(Note: This post was not a reaction to Kevin’s post from yesterday, but works in tandem with it, I think. Although it’s safe to say that we each draw very different conclusions.)
I am not enjoying Infinite Jest.
Don’t get me wrong — I’m not going to quit. I’m going to read the whole thing and talk about it over the summer because I said I would, but that doesn’t mean I have to lie and pretend I’m having a super-fun experience, right? So here it is. Confession time.
I resent that I’m having to work this hard, that I feel like I’m indulging the author. I resent having to read enormous blocks of text, with no paragraph breaks, for pages and pages at a time. I resent the endnotes that (more often than not) only serve to either waste my time or confuse me even further. I resent that I’m continually reaching supposed milestones (“just make it to page 100!” “get to 200!” “300 is where you get rewarded for all your effort!”) that don’t actually represent any appreciable change in tone, style or plot.
I feel like my time is being wasted with an overabundance of technical explanations of subjects — tennis, drugs — that are largely irrelevant. DFW is explaining the wrong stuff. I’m at page 310 (behind, I know) and by now I’d have absolutely loved to see some explanation of the world these characters live in. Instead, we’re only being given vague allusions to “the great concavity” that leave me itching to check the wallacewiki just so I know what’s bloody going on.
Because that’s the thing — I don’t feel like anything actually is going on. I’ve gotten three hundred pages into this book, and nothing at all has happened. I feel like I have read three hundred pages of introductions to characters. Some of those characters (Hal, the folks at Ennet House) have been introduced multiple times, to no further elucidation. Some of them (James Orin Incandenza Sr., Himself, Guillaume DuPlessis) are freaking dead.
Instead of action, I’m getting portraits. Highly detailed — to a fault — portraits. And that would be fantastic if I were in an art gallery, or reading a collection of biographies. But I’m not — this is supposed to be a story, a series of interesting events told in a compelling manner. Not a bunch of descriptions of people and locales presented in an outright hostile manner to weed out the ‘unworthy’.
This post sounds a lot more hate-fuelled than I intended it to, I’m sure. I don’t hate this book, otherwise I would be quitting.59 But I am frustrated by it, and it is becoming more and more important that a payoff arrive, and soon.
I’m sure it will. Many people I respect are having a great time reading Infinite Jest. I hope I can join them.
I am actually no longer reading IJ. I quit after about 100 pages for all the reasons you pointed out in this post. I have continued though to read this site each day because I am fascinated that this book is such a phenomenon. I can’t tell you how justified I felt after reading your post that it was as I expected – nothing improves!! It’s the same after page 300 as it was after page 100! Should things change for you though, and the book pulls through on its owed pay off – I look forward to that post.
Hey, all. I’ve got some thoughts on this matter I’d like to share. I’ve read IJ before, back in 2002 or thereabouts, and am re-reading it now. The first time I read it, I had to take a break about halfway through, read something else, and came back to it. This isn’t to say that I didn’t love it: I did, thoroughly. I would say that broadly it’s my favorite novel I’ve ever read. But it isn’t easy reading: it’s like trying to drink from a fire hose, even if that fire hose is shooting your favorite beverage ever.
There are a ton of characters, and at the beginning it’s hard to see the point of what’s happening with them. And, as has been said, it DOESN’T all tie neatly together at the end like a sitcom. There are myriad plot threads that sort of weave in and out of each other, and stuff happens, but it isn’t like a mystery, where A + B leads you inevitably to C. It’s possible, almost inevitable, to miss entire sub-plots, just to lose them in the ground clutter of all the detail. I’ve discussed this book with a good friend of mine, who originally recommended it to me, and one of us will mention something from it, and the other won’t remember it at all. There’s just too much there.
My advice, to those who aren’t enjoying it:
Keep with it, but take it easy. Have a regular time when you read it; for me, it’s any time I’m taking the train or bus to or from work. The first time I read it, it was each night in the bathtub. Whatever works for you. Don’t try to plough through it, just take it easy. Read a chapter, soak it in, and don’t stress. If you’re worried about “figuring it out” or trying to get through it as fast as possible, you’re missing the point. Relax and enjoy the ride.
