The Complexity of Infinite Jest

Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace’s most well-known book spans a thousand plus pages. There’s even hundreds of footnotes on top hitting themes of entertainment, destruction, genius, and addiction. For some, reading reamains a right of passage, and I admit, I’m doing less reading and more studying. It’s that type of book. In this world of drowning distraction, paying attention is challenging. Heck, it may be a moral act. And here, with this tome, you really have to pay attention. The writing is circular. The prose is dense. And the descriptions are vivid but each word has a purpose.

Yesterday, I read one paragraph, which took a half hour. I read it three times. Reading a book warning about distraction, I found myself distracted by the structure. I can’t imagine the time, the cost and toil, to weave this together. It’s almost like he was writing to quell a certain circular noise inside his own head.

Through the 1990s and early 2000s, after finishing this opus, Wallace moved to teach at Illinois State University in Bloomington, Illinois. I wonder if the students even knew they were being taught by one of the world’s greatest authors, lost in the noise of college. How many times did people see him at Denny’s or Babbit Books—a popular local bookstore? I’m sure some would remember the do-rag he often wore but not know about his countless essays and the work left behind.

It’s hard to describe the depth, even in the shorter pieces like “This is Water.” Nobody writes like this.

And maybe nobody will ever again.