My relationship with DeLillo is as follows: I start a book of his and convince myself that it's going to be his best work based on the beauty of the prose alone. Then, as I continue reading and the plot devolves into existential mush, I become less impressed, breathtaking sentences notwithstanding.

This process isn't necessarily a bad thing, as I've still loved plenty of his novels in the mush-phase, but sometimes, like in Americana, the result is a book that feels at once deeply unsatisfying and yet very satisfied with itself. It's DeLillo's first novel so I expected some rough patches, but considering it's about twice as long as I prefer his books to be, those patches were a slog to get through.

The central premise is easy to get behind: a filmmaker up and ditches the world of office politics to take a road trip out West and shoot his latest documentary. Along the way his project evolves into something deeper, something that seeks to probe at the heart of America, as he interviews a number of fascinating characters that could only have been written by an author of postmodern genius. However, as soon as the narrative hits the road, so does the wow factor. Things get masturbatory pretty quickly as DeLillo essentially interviews himself for a few hundred pages, and by the time we eventually reach a (decent) conclusion, I personally had lost most of my investment in the whole damn thing.

Despite this, I still loved bits and pieces. This is a far more ambitious first novel than most authors would attempt, and although it's occasionally sloppy and uneven, it's still a nice addition to the catalogue. Not a great starting point for DeLillo newcomers, though.