Review of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Jonathan Safran Foer has received a lot of criticism for his novel Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Some people are awed by the daring experimentation presented in the novel, while others are horrified by the unconventional, everything-is-allowed structure of Foer’s book. Either way, Foer’s graphic novel generates some sort of response.

The pictures, pages of numbers, pages with only a sentence on them, red editing marks, and completely blank pages certainly contribute to the plot of the story (they are not random), but could also serve as a shock factor. Part of Foer’s intention, it seems, is to shock his audience, or at least, to create a strong response.

One of these strong responses is the last pages of the book: the pictures of a man falling up—an ascent—is quite moving. The very last line, “We would have been safe,” was touching, but it was the ascent that really pounded the message home. Also, on a further note, the last line—the concept of being safe—speaks for the whole novel: all the characters deal with their grief in separate ways, yearning for a safe place. The grandmother was reconnected with her husband, the grandfather buried the letters in his son’s grave (making peace with himself and finding closure), and Oskar and his mother were finally able to communicate together and get their feelings across. One marking point is when Oskar finally cries in front of his mother. Something ironic also happens here as well: Oskar, while hiding his father’s last voice messages from his mother, finds out that his mother was doing the same thing that he was. She had gotten voice messages from her husband and did not tell Oskar. Oskar and his mother finally became honest with each other and found a “safe place,” a shared grief.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close also serves as an examination of the process of grief. All the characters—although in the same family—deal with their grief in drastically different ways. Oskar’s mother finds comfort in the companionship of Ron, a man who lost his wife and daughter in a car accident. Ron explains to Oskar, “Your mom and I met in a group for people that have lost family. That’s where we became friends.” Ron has common ground with Oskar’s mother—who is nameless—but he also shares ground with Oskar as well. Oskar says, “What’s weird…is that I never see you cry.” Ron assures Oskar that he cries “all the time.” Oskar doesn’t think anything of this as far as he’s letting the reader know, but the connection between the two of them is strong. Ron cries “all the time” in private and Oskar bruises himself quite regularly in private.

Oskar’s grandfather, upon discovering the death of his son, returns home. He finds some kind of mutual reconciliation with his wife whom he abandoned forty years before. He also buries years and years worth of letters to his son in his son’s grave. While digging up his father’s grave, Oskar asks his grandfather, “So what’s all that paper?” His grandfather answers, “Things I wasn’t able to tell him. Letters.” The grandfather went almost a lifetime without speech (he lost his speech after losing the woman he loved in the Dresden fire bombings). With only words scribbled onto the pages of a daybook, the grandfather, has difficulty communicating with people, often leading to misunderstandings and things left unsaid. For example, when he left his pregnant wife and she begged him not to go, he justified himself by writing, “I do not know how to live.” This one lines sets into motion a series of heartaches and misunderstandings. When he buries the letters, he is finally able to tell his son the things he never could say while his son was alive.

Oskar, since he is the narrator, is given the most space and development on the page. Oskar constantly thinks about his father, wanders New York City in search of a lock that he hopes will have some final clue about his father’s death, digs up his father’s grave, bruises himself, sees a psychiatrist, dresses in white, and makes a scrapbook titled Things That Happened to Me. Because of the loss of his father in a horrific act of terrorism, the grief created from this causes Oskar to internalize strong feelings of anger and fear. And seeing Dr. Fein, his psychiatrist, doesn’t seem to be doing much good, since Dr. Fein just wants to hospitalize Oskar. Oskar admits to being afraid of a whole array of things: Arabs, coffee, theme park rides, elevators, buses, and pretty much everything that could threaten or shorten his life. His internalized anger is what is striking, though. On the outside, he appears to be a smart, witty, calm, and very well-behaved child. But his inner thoughts and fantasies are violent. For instance, while acting in Hamlet, Oskar gets teased by a fellow classmate. Oskar imagines, “I pull the skull off my head. Even though it’s made of papier-mâché it’s really hard. I smash it against JIMMY SYNDER’S head, and I smash it again. He falls to the ground, because he is unconscious, and I can’t believe how strong I actually am” (Foer’s italics and capitalization). Oskar’s grief morphs into brutal anger which he internalizes, causing it build up, until at the very end of the novel, he lets go and cries.

Foer’s unconventional, experimental novel Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close may not be suitable for everyone (as it is a graphic novel with the haunting backdrop of September 11, 2001), but it explores the different expressions of grief and how people heal from such grief. Its basic themes of loss and grief, sorrow and confusion, is something everyone can relate to.