Walter Benjamin's work as a philosopher and theorist speaks at length about mechanical reproduction and its impact on society. Benjamin's work can therefore be applied to the society described in Don DeLillo's novel White Noise, illuminating it as a reproductive society illustrated by the interactions that the book's characters have with each other and with their environment. Society therefore ultimately exists under the principle of illusion, without distinguishing between reality and imitation. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why violent video games should not be banned”?Get the original essay German cultural critic Walter Benjamin discusses in his essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” of the effects of mechanical reproduction as it relates to the “aura” of art. This “aura” exists in the authenticity of art and its place in the realm of tradition. “The aura of an object attracts attention. Whether it is a work of art or a natural landscape, we are confronted with it in one place and one place only: [in its history]” (Nichols 628). Benjamin proposes that the aura of art exists in its quality of capitalist and elitist uniqueness, that part of what makes art, well, art is the fact that it belongs to the elite and the poor are deprived of it. Thus, art is no longer evaluated on the basis of innovation, authorship or general quality, but on the basis of history, ownership and lineage, which makes existence and the value of art ritualistic, formal and ultimately arbitrary. The aura, the authenticity of the work of art, by definition, cannot be reproduced and, therefore, the mechanical reproduction and mass distribution of art erases any aura that a work of art might have. to have. “Mechanical reproduction frees the work of art from its parasitic dependence on ritual” (Benjamin IV) on which it was forced to rely and allows mass consumption. Mechanical reproductions of works of art, such as images in books, advertisements and posters, level the "playing field", allowing art to be evaluated based on the art itself rather than political links or hierarchical sendings. For example, since the advent of mechanical reproduction and mass distribution, ordinary people can now enjoy the Mona Lisa as it hangs inside them. salon - his half-smile is no longer reserved for people who can afford to visit the Louvre. In Don DeLillo's novel White Noise, Jack Gladney much prefers a mechanical reproduction to an aura, favoring simulation and repetition over unique experiences. lives in a town named Blacksmith, which is a “name that extols old-fashioned values ​​and country goodness” and indicates that its residents are “protected from the violence of inner cities” (Keesey 135). Even Jack does not foresee violence in his small town, stating that the death in Blacksmith, compared to the fatal urban atmosphere, is "nonviolent, small town, thoughtful" (76). However, the connotations of the quaint, local name “Blacksmith” are just ruses. The first whisper of death in the book occurs in Blacksmith when a man in a Mylex suit collapses and dies while attempting to decontaminate the elementary school (40). Additionally, while searching for the Treadwells, the police find a gun and heroin (60). Similar towns near Backsmith include Watertown, where a fire destroys an apartment building, Bakersville, where two bodies are found buried in a yard, and Glassboro, where a man dies in a freak single-car accident (290 weeks). “Just as there is no blacksmith shop in Blacksmith, these communities evokeall an outdated work ethic and economic simplicity that no longer exists in the city or the village” (Weekes 290). Cities are named after promises they cannot keep; the names evoke an ideal of a small town, a security, a friendliness that cities cannot offer. Blacksmith offers yet another simulation for Jack to hide behind, a forced reproduction of the ideal, rural, healthy town. Yet Blacksmith is not an innocent or guilt-free town and this discrepancy causes the book's characters to either live in a limbo of confusion, constantly searching for common ground between the idyllic connotations of the name and the reality of the place, or in a realm of illusion, where we are made to believe that the city in fact embodies the implications of its name. Notions like this prompt Murray to say that "it is possible to be homesick for a place even while one is there" (257), thus illustrating the gaping gap that exists between expectations and reality – an obstacle Jack fights to avoid. throughout the novel. As a result, Jack Gladney believes that Blacksmith is a refuge, a safe place, a nurturing environment (76), inspired more by the name of the town and its implications than by the reality of life within its parameters. Living in Blacksmith, turning a blind eye to reality and relying desperately on illusion, the Gladney family is nonetheless disjointed and sometimes dysfunctional. Their conversations are random and chaotic, without much substance or narrative significance. The jokes could even be considered a form of white noise suggested by the novel's title (Packer 657). Heinrich, in particular, appears to be a stumbling block for Jack, as evidenced by the scene where the pair discuss the