Also, don’t worry if you aren’t seeing a big picture come together. It just isn’t like that. Don’t worry about “plot” per se. Just try to keep track of the basics (these kids are in a tennis academy, this other dude has a problem with pot, etc.), and enjoy the texture. The weird little details really are the point of the thing.
Oh, and as to wishing DFW would skip the belaboring detail over errata, and give some explanation of the world: sounds like Neal Stephenson. I love Diamond Age, but it’s a very different kind of book. I was just talking to a friend of mine, who I’ve been trying to talk into reading IJ; he started it and couldn’t get into it. I was trying to talk him into picking it back up, but he’s currently re-reading Diamond Age. In our conversation, I noticed that both Stephenson and Wallace are world-builders, but in very different ways. DFW builds his world by an accumulation of details. The details ARE the world. Think about it like this: Which gives you a better sense of the nature of American capitalism and commerce: our GDP, or a news article about a Wal-Mart employee being trampled to death on Black Friday? The former is what a lot of authors would give you; the latter is way more Wallace’s style.
Preach on sisters and brothers.
I say if you don’t like it don’t read it. There are plenty of books in the world and only so much time. All books cannot speak to all people all the time. Not to mention DFW has more accessable material.
I am completely in the camp of I love this book and have a really hard time putting it down and turning the light off! It is unlike anything I’ve ever read and I know I will be re-reading, something I rarely do. When people ask me about it I tend to gush on and then try to reel myself back in and be quiet! But I also completely understand that it’s not for everyone. A couple of colleagues have asked me about it, and I realize that I am very circumspect about recommending it to someone – it very much depends on the person. I have friends I think would love it and I have friends I know would call me an idiot for getting them to start it and they would quit. I’m a total opera geek and it’s analogous to opera for me – I think you either love it or hate it and I don’t expect everyone to love it like I do. And I’m very careful in recommending a first opera to try to watch – some are much better “first operas” than others.
Should Avery continue or quit? I have to say follow your gut but I for one would be sorry to lose the critical voice – we don’t all have to agree and that’s kind of the point.
Does anyone remember those 3D images that were popular a few years ago, the computer-generated ones that, on first look, seem to be nothing more that meaningless scatters of dots and blotches – electronic Jackson Pollocks (depending on how you feel about Pollock). Thanks to Wikipedia, I now know that these are “autostereograms”. Viewing the 3D image embedded in the dots requires relaxing the eye muscles and fighting the impulse to focus on the surface of the page. With time and patience, one starts to perceive the edges of shapes and, with still more time, the entire 3D image will come into view.
The visual effect comes very easily for some people, especially people capable of crossing their eyes. For others (and by others, I mean me), the 3D image cannot be detected without much frustration and practice.
The first time someone handed one of these things to me, I kept looking and looking at it, and I just could not see anything except random dots that seemed to have no meaning. In looking for an image outlined by dots, it certainly appeared that most of the dots had to be irrelevant. It didn’t help that the people with me kept saying helpful things like “Do you see it yet?… Isn’t it cool? … You don’t? … Just LOOK!!!! … Don’t you see it?” The only advice that actually seemed to help was mechanical – to focus on something in the distance so that the page blurred, and to slowly bring the paper into my line of sight without re-adjusting my focus to the page itself. Repeat as necessary.
I eventually mastered the technique and I have to admit, it’s pretty cool. Once you get the hang of it, you can even look around in the bizarre 3D worlds, and marvel at the third dimension depth that can be printed on a 2D page.
This experience forced me to acknowledge that the fact that I couldn’t immediately perceive the image within the autostereogram did not mean that it wasn’t there, and that not being able to see the image, I could not judge whether any of the dots were irrelevant.
