Well this is a short read. And it isn't. Known for fluid prose and their often elusive meaning, DeLillo's works are not ones that can be easily grasped in their entirety by the unsuspecting reader. This may tempt one to pay special attention while reading this book, but don't worry, you won't get it in one go.

Point Omega is, amongst other things, a story about a 73-year old war intellectual and a young filmmaker who ponder about the limits of human consciousness and the vastness of its perception in a setting that also acts as a near perfect-metaphor for the same, a desert land South of nowhere. In a lonely cabin situated off the main road, with nothing but empty desert and local shrubs, the two characters sit down every evening to discuss the lived reality of human experience, defining life and one's sense of being not in the countless conscious streams of thoughts and activity, but in the unconscious reveries one finds themselves in at any given point on any given day - staring into blank space with abandon, with a brutal realisation of self that by paradox, is unconscious thought in its very nature. The same vein of paradox is carried in the very conscious scotch-fuelled evening discussions, and something time and again experienced and pondered over in great detail by the protagonist, as he finds himself wondering about the depth of human reflection while staring at receding silhouettes of distant hills in the desert twilight.

The very term 'omega point' is mentioned sparingly during the entire novel. Twice, maybe thrice at most, described as the innermost point towards which human conscious thought can go during self-reflection. At least that was my understanding of it. Considering this was my first DeLillo, and my first of the genre - my understanding and sense of sophistication on the topic thus being grossly limited - my translation could be way off the point.

Despite the sheer brilliance and fluidity of its prose (many demanding to be re-read countless times to pry their complete meaning), it is very easy to discredit this book as pompous and lacking substance in storytelling. If books were French films, then Point Omega would be a prime example of one, you have to read between the lines to grasp what's happening. And to appreciate it more, it'd help if one had a philosophical bent of mine. However, that's not saying that you can't still enjoy reading it if you lack both of the above (which I very much do). That's the beauty of its prose, and by extension, the brilliance of DeLillo as a writer. Despite the dream-like state of the first half of the book, there's also something very human about the characters, which leaves one with a sense of wonder. The same wonder one would experience in that brief moment when the French art film that had been elusive in its meaning up until now suddenly starts making sense. Only briefly though.

Throughout the book there are themes of time, the vastness of time, human consciousness, and to some extent, human imagination. For is it even possible to conceptualise such concepts without some degree of imagination, because isn't all thinking (conscious an unconscious) intertwined with imagination? There is a dream-like lull the book puts you into. There comes a point where you stop trying hard to understand and just read it in fluidity, the daily routines of characters and their discussions falling in easy rhythm as you turn page after page. Then, as soon as you get used to the lull, the rhythm, there is the 'incident', the introduction of mystery. You think, 'ah finally something is happening'. There was the before, and now there is the after. Unsurprisingly though, the book ends as abruptly as the mystery begins. Despite knowing that this is not the kind of book that tells you what happens, there is a reluctant cry of 'but what happened ?'. You're once again taken back to the brief commentary of time, of existing in time, being absorbed in time. As for the mystery itself, that's open-ended, and from what I've read, a classic DeLillo.