reality of rain and, therefore, the limits of language. The conversation reflects the theme of reproduction and reality, both in content and form. As Jack and Heinrich debate the reality of rain, their conversation turns to larger questions: What is rain? How can we prove that rain is really rain? How can we identify a universal truth? Does the truth exist? And is there a “now?” » After all, “now; comes and goes as soon as you say so. How can it rain now if… “now” becomes “then” as soon as [it is said]” (23)? Heinrich defends the real, exploring existence to its narrowest implications, while Jack prefers to leave "the real" unexplored and blindly accept the norm. As a result, Jack becomes frustrated with Heinrich's Hegelian "theoretical bubble-blowing" and, regardless of the validity of Heinrich's investigations, eventually acknowledges Heinrich's argument in a huff of sarcasm. Gladney seems to fear his son's intelligence; instead of discussing Heinrich's potentially legitimate questions and facing the resulting "loss" of the argument – ​​and the inevitable admission to a new notion of reality – Jack dismisses the conversation as ridiculous. Jack's can, however, see in his daughter Steffie a conformation more toward reproduction, simulation, and illusion, which, in turn, makes his relationship with her less fraught with disagreement, sometimes even finding philosophical significance in her behavior insignificant. Jack seems involved and deeply intrigued when Steffie says the words "Toyota Celica" in her sleep. The event occurs shortly after the family had to evacuate their home, fleeing the toxic cloud that threatened their neighborhood. He observes his children while they sleep and finds a revelation in a seemingly insignificant, not to say almost derogatory, moment: Steffie turnedlightly, then mumbled something in his sleep. It seemed important to me that I knew what it was... I was convinced that she was saying something, assembling stable units of meaning... She uttered two clearly audible words, familiar and elusive at the same time, words that seemed to have a ritual meaning, partly from a verbal spell or an ecstatic song: “Toyota Celica” (154-155). I stop at this point in the extract because it seems relevant for the sake of the argument that Gladney's reaction to her daughter's subliminal susceptibility to advertisements is appropriately linked to the narrative. expectations. That is, Gladney's approach to Steffie's statement leads the reader to expect something profoundly profound to come from her labia, something that would force the reader to reevaluate Steffie's mind. Steffie, aged nine.and declare her to be an insightful little girl, worthy of credibility and trust (Maltby 260). Instead, the drive gets "Toyota Celica." Slightly deflated, the reader might expect Jack to feel the same upon realizing the banality of the phrase, but expectations are once again upended when Jack extracts his own meaning, however overtly postmodern and contrived it may be. be, from Steffie's unconscious muttering: A long time. passed before I realized it was the name of an automobile. The truth surprised me even more. The expression was beautiful and mysterious, full of gold and impending wonder… A simple brand name, an ordinary car. How could these almost absurd words, murmured in the restless sleep of a child, make me feel a meaning, a presence? She was just repeating a television voice... Part of every child's brain noise, substatic regions too deep to probe. Whatever its source, this statement struck me with the impact of a moment of splendid transcendence. I depend on my children for this. (155) The reader might be tempted to interpret this passage as parody or satire, but Jack's serious tone leads the reader to view his words as truly profound and valid. “Gladney's words should not be taken as illusory” but are intended to illustrate the postmodernist's narrative tendency to “seek transcendent moments” that “hint at possibilities of cultural regeneration…For what is revealed to Gladney in that moment visionary is that names embody tremendous power” (Maltby 260). Jack experiences a "splendid transcendence" in this moment of simulation, of reproduction, and, compared to his frustrated conversation with Heinrich, illustrates his preference for reproduction over authenticity. Jack imposes a grandiose and arguably unwarranted significance on Steffie's remarks about "Toyota Celica", in part because of its unknown origin and the way it changes Steffie's role. He doesn't know if the phrase exists in a television commercial, in Steffie's mind, in both, or in neither. If the phrase exists in a television commercial, flying off the screen and landing on Steffie's lips for the sole purpose of repeating it, Steffie is temporarily reduced to little more than a conduit, an outlet for propaganda. If the expression exists in Steffie's mind, it acts at this moment as a simple storehouse of media, "waves and radiation". The words therefore become more important than the medium, reflecting Benjamin's philosophy, which claims that through mechanical reproduction, arguably manifested in Steffie's statement presumably repeated from some sort of advertisement, the work of art loses its authenticity and