I suspect that a lot of people in this thread are feeling pretty much the same way I felt staring at that first 3D image. At the risk of sounding like one of my “helpful” friends, I’ll pass on that, for me, IJ has been like an autostereogram. At first, it seemed to be a random collection of things. Once I surrendered to it and stopped trying to focus on the surface of the page (metaphorically speaking), structure and meaning started to come into view. I’m starting to be able to look around at the view, and I’m now convinced that absolutely nothing is irrelevant, nor was anything placed in the text without intent. (Many have complained about the Eschaton acronyms. Have you ever looked at the index of military acronyms http://www.dtic.mil/doctrine/jel/doddict/acronym_index.html, or read any fiction that include dialog of commanders talking during military engagement? Does this suggest anything about why the Eschaton chapter might be so heavily littered with them? )
If you’re just not seeing it in IJ, and you’re not having a good time, move on to something else without apology! However, please have the courtesy to acknowledge that not seeing the point or story line does not mean that it doesn’t exist, or that the people enjoying the book are pretending to do so out of misguided adulation of DFW. I’d suggest that it’s also a pretty poor perspective from which to decide that any aspect of the book irrelevant.
“Have you ever looked at the index of military acronyms http://www.dtic.mil/doctrine/jel/doddict/acronym_index.html, ”
Unbelievably, it does not include SNAFU or FUBAR! There is however an acronym for that exquisite oxymoron: “military intelligence”.
IJ as autostereogram is apt. You just have to put your nose to the paper and pull back until you “get” the perspective. Repeat as necessary.
I have to admit that I’ve fallen into the suspicion of wondering whether some people are enjoying this book as much as they claim.
Case in point: I have a few friends (and I’ve seen the same thing from many people in comments on this site) who say they would never read Infinite Jest if not for this Infinite Summer project. One of my friends even adds, “If I don’t finish the book this summer, I’ll never finish it.”
Then in the next breath, they will gush about how great this book is, how much they are enjoying the story and characters, and how they ‘can’t put it down’.
While I have no doubt that Infinite Jest has its fans, I would suspect that many people (maybe even most people here) who are enjoying this experience, are really just enjoying the whole Infinite Summer project itself. It has taken on a life of its own.
Take any hellish experience in and of itself, and add to that a great community, camaraderie, and shared experiences — nearly anything can be made not only tolerable, but also memorable and well worth the journey.
It’s like that job that you’re not all that crazy about, sometimes you find yourself dragging through each day — but in the end, it’s your co-workers that make things worth it. You’ve made friends with many of them, still getting to know others, and each day is a new adventure. You keep showing up because you feel you’re a part of something.
At least, that’s how I feel right now with Infinite Jest. There’s no way I would be reading this book all by myself for my own personal enjoyment. I would have never cracked open the cover, let alone made it beyond the first 100 pages, if I didn’t have deadlines to follow, discussions to keep up with, blog entries to read, and the knowledge that thousands of people are trying to do exactly what I’m doing.
Reading people write about IJ is more fun than reading the book, for me. If this book were any easier or accessible, this project would have never been a success. Infinite Summer is labeled as a “challenge”, an “endurance”, that we as a community are attempting to tackle together.
I suppose it speaks as a testament to the source material itself that it has created this phenomena. Although, for being a book over 1000 pages and 388 footnotes — I would certainly hope so.
I would say the opposite is true for me: I love the book, but the postings here, and the I.S. project in general, has been a let down: a lot of really moronic postings and over analyzing (e.g. trial size dove bars, soap or ice cream?) mixed w/ whining about the size/length of the book. Seems like a significant portion of the participants just want to be able to say they’ve read the book, even though they don’t like it, as you point out.
You are 100% on the money, sir. As the summer has passed, the time I spend reading the book has gradually increased and the time I spend on this site has gradually decreased.
That being said, I love the site for its deadlines and strength-in-numbers bulwarks to my wandering attention. It really helps motivate while getting through some of the duller passages.
I hope to see more of these projects in the future. Maybe Barth next?
It’s odd how so many of the reactions in the comments seem bitter on one side or another, as if people are taking a dissenting opinion of the book as a personal affront.
I have to admit that that’s how I first reacted to Avery’s post, but it is really as some people on here say: If you don’t like, you don’t have to read it. It really isn’t for everyone, just as no work of art (and this certainly is one, in my opinion – and likely most others) is for everyone.
I do wonder, however, how much the pervasive sense of frustration that Avery expresses is due to the fact she’s well over 100 pages behind. A difficult challenge (at least at the beginning) of staying on track is now probably looking insurmountable and likely contributes quite heavily to whingeing about it.
