David Foster Wallace R.I.P.

I was deeply saddened to hear of the death by suicide of author David Foster Wallace yesterday.  Count me among the lovers of his magnum opus, the massive, sprawling 1996 novel,"Infinite Jest."  Checking in at approximately 1,000 pages, including a hundred plus pages of discursive footnotes, it is a novel whose flaws are not that difficult to list, (flat characters, preposterousness run amok, the use of one hundred words to say what ten will do) and yet, in my mind it remains a work of extraordinary accomplishment.  I should note, too, that I generally don't have much tolerance for works with which "Infinite Jest" is often compared -- I have found both Pynchon and Gaddis to be unreadable, which suggests that there is something different about Wallace's work. 

I am also a fan of DFW's non-fiction work, which encompassed topics as diverse as the pleasures (or non-pleasures) of being a passenger on a cruise ship, "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again," the struggles of being a middle level professional tennis player, and the porn film Oscars.  In fact, one could argue that it is in the non-fiction realm that DFW really shined, bringing astonishing powers of observation, empathy, intellect, and sheer writing chops to the task. 

His more recent fiction compiled in the collections "Brief Interviews with Hideous Men" and "Oblivion" was in short form, and often almost experimental mode.  Although much shorter than Infinite Jest, this work, too, tended to divide readers into the eternal question -- DFW: Genius or wanker?  (Not that you can't be both.)  His level of erudition seemed almost impossible, including his comfort in the realm of science and higher mathematics, topics that are foreign to many literary types and certainly way beyond me.

I had the pleasure of seeing him read at a downtown DC bookstore during his Infinite Jest book tour.  The place was jammed and it was sweltering inside.  Wallace was a little shy and self-effacing, something that I think might surprise some of his critics.  He was sweating profusely and I smiled watching him wipe his face and forehead with his upper sleeves like the former tennis player that he was.  We were contemporaries -- he was two years younger than I am -- and I enjoyed his similar sensibilities.  My hometown is the place where one of his memorable characters, Don Gately, the "big indestructible moron" or "BIM" in Infinite Jest is supposedly from.  I was sorry not to get to ask him about this.

I was thinking about DFW a couple of weeks ago and wondering if he had another massive novel in the works -- something that would provoke and surprise and generate excitement and debate.  Alas, it appears that if there was such a project in the works, I will not again have the pleasure of hearing it read by the author himself.  And that is a sad thing.                   

Comments

[Lisa Simeone]

Yes, an amazing talent has left the scene. Though I haven't read his novels or short stories, I have read his non-fiction and found him just as captivating as you have. Very sad.

[G C]

Still stunned since hearing the news last night. I put up a MetaFilter post that's had over 300 stunned-into-silence comments that I think is worth reading, as well as (just now) a longer and more retrospective obituary post at my own site.

[Sir Charles]

Gerry,

Thanks for that link. (The Desert Island thing is very funny.) I think one of the reasons that I was able to read and enjoy Infinite Jest as much as I did is that I read it in the course of a trip to San Francisco when it first came out. It was a tremendous companion for a coast to coast flight and I had the luxury having a lot of alone time in a beautiful city in which to read it. As you say, I would not be the same reader if I tackled it again.

[ACS]

Both Sara and I were upset that no obituary either of us has seen has included any footnotes.

-- ACS

[Sir Charles]

Those obit writers clearly have no sense of humor -- I think DFW would have liked a footnote or two to honor hia memory.