originality - it sacrifices its unique nature foruniversality that all can experience and appreciate (Benjamin II). The advertisement was reproduced by Steffie and Jack finds pleasure not in the words "Toyota Celica" and their implications, but in the simple fact that they are a reproduction product. Jack manages to extract meaning, albeit concocted, from his daughter's unconscious mutterings. , however, refuses to engage in a mentally simulating and potentially enriching conversation with his son. There are many reasons why Gladney might value Steffie's "Toyota Celica" over Heinrich's theories about rain and weather, one of them being that Gladney, as a man shaped by his society , values ​​moments of reproduction rather than moments of authenticity. conformity, reproduction, and resemblance are also evidenced in Murray's behavior. A truly bizarre character, Murray seems to be in the privileged position to act as an antithesis to the role of reproduction in the novel, but he finds comfort and even pleasure in repetition, conformity, and simulation. A professor at College on the Hill—whose name, in itself, holds the same artificial power of Steffie's "Blacksmith" or "Toyota Celica," relying on its generic, reproduced nature for its meaning—Murray wishes to give lessons on Elvis. and movie car crashes. Murray is attracted to popular culture, to the obvious and the exaggerated. Murray even uses Jack's notoriety, which is a fabrication, an imitation itself - based on his invented character of JAK Gladney and his inability to speak German - to enhance the credibility of his own teachings, asking him to attend the one of his lectures and establishing links between Hitler and Elvis. Murray hopes that Hitler's status and that of Jack will lend itself to his area of ​​interest. Therefore, Murray must borrow and feign importance because the subjects he likes do not have their own notable meaning. Murray's delight in breeding is explained in America's most photographed barn scene. A certain nostalgia is both established and destroyed via reproduction in the case of the barn. As Murray and Jack stand in the vantage point to observe the legendary barn, their realizations involve a complex integration of entanglement and illumination: "What did the barn look like before it was photographed?" [Murray] said. “What was it like, how was it different from other barns, how was it similar to other barns?” We can't answer these questions because we read the signs, saw the people taking the photos. We cannot get out of the aura. We are part of the aura. We are here, we are now. He seemed extremely happy about this. (13) Murray seems to express feelings of both entrapment and thrilling enlightenment when he speaks of being "part of the aura." This reflection is complex and almost antithetical. Murray proposes that he and Jack, simply by being in the subject domain of so much mechanical reproduction, became part of the barn's aura. Benjamin would argue this, saying that the barn's aura was destroyed – not enhanced or expanded – because of the mechanical reproduction of the barn's image, thus erasing any possibility of including Murray or Jack in its essence. Benjamin might suggest that Murray is not excited because of the aura of the barn but because of the cult value of the barn (Benjamin V). In other words, the barn was originally a simple building until mechanical reproduction "recognized it as a work of art" becoming "a creation with entirely new functions",namely the artistic function. Benjamin even goes on to assert that “photography… [is one of the] most useful examples of this new function” (Benjamin V). In other words, while the images of America's most photographed barn might be considered art, they have no real aura. Instead, the barn, the place and subject of cult reproduction, acquires its own pseudo-aura that is rooted only in its reputation. Murray's episode with the prostitute also tells of his desire for simulation, for staged reproduction. After fleeing the toxic cloud caused by the chemical spill, Murray and the Gladney family flee to Iron City, a supposed safe haven and temporary refugee camp. The first night there, Murray paid a prostitute twenty-five dollars to let him perform the Heimlich maneuver on her. Hearing this, Jack said to Murray, perhaps more in the form of passive advice than questioning, "You don't really expect her to lodge a piece of food in her windpipe." » Murray replies: No, no, that won't be necessary. As long as she makes gagging and choking noises, As long as she sighs deeply when I shake her pelvis. As long as she collapses helplessly into my life-saving arms.