I received this great, heavy book from someone who mistook me for jaded or goofy enough to enjoy it, apparently. Something is amiss with language if DeLillo's work is critiqued as genius. My guess is that 'genius' is French for 'Annoying, Yet Still Boring'. I read thru this pile as a perverse exercise, perhaps atoning for sins in my past lives. It was with great pleasure that, as voluminous as it was, I transformed it into a jolly good door stop. The novelty wore off, alas, and I dropped it in my library's return bin as if it belonged there. For this, I apologize.