanity and the democracy as corporate-kleptocracy will test what is left of it. Delillo delivers in 'Cosmopolis'. I only wish that his characterization was as substantial as every thing else in his novel.
Rating:
Summary: Heavy Stuff
Review: I enjoyed Libra-- or remember enjoying it. I enjoyed the idea behind The Players and some of his other devices-- the Hitler porno tape in one of his other novels. Though I haven't been lured into Underworld (nor will I after reading Cosmopolis), I had always respected what De Lillo was trying to do. The vague here-thereness, the disturbing clipped descriptions, the flat menace made all the more menacing for its ordinariness...great stuff! Until I began flipping through Cosmopolis. Sigh. When you dispense with a meaningful plot or characterization and settle solely for atmosphere and dialogue, you've created at best the literary equivalent of white noise--his own creation. De Lillo has become one of those Important Authors that no longer has to entertain or enlighten or anything. He's reached the logical end of his journey as a Post-Modernist author and as such created a work that is...what? An ennervated American Pyscho? A Bonfire of the Vanities for those afflicted with ADD? Skip this bigtime.
Rating:
Summary: White Noise As Literature
Review: I enjoyed Libra-- or remember enjoying it. I enjoyed the idea behind The Players and some of his other devices-- the Hitler porno tape in one of his other novels. Though I haven't been lured into Underworld (nor will I after reading Cosmopolis), I had always respected what De Lillo was trying to do. The vague here-thereness, the disturbing clipped descriptions, the flat menace made all the more menacing for its ordinariness...great stuff! Until I began flipping through Cosmopolis. Sigh. When you dispense with a meaningful plot or characterization and settle solely for atmosphere and dialogue, you've created at best the literary equivalent of white noise--his own creation. De Lillo has become one of those Important Authors that no longer has to entertain or enlighten or anything. He's reached the logical end of his journey as a Post-Modernist author and as such created a work that is...what? An ennervated American Pyscho? A Bonfire of the Vanities for those afflicted with ADD? Skip this bigtime.
Rating:
Summary: A bad DeLillo is still better than a good Anybody
Review: I guess I was lucky in that I began with Mao II and White Noise and went from there. So I know what DeLillo is capable of. I was giddy to read this new one. But, like other reviewers, I was reminded of Brett Easton Ellis, even from the title (which reminded me of "Glamorama"). And that made me nervous right away. The worst part about this novel is that it's completely contrived. We never get the feeling these characters are truly alive, only that DeLillo is trying to tell us something via their interaction. The coincidental meetings with the wife (you'll see) are a perfect example. But there are others. If we're just going to ride around in a limo, slowly, without any solid plot to hang our hat on, then anyone who happens to stop in for a chat will appear to have been shoved into that limo by the author. But for the good news: it's DeLillo. A fix for the addict. His dialogue is sharp, funny and truncated, as always. Some of the passages are pure poetry (the section about the kids dancing at a rave in a burnt-out building is sublime). We know about DeLillo's apocalyptic obsessions, which were firmly in place long before 9/11, and this is more of the same. Or is it? He never mentions terrorism, but he's got a two-bit gang of thugs flinging rats around the city in demonstrations against capitalism. And there are threats on the protagonist's life. And it takes place in New York City. NYC is the cosmopolis of the title, the "city of the world," a stage that shows a microcosm of the terror in store for all mankind. So this is good old prescient DeLillo, warbling, and the sound of it will stand up to anything being written today. Don't get this if you've never read any Don DeLillo--you'll probably be turned off. Mao II and White Noise are both great starting points, but even some of the earlier stuff that DD has since scorned (Americana, End Zone, Great Jones Street) would be a better beginning.
Rating:
Summary: Great Prose but Pretty Dry
Review: I should profess that I have never read a novel by Don DeLillo before diving into "Cosmopolis." Sure, I have heard of "White Noise," "Underworld," and "Libra" before, but decided to start with this new, short novel about a billionaire stock tycoon and his trip through the wilds of New York City. DeLillo seems to possess many fans in the literary world, rabid readers who devour everything this guy decides to pass off on the public. I usually see him associated with people like Pynchon or Gaddis, post-modern writers who create sprawling works of endless complexity and dubious quality. Since my experiences with the post-modern genre are slight at best, all I have to go on is my experiences with this book. The plot seems simple enough. Eric Packer, a twenty eight year old Wall Street whiz, decides he wants to get a haircut. Moreover, he sets out on his excursion in a giant, cork lined white limousine with his bodyguards, advisors, doctors, and drivers in tow. Along the way, Packer undergoes a physical examination of a most personal nature, runs into his new wife at various places, witnesses an anarchist protest, gets attacked with a cream pie, becomes emotional about a rapper's funeral, and discovers someone is stalking him with a view to causing serious injury. There is little that ties these events and encounters together, as even the quest for a haircut often drops into the background when Packer bogs down in New York City traffic. Surrounded by computers and an endless flow of information, the billionaire spends most of his time waxing philosophic about the state of the world, the state of his mind, and the state of his attempt to make a killing off the Japanese yen. Ultimately, that is all this novel seems to do: throw out endless noodlings about the emptiness of life in the high tech, over stimulated information age. DeLillo's writing style is the best thing going for "Cosmopolis." Infused with deep cynicism and a measurable detachment, it still crackles with crisp, short sentences that convey much with little ado. The problem comes when the language puts too much out there, when the reader starts to bog down under the endless litany of Packer's mental ramblings. Although this book is extremely short and can be finished in a day, it still seems too long at times. If there is any point to this tale, or at least where the point seems to assume clarity, it is when Packer and his "advisor on theory" discuss the meaning of the ticker boards with their endless scroll of information and the implications of self-immolating oneself to protest capitalism. Eric's accumulation of information threatens to overwhelm his existence because all he possesses is random bits of information. He cannot seem to tie it all together into any relevant meaning other than making money. There seems to be a germ of hope for him towards the end of the story, but most of the book is merely cerebral gymnastics. The message of "Cosmopolis," about a man who has everything but wilts under his own inflated ego and goes off on a rampage, is definitely familiar. Bret Easton Ellis did something similar in "American Psycho," and he did it better. Eric Packer and Patrick Bateman are blood brothers, albeit relatives separated by about twenty years. When will these Wall Street archetypes' meltdowns have finality to them? Probably when the capitalist system finally collapses. In the meantime, we have people like Ellis and DeLillo dutifully reporting the carnage of undreamt of riches on the souls of humanity. Many people out there are quite knowledgeable about DeLillo's body of work and the philosophy that powers them. I can draw no firm conclusions about this author from reading just one of his books. But I strongly suggest thinking twice before plunging into "Cosmopolis." It takes too much effort for too little return.
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