Also, I probably would have given up in the first fifty pages if not for this site. I am infinitely grateful that I stuck with it. Around page 200, I started to really enjoy it, and now, I’m absolutely loving it and having to restrain myself from going too many day’s reading ahead so that the posts here are still fresh.
I like the honesty of Avery’s post. If I sounded at all frustrated, it’s my reaction to the tone of some of the other comments. My frustration comes from people ignoring the not-so-subtle difference between making observations about their own experience with the book (“The lengthy descriptions just seem (to me) like a bunch of irrelevant filler”) and stating things as though they are objective fact (“The book contains massive amounts of irrelevant filler”). I don’t know about you, but the first statement tells me something about the writer’s enjoyment of the book (or lack thereof), while the second feels like a slap at the author, the book, and the people who happen to like the book.
[…] geez. I wasn’t going to wade into these waters at all. Just wasn’t going to touch it. But Daryl over at Infinite Zombies had a nice […]
I feel like much of the book is an excuse for DFW to show off his research into different areas….without a lot of emotional resonance, at least thus far. I’m hoping it changes. IJ is constructed of mountains of detail that while individually are interesting, as a whole are not compelling, at least to me. The one exception to this is DFW’s depiction of drug abuse and the AA culture…But this book seems to be a series of essays strung together instead of a narrative whole. I’m going to finish it, but although I have much admiration for DFW’s perceptions and at times brilliant writing, the narrative seems to be going in circles progressing nowhere.
I’m sorry that you’re missing out on all the book has to offer. Maybe at some point down the line, you’ll re-read it and see it from a different perspective. My first reaction was to be like, personally offended by this post. It’s strange how falling in love with a book can feel so intimate. But I thought about it and really, if you don’t like it, it’s your loss – the rest of us are benefitting – and I’m sincerely sorry about that.
I agree with Avery: I, too, am not enjoying this book. Unlike Avery, however, I’m not turned off by the seeming senselessness, meandering digressions, obfuscating blocks of words, or overwrought footnotes. All that stuff I love. What I don’t love–and I just realized this the other day when reading the portrait, as Avery aptly calls it, of Mario–is that I feel like DFW totally despises and is making fun of the characters he describes (with the exception of Hal). I just sort of loathe the attitude DFW gives his narrator. You know how when you read other authors that are heavily invested in drawing portraits of their characters, like Bolano or Garcia Marquez, or Woolf, or even, like, Dickens, you can totally tell that those details are meant to be less like portraiture and more like sculpture: they provide an inventory of all the minute and usually-overlooked aspects of of a character that make that character someone about whom the reader can/should care? What I’m finding with IJ is that I care waaaaayyy more about protecting the characters from the narrator’s cold, demagogic renderings. Perhaps this is the point, and I will eventually come to understand that the narrator’s like-dropping, character-eviscerating identity is central to the reading experience? I don’t know, I just know that I don’t like feeling encouraged to laugh at Mario and then being encouraged to see Hal’s redemption of him as empty and based on false premises (which serves to further the annunciation of Hal, no one else). Maybe I’m just a big empathetic baby? I don’t know, any thoughts? I scrolled through the comments to see if others felt this way, and I probably missed the ones that do…
Molly – your perception is fascinating and really surprising to me. It’s surprising because the read that I get is so totally different! It never would have occurred to me that DFW is making fun of the characters (putting them at risk, for sure!, but I get no sense of fun-making). I had actually noted to myself that Mario is so loved by (most of) the other characters, and the descriptions of him in action seem to me to be so full of affection. Certainly, there are some chapters that are narrated from the perspective of certain characters (e.g., Gately and Tavis)and these sections make statements about other characters that are harsh and distasteful, but they have not struck me as being the voice of the author.
I’m very fond of these characters and I worry about their fates. I’m curious about what accounts for our different gut reactions to their treatments at the hands of the author. I hope others weigh with their perceptions, too. I know that I’ll certainly be looking for hints of what you see as I proceed.
