I spent a couple days listening to Don DeLillo's Falling Man, alternating between being impressed and unimpressed. Having never read DeLillo before, I wasn't sure what to expect, or how Falling Man would stack up against Underworld or White Noise.

You could do much worse than Falling Man, but throughout the entire book, I felt distinctly let down. It's well-written, and there were scenes that made me perk up and listen more closely, but the overall impression is one of an author operating on auto-pilot. DeLillo, despite his introspection, doesn't take any risks, or even seem to be making much effort to say anything about September 11, 2001 and its aftermath. DeLillo, to his credit, doesn't offer an exasperating blow-by-blow rendition of the last seven years, but the book doesn't feel necessary or urgent, either. It's timely, but that's the problem: is there anything left to say about September 11?

Maybe it's just me. I don't find September 11 to be any more compelling or tragic than the Oklahoma City bombing, or the World Trade Center bombing. Maybe Falling Man is a doomed prospect to begin with. I don't fault DeLillo for playing it safe. Media, pundits, and politicians have sucked September 11 of all emotional relevance, instead turning it into a mantra by which America, having been brought to its knees, can enforce its will both within and without. There are flashes of cynicism in the book--as exemplified by Martin and, to an extent, Lianne--but it doesn't wallow in jaded political-religious distrust. Yes, it's a given that politicians will politicize September 11--after all, they have poll numbers to consider--but Falling Man left me with a nagging question: at what point does mourning become cynicism and self-pity?