Infinite Jest

Author: David Foster Wallace

Rating: ⭐ 4/5

Date Read: 2013/08/29

Pages: 1079


Um yeah so hmm.

Alright, so every. single. person. that I’m friends with on Goodreads who has read Infinite Jest has reviewed this book with some substance in hand, and now that I’ve finished it literally less than a minute ago I can kind of see why, so excuse me while I take a few sips of my hard apple cider.

Okay.

Infinite Jest is the name of a film that is so entertaining that it causes viewers to go into a stupor that leads to their eventual death. If you think that sounds interesting and you want to read the book to find out more about the film, well, don’t bother. Infinite Jest, the film, is a MacGuffin, so you won’t really get any explanation. Extrapolate that, and you can get a clearer image of what constitutes Infinite Jest, the book.

True story: I am as into film as I am into books. I hope this doesn’t freak the literati out, because I’m not interested in getting my intelligentsia card revoked. I said film, not movies, so it’s not like I’m saying that the latest version of some cut-heavy superhero piece of bullshit is on par with War & Peace, or whatever. What I’m saying is that Rashomon, the film, is at least as culturally important as Rashomon, the short story. If you feel like debating that fact, I urge you to get off the internet and watch the film. It’s less than two hours long. This review can wait.

Anyway, this is the first of just many digressions in this substance-mediated non-linear review, so don’t expect me to link Kurosawa with Infinite Jest, per se. The important thing here is that I feel incapable of reviewing Infinite Jest without comparing it to a few films (hopefully ones that you’ve heard of, and if you haven’t, you should seriously considering adding them to your Netflix queue or whatever).

Mostly, Infinite Jest reminded me of a Buñuel film. Not just any Buñuel film, I mean it’s not like it’s some strange, 1000 page long version of Un Chien Andalou. I’m specifically talking about any of the films from his second French period, but maybe we’ll just make it easier by using Belle de Jour as an example. This easily applies to Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie, if you’re more into that.



I say Infinite Jest is like a Buñuel film because it’s a picture of society that might make members of said society uncomfortable. But there are also strange, dreamlike sequences that don’t really make sense, except that they kind of do. Also, terrorists. But really awkward terrorists that don’t seem to connect with the rest of the story.

Seriously, I wish I was even half as stylish as Catherine Deneuve.

But actually, the more affecting parts of Infinite Jest revolve around mental illness (mostly, addiction, but I was more impressed by the sections that were about depression). And those sections reminded me of a much more recent film, Melancholia by Lars von Trier:



Which is about the end of the world, but is mostly about depression, which is paradoxically useful when there really isn’t any hope anymore. And yeah, the Hamlet link between Melancholia and Infinite Jest is something I actively wanted to reference, if you were wondering.

Okay, so those are the good things about Infinite Jest. But, actually, I’m not that smitten with Infinite Jest, in the way that other people seem to be. Mostly, because there are some things that are super freaking annoying about Infinite Jest. First and foremost, David Foster Wallace sets Infinite Jest in a future world that I think is supposed to be zany and amusing and comedically realistic, somewhat like the future of Sleeper:



But, to this reader, who’s reading this 17 years after it was written, the IJ future doesn’t seem topical or universal or even remotely realistic. Actually, it’s comedic in a campy and ridiculous way. Kind of like the 1993 Stallone vehicle, Demotion Man:



Which is to say that my major issue with Infinite Jest is that it’s a book that didn’t know what it wanted to be when it grew up. Is it an honest, realistic look at addiction and depression? Is it a zany story about kids in a tennis academy in the future (also, seriously, I can’t think of anything that is less interesting or less-take-seriouslyable than a tennis academy). Is it a surrealistic political thriller involving wheelchair assassins from Quebec? Obviously, DFW couldn’t decide, so he just did all of those things. The result isn’t as “awful” as Harold Bloom claims, but it is incredibly uneven and, frankly, self-indulgent.

(Is it fair for me to call something self-indulgent when I’m writing a rambling review on the internet in which hard apple cider is as important as the work itself? I don’t know, but I do think that next time I’m going to go back to my beloved Ace Joker Cider instead of this Stella Artois stuff. It’s just way too sweet.).

Anyway, the irony of the book is that many of things that DFW tried to do have been done before in the visual medium, but better. I don’t know what director to compare David Foster Wallace to. I think that if Dan Brown:Michael Bay::David Foster Wallace:Federico Fellini. Fellini has gotten a lot of awards and critical acclaim, and it’s not undeserved. But his films don’t resonate with me in the way that, say, the films of Ingmar Bergman or Woody Allen or even Wes Anderson do. Fellini always seemed too stylized, too cool, and that took away from the honesty of his films, even though parts of, say, 8 1/2 are certainly emotionally resonant. So it’s not really my thing, but it’s also pretty good, and I’m glad that I gave it a shot.

← Back to book list