Every Love Story Is a Ghost Story: A Life of David Foster Wallace
Author: D.T. Max
Rating: ā 4/5
Date Read: 2016/12/07
Pages: 356
As it turns out, David Foster Wallace was a pretty relatable guy. That sentence should strike me as jointly self-aggrandizing and portentous, but Iād rather believe that D.T. Max vividly captured Wallaceās personal and intellectual essence in his biography of the late writer. Of course, having never met David Foster Wallace, I have no basis for substantiating this claim, but it seems to have a feeling of truthiness to it, so Iāll let it slide.
Digression: I have always wished to engage in an exchange with a grammar Hitler Youth* about my use of the word portentous. In this fictional conversation, the so-called grammarian tells me that I mistyped pretentious. I duly reply by providing a definition of the word portentous (of or like a portent, where portent indicates a sign or warning that something, especially something momentous or calamitous, is likely to happen, at least in current usage). I explicate further that said grammarian was pretentious in his assumption that I, in my Flaubertesque obsession with finding le mot juste, somehow misspoke. This exchange, disappointingly enough, has yet to occur.
Anyway, this is an excellent introduction to the life of David Foster Wallace, especially in that Max manages to take his mental illness seriously without painting a portrait of Wallace qua depressed person. I recommend it to readers of Infinite Jest, in particular, both because Infinite Jest is opaque enough that the examples for the book serve as a nice aide memoire for forgotten passages, and because the writing of Infinite Jest comprises a large portion of the book. I also recommend this book to people who would like to have read Infinite Jest, but who are not willing to put in the effort involved in actually reading it. You know who you are, you flaneur-wannabes in black-framed glasses and bespoke skinny jeans. Iām only trying to help you pretend to be less of a philistine.**
*Most self-styled grammar nazis imagine themselves as high-ranking officials, fleeing Nuremberg for lives of exile in Argentina. In reality, their syntactical stylings place them firmly in the realm of drunk, racist great uncles who embarrass their family members at holiday dinners. In this metaphor, my background as a pragmatics expert allows me to represent America, democracy, and freedom.
**Please donāt try that shit on me, though, because Iāll see right through it. Your target should be the manic pixie dream girl in the corner, the one in the ironic t-shirt who desperately wants to discuss the solo careers of the members of The XX. I am, however, happy to mine my knowledge of quirky independent comedies to help you facilitate a meet cute.