Alas poor DFW, a fellow of vast, but not infinite, jest ... on finishing David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest

As I neared, nay, slouched toward the end of Infinite Jest, the thought occurred to me that it was not a sum greater than its parts, but indeed, parts that were much greater than the sum.

Scattered throughout the 1,079 pages (in the original edition) of DFW's opus are a couple of great short novels, some stunning short stories, and a condensed version of the Physicians' Desk Reference. Though I can list many great scenes that can stand on their own, I'll limit myself to these: the chaotic Eschaton tournament (a version of "tennis" created by the students of Enfield Tennis Academy); the wild shoot-0ut, fight outside the Ennet House rehab facility, and any scenes with the P.G.O.A.T.

I took my time reading the novel, just over six full month in fact, from early June through the end of December. Even though I was reading on a Kindle and didn't have to carry all those pages around, it was good to take a break from the tennis courts of Enfield Tennis Academy, the rehab facilities of the Ennet House Drug and Alcohol Recovery House, or the other depravities of the fringes of the Great Concavity before diving back in.

DFW's style is rich and evocative, and also, slyly simple at a casual read. I fear that generations of writing program instructors will be (and already have been) tortured by imitators of DFW's deceptively easy writing style.

As with the works of James Joyce (and other Les enfant terribles such as Pynchon and Gaddis), DFW's spew of words on the pen of a third rate writer (or second rate or even first rate writer on a bad day) are a irresistible temptation to imitate; how hard could that be? It looks so easy, here, let me try! Yes, it's oh so easy to churn out page after page, words by the thousands in a random stream of consciousness description and dialog, profundity and profanity ... but, but to have it add up to something, is a feat at which nearly all will fail.

So, is Infinite Jest a masterpiece? Perhaps, but flawed. DFW did what all artists should, he reached beyond his grasp in this portrayal of a weirdly set of interconnected lives in a not so distant future in something that looks a lot like the North America of our nightmares. But it is the reach that awes us in the reading, not the glimpse of heaven.

And yet, and yet, a small bit like Ulysses and a great great deal like Finnegans Wake, Infinite Jest is a dead end. For all the scholarly study of DFW and the industry around "Wallace Studies", Infinite Jest will stand as a lone monument, too complex, too easily imitated by the third rate, too complete in itself, to begat children worthy of the same shelf.

How not to read The Masque of the Red Death, on the anniversary of Poe's demise

Edgar Allen Poe died on this date in 1849. In 1975, during freshman year of high school, I chose, for some reason or the other, to read, as part of a class oration exercise, Poe's "The Masque of the Red Death".

It's a great story to say the least, but not one to read aloud when the exercise is to give a 10 minute dramatic reading. Needless to say, I'd practiced ahead of time, but reading silently! When the time came, I took my place in the front of the class and started to read:

"The "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avator and its seal — the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour."

And so I continued ... the time dragged by, the class fidgeted, the teacher kept glancing between me and the clock ... and I continued on ... finally, well before I finished, the merciful teach put an end to the reading many pages before I came to the last line:

"And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all."

You can read the story yourself here and see the original publication from Graham's Magazine (May 1842) on the Internet Archive site. But remember, if you're reading it out load, leave plenty of time.

And as a side note, if you want to hear a spooky reading, see the William S. Burrough's reading of the story: Part 1 | Part 2

Random thoughts on William Faulkner on his birthday

Happy birthday William Faulkner (September 25, 1897 - July 6, 1962)!

A hundred and thirteen years ago, William Faulkner was born. One of my all time favorite authors, the world he's created remains large and resonant in my mind (and many others!). Faulkner rose on my horizon again lately when Peter Brantley's blog post "Get in the goddamn wagon" appeared earlier this month. The post, about the failures of the top library leadership in North America, took it's title from the great short story, "The
Bear".

Since I was doing some home library cleaning, I took this time to dig out and arrange my collection of Faulkner paperbacks (see picture right). Most of them are the first copies I read (though I think this is my second copy of The Sound and the Fury).

One of Faulkner's slighter works, Knight's Gambit, a collection of short stories and the title novella, inspired my short article, “Faulkner's 'Knight's Gambit'.” Explicator 45.3 (Spring 1987): 47-48. The article examines a relationship between the novella and a now little known novel, The White Rose of Memphis (New York, G. W. Carleton & co.; 1881), by Faulkner's grandfather, William Clark Falkner.

Knight's Gambit also contains the story, "An Error in Chemistry" which is a must read for any mixologist out there and a warning to those who don't take their drink seriously!

A few more random Faulkner tidbits:

• Listen to his Nobel Prize speech
• A friend of mine who worked at the University of Virginia (where in his later years Faulkner taught) had a lovely old desk chair, salvaged from the trash, that was reputed to have one been in ole Bill's office at Mr. Jefferson's University
• Faulkner lived in New Orleans for a while (and wrote his first published novel, Soldier's Pay, while there); the house he lived in, at 624 Pirate’s Alley, is now the home of Faulkner House Books, and right near the Pirate's Alley Cafe and Absinthe Bar House, where I had my first taste of the green fairy!
• In grad school, you had to fill out 3x5 cards with some facts about you, including favorite book. I put down Absalom!, Absalom! (because I don't hate the South - Faulkner joke!)