Holy Shit. David Foster Wallace apparently committed suicide during one of the busiest news cycle weekends in recent memory. What with the Hurricane and the LA Commuter train, I think it forgiveable that this news wasn't at the top of the news casts (I'm guessing--who watches the nightly news anymore?)
I'm looking at the dates the LA Times puts out there--Wallace was 46; "Infinite Jest" was published in 1996. That means he wrote the majority of that book before his 34th birthday. Holy Shit. It is more than likely that Wallace wrote more words by age 35 than many people have read at that age.
I am not a fan of idle speculation, unless it is my own idle speculation, and I can not imagine was it must of been like to be 46 years old, and to have your masterpiece already a decade in the rear view mirror.
All the same--fare thee well, David Foster Wallace, you footnotin' bastard. Clearly, for you, not everything was beautiful and some things did in fact hurt.
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2 comments:
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Wow -- I had no idea.
A smart, funny writer.
Perhaps "A Supposedly Fun Thing That I'll Never Do Again" was a more broadly-intentioned title than we realized.
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