Guernica: It would seem like writing about September 11th would be incredibly daunting. You’ve written about similar events in other novels, like the toxic cloud that passes over the city in White Noise, but there’s generally a certain amount of irony and distance.Don DeLillo: It is daunting, extremely. And the fact that I decided to go directly into the middle of the event didn’t make it any easier. I didn’t want to write a novel in which the attacks occur over the character’s right shoulder and affect a few lives in a distant sort of way. I wanted to be in the towers and in the planes. I never thought of the attacks in terms of fiction at all, for at least three years. I was working on Cosmopolis on September 11th, and I just stopped dead for some time, and decided to work on the essay instead. Later, after I finished Cosmopolis, I had been thinking about another novel for some months when I began thinking about what would become Falling Man. What made it happen was a visual image: a man in a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase, walking through a storm of smoke and ash. I had nothing beyond that. And then a few days later, it occurred to me that the briefcase was not his. And that seemed to start a chain of thought that led to the actual setting of words on paper.[...]Guernica: One of the characters in Falling Man, Hammad, is one of the 9/11 hijackers. Did you ever consider writing the entire book from his perspective? You’ve written so much about terrorism in the past.Don DeLillo: I did not want to write a novel that had a great deal of political sweep. With the terrorist, I wanted to trace the evolution of one individual’s passage from an uninvolved life to one that becomes deeply committed to a grave act of terror. And that’s what I did. Not that I planned this beforehand. I mean, what I do, almost always, is I just start writing and through a character arrive at a sense of an overarching scheme, perhaps, under which he moves. With Hammad, I wanted to try to imagine how a man might begin as a secular individual and then discover religion, always through the power of deep companionship with other men. This is the force that drives him. Ultimately it’s not religion, it’s not politics and it’s not history. It’s a kind of blood bond with other men. And the intensity of a plot, which narrows the worlds enormously and makes it possible for men to operate without a sense of the innocent victims they plan to destroy. [...]Guernica: In a number of your past books, your characters have also expressed ambivalent feelings about the idea of terrorism. In the opening of Players, you describe the “glamour of revolutionary violence, the secret longing it evokes in the most docile soul...” And in Mao II one of the characters says of terrorists, “It’s difficult when they kill and maim because you see them honestly now as the only possible heroes for our time... the way they live in the shadows, live willingly with death.” Did what happened on September 11th change your own thoughts about terrorism?Don DeLillo: No. I tend to write through character consciousness, and different people in my books have different feelings about this matter. One of the characters in Falling Man, Martin, makes a greater attempt to understand the complaints against the narcissistic heart of the West. The character he argues with, Nina, does not disagree with this in theory, but when the attacks occur, something else occurs, which is a terrible outrage.Guernica: Did you struggle with similar responses yourself, after the attacks?Don DeLillo: No, I didn’t struggle. I knew I was totally opposed to what happened and to the reason for it.[...]Guernica: Going back to Falling Man, I was thinking about how Bin Laden’s name is misheard as “Bill Lawton” by the kids, which makes him sound very mundane, and also how certain characters keep seeing the World Trade Center towers in a still life of bottles and other kitchen objects. Was this a conscious decision, taking an event that was so overwhelming to so many people and yoking it to the more mundane?Don DeLillo: Absolutely. I was thinking about the impact of history on the smallest details of ordinary life, and I wanted to see if I could trace an individual’s interior life, day-by-day and thought-by-thought. It occurs to me that this could be the novelist’s initiative, even more than the story—to find the smallest intimate moments that people experience and share in conversation. I had none of this in mind. I just wanted to get the characters clear and, over time, create a balance, rhythm, repetition. This is what became satisfying to me. I was writing out of sequence and then began to fit the parts together and, as I say, look for these balances and the way in which the past yields the presence and vice versa. Sometimes this is what I think novelists do that makes them similar to painters. Abstract painters in particular. Looking for things in one part of a canvas that echo things in another part of a canvas.Mark Binelli, «Intensity of a Plot : an interview with Don DeLillo ». Guernica, July 2007, http://www.guernicamag.com/interviews/373/intensity_of_a_plot/ [consulté le 5 décembre 2007.]