The tale can take place in 2022. In the opening web pages, Jim and his wife, Tessa, are flying dwelling to New York from a holiday vacation in Paris. Several hours of sitting down have made them both tiresome. “In the air,” DeLillo writes, “much of what the few claimed to every single other appeared to be a perform of some automated approach, remarks created by the nature of airline travel alone.” Jim rambles his spouse humors him. They are “filling time. Remaining boring” — re-developed below with distressing verisimilitude.

Quickly, the travellers listen to “a enormous knocking someplace below them.” Turbulence shakes the plane really hard. Panicked voices blare above the intercom. As the chapter finishes, Tessa asks, “Are we concerned?”

The novel picks up in a New York apartment where Diane and Max, a extended married few, are waiting for their friends to arrive from Paris for a Super Bowl occasion. So considerably, the only guest is Martin, a single of Diane’s former physics students. For the previous yr, Martin has been “lost in his compulsive study of Einstein’s 1912 Manuscript on the Special Theory of Relativity,” which tends to make him just as a lot enjoyable to be about as you could possibly be expecting.

No quicker does the football match begin than the Tv display screen goes blank. The telephones are silent. The laptop or computer is dead. Martin indicates that the Chinese governing administration may perhaps have introduced “a selective world-wide-web apocalypse.” Diane helps make a joke about aliens and imagines “all the folks looking at intently or sitting as we are, puzzled, abandoned by science, technology, prevalent sense.”

This opening sounds all the normal alarms of throughout the world diaster: planes slipping from the sky, cities plunged into darkness. The fires will absolutely start quickly, and marauding masses will lay squander to modern society in an orgy of greed and murder.

We will not get this sort of messy calamity here. DeLillo is up to some thing else, something about our unnerving dependence on technological know-how. “What occurs,” the narrator asks, “to people today who are living inside of their phones?”

Seemingly, they grow to be raving loons. It turns out that the length among “Can you listen to me now?” and “What’s still left to are living for?” is about seven minutes. Deprived of tv and World-wide-web accessibility in this swiftly cooling condominium, Diane and her previous university student devolve into a weird sequence of non sequiturs about Jesus and Einstein. Diane thinks Martin “sounds either amazing or unbalanced.” But that is not a hard alternative. Martin commences rambling off a record of text: thaumatology, ontology, eschatology, epistemology, phenomenology, teleology, etiology, ontogeny. “He could not quit himself,” the narrator notes. Then he drops his pants, and Diane asks him to say a thing in German.

I began to would like I were being on Jim and Tessa’s aircraft.

Undisturbed just a several feet absent, Max stares at the blank Television set display screen, narrating the activity and the commercials that no just one is observing. This is a Tremendous Bowl bash as reimagined by Ionesco.

Given the novel’s dramatic posing, it’s not astonishing that Simon & Schuster is releasing the audiobook with a entire forged that involves Laurie Anderson, Jeremy Bobb, Marin Eire, Robin Miles, Jay O. Sanders and Michael Stuhlbarg. Surely, if theaters ever reopen, “The Silence” will be staged by some exceedingly earnest director and accompanied by new music by Philip Glass.

Meanwhile, Jim and Tessa have miraculously survived and been taken to a healthcare facility, where they have sex in the restroom, which is not conventional therapy for injuries sustained in the course of a aircraft crash. But obviously, this is no normal night time. The trauma nurse asks Jim, “Is anything in the datasphere subject matter to distortion and theft?” (I’m virtually specific my health and fitness insurance policies does not cover that.) If she’s not substantially of a nurse, at minimum she hits on the central theme of “The Silence”: “The far more superior, the a lot more susceptible,” she claims. “Our units of surveillance, our facial recognition devices, our imagery resolution. How do we know who we are?”

Our hazardous reliance on technology is a very well-trod problem — trod brilliantly, in truth, by DeLillo’s individual previously novels. In these latter days, it is not doable to articulate anything profound about society’s fragility by hanging a series of eccentric affectations. Soon after “The Highway,” “Oryx and Crake,” “Station Eleven” and other unnerving dystopias, “The Silence” feels like Apocalypse Lite for people today who never want to get their hands dirty.

DeLillo refers to “the human slivers of a civilization,” but the plot of this novel is so attenuated that it conveys small of that precarious problem. As the hours tick by, these characters swing erratically from domestic banality to absurdist spectacle. Under no circumstances have 5 people today reacted with these kinds of existential dread to lacking the Super Bowl. If they’d operate out of guacamole, they could possibly have jumped out the window.

The Silence