My first experience with David Foster Wallace was through his books of long-form essays: Consider the Lobster, A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, and Both Flesh and Not. His essays are incredibly joyful things to read. You can feel his enthusiasm and imagination leaping from the page, and his notorious footnotes break up the flow but make it a more dynamic reading experience. I am so happy I read these books before Infinite Jest, because through them I became familiar with the themes and topics that define his work: tennis and the world of sports, the destructive nature of television and irony, finding relevant truth in clichés, the joy of the English language, and, most importantly, pursuing sincerity and earnest sentiment. On the other hand, since I was perhaps overly familiar with these themes while reading Infinite Jest, it was almost distracting when they appeared as elements of the narrative. But maybe that’s the point of being a fiction writer. You find topics that appeal to you, and create narratives around them. Not every writer has been as transparent about his outside interests as Wallace, so this is sort of a unique case.
David Foster Wallace said that he wanted to write “morally passionate, passionately moral fiction”, and for him that goal could only be achieved while also being absolutely sincere. He believed that the postmodern generation had become lost in a sea of irony, meta-humor, and self-satisfaction. We are desperately seeking true, earnest experiences, but are afraid of being labeled naïve or banal. To some extent I believe this is true. Wallace highlights this concern most explicitly in his essay E Unibus Pluram. Written in 1993, it is a sobering discussion of the negative influence of TV and media on human psychology and relationships. http://jsomers.net/DFW_TV.pdf. Infinite Jest was published just a few years later, in 1996.
Wallace’s wide-eyed sincerity extends to his copious endnotes. Mere footnotes would have been insufficient, as many of these run several pages. He assumes that the reader would be interested to read items ranging from a fictional film director’s filmography of a dozen or so works, classifications of different prescription drugs, or the rules and regulations of an incredibly nerdy game called Eschaton, an intersection of tennis, math, and global economics. The tedious length of these endnotes is perhaps the novel’s largest flaw, but often enough they are enlightening or help to elaborate on a particular anecdote.
Let me briefly outline the plot of Infinite Jest, if that is at all possible. A large part of the novel follows the residents of Ennet House, a drug-and-alcohol recovery center in Boston. We get a glimpse into their cathartic confessional circles, their quirky behaviors, and their honest struggles in sobriety.
Then there is the Enfield Tennis Academy, where we get to know a dozen or so young adolescent athletes as they compete, have fun, and struggle with personal vices.
Meanwhile, in the most absurd element of the plot, a Canadian terrorist group is trying to obtain the master copy of an entertainment cartridge (the equivalent of a DVD or something) that is apparently so addictively entertaining that all who watch it are literally unable to leave their seats and die in front of the screen. The group’s plan is to disseminate the cartridge (known as “the Entertainment”) across the United States to subversively destroy the country.
Other more minor plots are involved, and one particular family, the Incandenzas, is connected with several different locations and narratives.
I will begin with my criticisms, even though most of them can be forgiven. The children of Enfield Tennis Academy speak in a hyper-literate, overly clever way that is completely unrealistic. In fact, many other characters also speak in vocabulary that is above their level. But I think what Wallace is doing here is expressing his hope that someday the country will be as in love with language as he is. Energetically verbose discourse is a hallmark of sincerity, and Wallace regards tennis as a great sincere pursuit. Additionally, the game of Eschaton that the boys play highlights their genuine enthusiasm for intellectual subjects.
Next criticism: the book really is too long. I appreciate books that are long enough to feel really lived in, but with a narrative that jumps from place to place, this became a game of “Allright, where are we now?”
Another criticism: Some of the language is bizarre. David Foster Wallace was a grammar superhero, but here he chose to break his own beloved rules to create some jarringly wrong constructions. Some sentences begin with the consciously informal "And so but then", and there are other specific examples I can't recall at the moment. Then there is his use of derogatory terms for African-Americans, Asians, and homosexuals, which make sense from a third-person-subjective perspective as voiced by certain prejudiced characters, but are still uncomfortable to read. Maybe that's the point.
Final criticism: the Canadian plot is weak. Most of these sections consist of two characters carrying on a discussion about American addiction to entertainment, and it feels too much like a forced platform for Wallace to ruminate on these things.
But there are many, many things Wallace does well here. The choice of a drug-recovery center for a setting makes the book itself a sort of detoxification from the noise of the media, presenting us with simple, clear values. Wallace shows the usefulness of phrases we might consider cliché, like “One day at a time.” For the residents of this house, that phrase is absolutely essential. In the vulnerability of early sobriety, a mindset of sincerity and optimism is crucial; cynicism is lethal. At Ennet House we also experience some residents’ painfully raw, sobbing confessions about being abandoned by their parents or dark secrets from their past. Wallace is trying to make a bigger statement about how we cope with these troubles through a coat of irony, or through substances, instead of bravely working through them together.
Another aspect of the novel that wowed me was the frequent sheer brilliance of the writing. There are long, breathtaking passages of sustained emotional intensity, sometimes focusing on something unspeakably grotesque or an aspect of human misery. This all contributes to the feeling of detoxification, with Wallace confronting us with our fragility and need for true companionship.
Any novel of this length would fall flat on its face without compelling characters, and Wallace has assembled a mindblowing array of truly interesting and unique people. Some very minor characters leave just as strong an impression as the major ones. By the end of the book I found myself wondering about characters I had grown to love, worrying about the implications of their futures.
After this whole long-winded thing, I don’t think I can recommend this book to everyone. It can be quite tedious at times, and I can see readers losing faith partway through if they don’t have a clear idea of Wallace’s vision (which the essays help to inform). The novel frequently dwells on really unpleasant material, like the miserable existence of several drug addicts, or the children of hopelessly alcoholic parents. Much of the vocabulary is intimidating. But this is definitely an important book, one that represents David Foster Wallace’s ultimate statement about human existence. Reviewer Chad Harbach, writing in 2004, described it as “the central American novel of the past thirty years, a dense star for lesser work to orbit.”
If anyone is interested in discovering the work of David Foster Wallace but doesn’t have the time for Infinite Jest, I highly recommend all the books of essays I mentioned at the beginning, and also this wonderful commencement address in which he delivers a message about dealing with the mind-numbing routines of adult life with grace and compassion.
