There was something really poignant in "White Noise"; something constantly expressed and yet glossed over at the same time. DeLillo's novel is a commentary on our waves and radiation in life: how we never have true silence, we are constantly bombard with technology, how we have faceless voices speaking to us through screens and cracks and telling us what to do. How our life has become a simulated version of itself that is unprepared for disaster.
Each character is a caricature. They are all overdone and melodramatic. The kids are super modern (for the '80s), the wife is obsessed with health and vitality and the father, our narrator, has an obsession with Hitler. Their dialogue is hilarious, but under all of it is this Lacanian philosophy that comes up every time someone asks, "Why is death?", "What is dark?", "What is light?", "What is...". It is the question of our reality. If our reality is made up of words and words are subjective, then does that mean our reality is subjective, too?
This book just resonated with me for some reason. Each point that DeLillo makes is hidden under the simplicity of his dialogue, the insanity of the character's actions and the hilarity that ensues, but there are so many points to be made in this book that I began to see everything as allegorical or philosophical. The grocery store is not just a store, the mushroom cloud is not just a cloud, Murray is not just a man... and I can back up every single crazy idea and prediction I had in this book with text because it is that kind of book where your interpretation just can't go wrong.
Read it. Even if you hate it, I think you'll understand it.