David Foster Wallace (1962–2008)

I cannot remember reading a novel whose ending is placed at the focal point of a perspective fugue, way over the boundaries of the novel itself.
I do remember, of course, at least one fulgid example of a perfectly circular narrative whose very ending sentence folds into the beginning; and this is not the only instance in which my imagination was drawn to figure a set of literary coordinates, where Wallace's and Joyce's ways cross.
However, Infinite Jest is unique in this projection of its plot out of its own last page, before the epilogue makes it back to the opening scene, much like the way the back of your head is said to be visible in front of you, had you to cross the event horizon of a black hole; whereas Finnegans Wake flows like a river, quite literally, seeping out of its own pages yes, but in a more diffused manner, same as if a fine spray of its narrative imperceptibly soaked reality.
Well, the simple fact that Wallace keeps reminding me of Joyce should be a gauge of my admiration. His insane command of language and his deep sorrow for the human condition are what kept me glued to the page; well, apart from the plot. Many described this novel as plotless, uncentred, spinning out of its own author's control; well, nothing could be farthest from truth for the attentive reader. Let's not mistake stylistic choices for lyricism, here. Everything falls into place; just not inside the narrative. We readers need to become adults. We need to really care for the characters' fate, and only then, we will start noticing the clues about their destinies.
I guess this is where the greatness lies: Wallace was, famously, an advocate for emotional presence and sincerity as opposed to detached irony. He saw the use of irony and detachment in contemporary western culture as an instrument of denial and a crippling excuse against the acknowledgement of pain, leading to the inability to experience emotional growth: a symptom of mass immaturity of our society, elevated to universal norm. He equated it to the denial of the addict.
He made use of a great deal of humour to bring this point across, but please be careful not to mistake this humour with detached irony; Wallace deeply cared for human beings, and he cared for the pain felt by his characters. He wanted us to care, too, and he used his perfect prose as a maieutic teaching tool, to guide us towards understanding of pained self-awareness and soulless detachment as polar opposites. A hint: look for an abrupt change of style towards the end of the novel, when Hal starts thinking in first-person again. I'm not gonna spoil it for yous all, but that was the moment when I realised that there was true greatness under all that hilarious mess. That moment is proof that Wallace had perfect control over his novel. The superficial impression of centrelessness, the apparent lack of resolution, are all devices meant to mimic the overwhelming confusion of being alive; underneath flows a powerful and very simple narrative of love, loss, neglect, addiction, and the fundamental choice we are all faced at some stage between death and recovery. Even if recovery may not look like it at all, by the outside world enmeshed in ironic denial. Think of Hal.
There would be much more to say about literary richness of references to the great moralists like Dostojevsky and stuff like that; but it has already been said better than I possibly could.
I will only add that, if you make it to the end, you will enjoy a brief yet scorching roast of Harold Bloom's style. No wonder he blasted the novel with his signature arrogance and lack of class (and of literary insight). Let's say that being addressed as a turgid writer must have given him the howling fantods. Gotta love David Foster Wallace.… (more)

For several years now I have been saying I am due for a reread of Infinite Jest. It is true that I love IJ with everything I am, and it is equally true that the idea of rereading it is daunting. Most everyone with any interest in books knows it is long (over 1000 pages) but more importantly, it is a hard book to read. You need to be thinking at all times when reading it. It is relentless. Relentless in a good way, but relentless nonetheless. It is a superior opponent when it is up against my middlebrow sensibility and functional though not particularly notable intellect. About six months ago I came across this collection while browsing Hoopla and thought a few essays from DFW might prime the Infinite Jest pump, and so they did.

I have dipped in and out of this collection for months and just finished today. Some essays are better than others (the last essay on Federer and the essays on Michael Joyce and Tracy Austin are the best of the lot) but they are all insightful. fun and fascinating. Enjoyment of these articles does not in any way require a love of tennis. I am a very casual tennis fan. I generally watch a handful of matches a year and every piece worked for me. This is all about tennis, but also about many other things. DFW touches on divinity, the beauty of things that can not be algorithmically duplicated or explained, being an awkward teen desperate to find ways to define oneself, and about functioning in the world and observing it without feeling like one is meaningfully a part of it. You are likely to come away from this more interested in professional tennis than you were going in, but also thinking about God, focus, what comes after perfection, and about the tension between commerce and art. Just beautiful. He was the Federer of prose.… (more)

Infinite Jest is not for the faint hearted. Because of both its lack of a unifying plot across its multiple storylines and the omission of significant facts (mainly pertaining to character relationships and background), the book requires a second reading to understand details presented before the reader has gained sufficient context to grasp their significance. Unfortunately, the book's length (nearly 1,000 pages, not including a plethora of often irrelevant footnotes) makes a second reading a tall ask, particularly when considering you still won't likely fully comprehend what happens because you also need to understand David Foster Wallace's intentions for writing the book.

At its core, Infinite Jest is the story of the Enfield Tennis Academy (ETA) in Massachusetts, a school for elite junior tennis players. The Academy is run by the widow of its founder, James Incandenza, and her purported half-brother, Charles Tavis. Its second-best player is Hal Incandenza, son of the late founder and current Administrator, Avril.

It is also the story of Don Gately, a recovering drug addict who works at a halfway house for alcoholics and drug addicts. Gately is a mountain of a man who has a violent conflict with several non-residents seeking revenge for the killing of their dog by another resident of Ennet House. Gately's story could be pulled out of the novel and made its own story; both novels would be stronger for this separation.

Most significantly, Infinite Jest is the story of the eponymous movie (frequently referred to as an entertainment), the watching of which results in a fatal comatose state for the viewer, and the efforts of several governments and terrorist organizations to obtain the original, duplicatable master copy, which can then be used against the U.S. population. Equally significant is the fact that this movie was created by the same James Incandenza who founded the ETA.

There are several good websites offering explanations of the symbolic meaning of characters and speculation on the occurrence of "offscreen" events and the nefarious roles of several major characters associated with the ETA. I would suggest spending time on these sites after finishing the novel, rather than rereading it. The insights they provide made me feel like Jennie Fields of The World According to Garp fame, who has to have her son explain the meaning of his story "The Magic Gloves" to her. Once he does, she says, "[i]f that's what it means, I like it." Similar to Jennie, I see and appreciate that Infinite Jest is a treatise on how readers should actively engage with novels rather than viewing them as mere entertainment and how the ETA can be viewed as an allegorical MFA program, but getting to my pseudo-understanding was a long and at times tedious slog through a book that in my mind could have been significantly shorter without losing its meaning.… (more)