(153) Thus, Murray does not have the desire to be a true hero - the reader does not see him helping frightened citizens escape of Blacksmith and enter Iron City. On the contrary, he waits until the danger and the crisis have passed so that he can create his own emergency situation: he wants the illusion of heroism, not its reality. He pays money to be a hero, even for a second, and, therefore, desires the aura-free nature of reproduction rather than the opportunities for authentic greatness and heroism in reality. The society represented in White Noise thus values ​​reproduction and simulation to such an extent that television consumption becomes almost sectarian. The role of television as a means of communication often proves problematic to the extent that it broadcasts real things in a synthetic way, thus constituting a platform for illusion. In the scene where Babette appears on television, Jack is faced with the dilemma of seeing a reproduction of his wife through the television screen. He experiences states of “confusion, fear, astonishment” and “psychic disorientation” upon seeing the image of Babette whistled through the tubes (104). Jack fears that Babette has been injured, that she is "dead, missing or disembodied", that the portrayal of Babette on screen is hollow or incomplete. While Jack recognizes the image as that of Babette, seeing it on the television screen makes him think of her as "a distant figure from the past... a walker in the mists of the dead" (104). Only Wilder, the adorable little antithesis that he is, sees Babette and recognizes her fully, touching the television screen where the image of her body lay beneath the hot glass, leaving behind a dusty imprint, proof of her acknowledgement. in Jack's life that are real and tangible, but Babette is one of them. He often finds pleasure in her body and in her voice, usually resorting to childish posture, such as when he lies between her breasts, calls her Ba-Ba, and asks her to read to him. Although arguably perverse, Jack's relationship and feelings with Babette are perhaps the most real things in the book. Confronted with a simulated image of Babette, as he was when it was broadcast on local cable, Jack suffers from an internal conflict where Babette's reality, her originality, her authenticity, her aura, is shattered and replaced by a reproduction, an illusion of Babette, a pseudo-Babette. Jack seems to suffer instantly and deeply from this shock,of this disconnection. He clearly states: With the sound very low, we could not hear what she was saying. But no one bothered to adjust the volume. It was the image that counted, the face in black and white, animated but also flat, distant, curly, timeless. It was her, but it wasn't her... I felt a certain worry. I tried to tell myself that this was just television - whatever it was, however it worked - and not a journey out of life and death, nor of 'a mysterious separation.(105) The mechanical reproduction of Babette in this scene does, in a sense, imply a kind of death, a "mysterious separation": Babette loses her aura, her singularity when she is broadcast. Her image is reproduced to fit the medium of television and in doing so, Benjamin would say, she is separated from her reality and exists simply as a product, a commodity to be valued by society. Jack is no longer Babette's sole owner, but must share her image with television. This loss, as we might call it, frightens and disturbs Jack, as he is forced to evaluate Babette as other viewers would. He doesn't recognize her immediately. He sees her in black and white, without sound, as if she were a snapshot. He fears she is dead. Jack lives in a society where mechanical reproduction is favored over authenticity, but he resists the mechanical reproduction of Babette, someone he loves. Perhaps Babette's role in this case constitutes a small antithesis to Jack's preference for mechanically reproduced things because she is the proverbial connection that keeps Jack grounded in the realm of reality. After all, as Benjamin says, the representation of reality is significant "precisely because of the deep impregnation of reality with mechanical equipment, as an aspect of reality freed from all equipment" (Benjamin XI) . In other words, mechanical reproduction depends on reality and, by nature, cannot function without some anchoring in the real world. Since Babette could very well serve as Jack's fulcrum in reality, his reaction to seeing her mechanically reproduced is, in a way, justifiable even within the confines of Benjamin's philosophy because, without any basis in reality, the world and Jack's philosophies would collapse much like a building without a foundation. One of the most telling and richest examples of mechanical reproduction in the novel is found in Jack's repetition. of his plot to kill Mink. Jack repeats his plans to: drive past the scene several times, park some distance from the scene, return on foot, locate Mr. Gray under his real name or an alias, shoot him three times in the viscera for a maximum of pain, clear the weapon of prints, place the weapon in the victim's static hand, find a tube of pencil or lipstick and scribble a cryptic suicide note on the large mirror, take the supply of Dylar tablets from the victim, return to the car, continue to the entrance highway, head east towards Blacksmith, go down the old river road, park Stover's car in old man Treadwell's garage, close the door, walk home in the rain and fog. (304) The above is the first draft of the plan, the original plot, the launching pad. Jack continues to repeat this plan almost ten times, changing it each time. In some cases the plot is only three lines long (310), while other repetitions take up almost half a page (311). However, no two plot reproductions are the same. Perhaps this variation alludes to a universal truth: replication..