When you don't have a computer you don't find out that David Foster Wallace killed himself until way too late but still it seems like the DFW news has been slow to leak and slow to circulate. What awful news, how awful, I don't know, consider the endless number of people I've recommended A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again to. And I recommend it again! How I wish the internet would reveal to me the hiding place of a full-length copy of that titular essay for me to link to! If you want to know what it is to write a perfectly almost-perfect piece of creative nonfiction, get that book and read that essay.
Anyway.
Once in California I went to a reading by Mr. Foster Wallace. He was so much dorkier than I had expected (from his jacket-photo) but his talent was undeniable. I never (or haven't yet) conquered Infinite Jest, but I did do The Broom of the System, Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, Consider the Lobster, and perhaps some others. Quite possibly he could outwrite just about anyone in whatever form you might choose: essay, article, short-story, novel, tome, criticism. More talented than Michael Phelps in his own sphere I dare say.
So it goes.
(I think my Mom will understand the picture, maybe Mike Lemmon, too.)
1 comment:
Good illustration/reminder of such a great fun read, "Derivative Sport in Tornado Alley." RIP Mr. Wallace.
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