It’s weird, but it’s like I feel that DFW is using the extensive detail of the character portraiture to not only engross but–maybe in so doing–to get in between our empathetic/sympathetic knowledge of the characters. In the authors’ works I cited above, extensive details seem to provide direct access to the heart of a character (Jose Arcadio Buendia’s black coffee, Mrs. Ramsey’s knitted sock, Mr. Wemmick’s house/fortress) and seem to pave the way towards establishing the reader’s comprehension of the characters. In IJ, however, I feel that the detail works more like a detour (to keep that simile going). But the more I think about it (and your response really made me think, so thanks), the more that seems pointed (especially given that so many character-details have to do with surface, illusion, perception, disease/deformity). Now, after re-reading the Eschaton bit, I’m beginning to separate my view of DFW from the narrator and see that perhaps an earlier commenter is right when s/he suggests that the book is in many ways about (the possibility of) empathy in a degenerative world in which total engrossment becomes a mode of survival. Anyway, thanks again.
Agreed. I think an important thing to keep in mind is that DFW is not speaking in his own voice. A lot of people here seem to confuse his voice with the narrator of any section (ie finding him racist) but often by using a character’s perspective, we learn more about the character themselves than if he were just to describe their attitude toward people or things. If a character is harsh, we’re not meant to align ourselves with his attitude – we’re meant to use that knowledge to understand the character.
I see below that Molly is beginning to come to a similar conclusion, and I’m glad. The details may not be as direct or symbolic as details in Marquez’s writing, but I think they do add up to a complete portrait of a person.
I think the point at the heart of this book is about the importance of empathy and truly hearing one another. I think it’s helpful to keep that in mind as well. Sorry this wasn’t articulate, I just woke up and feel groggy from dreaming.
I couldn’t disagree more. Wallace’s characters (for the most part) feel much more substantial, complex, and human than most in literature. Wallace or the narrator or to whomever we ascribe the agency of description in this book, is grimly unflinching about some of the more difficult aspects of life, and this really shows during the passage describing Mario at length. I fail to detect any cruelty in the description, however, and as noted above, Mario is consistently portrayed as an almost spiritually ideal human.
The Narrator: I’ve been meaning to ask the greater group about that. The book opens with Hal as narrator and that disappears shortly. It seems like the narrator changes throughout (the voice, word choices, etc changes noticably), but I don’t see the pattern (mostly because I’m reading for enjoyment and not trying to analyze it constantly . . . sorry, that wasn’t meant to be a dig at anyone).
Any insight out there?
One of the footnotes on the Eschaton section is Pemulis dictating to Hal the mathematical intricacies of the game, and in it he mentions something about Hal writing the story and constantly referring to himself in the third person. So at least for the Enfield Academy sections, Hal remains the narrator. But there are those Clenette/yrstruly sections, and Marathe and Steeply, and of course all of the Ennet House scenes. These (almost) definitely can’t be narrated by Hal.
What Wallace seems to be trying to do is avoid using an omniscient narrator and instead using a dozen or so (probably more) limited-focus narrators, giving each scene more personal insight and involvement in a single character while still giving a bunch of them their moment in the spotlight, so to speak. I think novel’s not supposed to be thought of as a story written by one person, but a patchwork of stories and incidents (semi) organized and assembled together by Wallace.
And as for Avery’s post…all I can think is “Wtf?” I don’t understand how anyone cannot absolutely love this novel. From “I am in here” on I was hooked.
In the Bookworm interview, DFW states early on that the structure of the book resembles a fractal called a sierpinski gasket (if memory serves): http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sierpinski_triangle
It might be also useful to start thinking of Barth and frame tales. The Friday Book has an essay about it. Could IJ’s Harry Bailey be the Cuban hospital orderly who asks Hal what his story is?
Menippean satire might be another structuring tool for reading IJ. The wikipedia article is not very good. Chaucer and the Menippean Satire, by F. Anne Payne (Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 1981) is many times better.
Well, for that matter, you could even go back to Shakespeare and think about how his “low” characters and fools mirror, advance, and often simultaneously lampoon themes and action in the plays.
My feeling is that each section is narrated from the main character in that section’s perspective, but they’re not actually the narrator. Like, it’s how they would tell it if they could, but there is also information in there that they couldn’t possibly know. It’s their voice.
This is more of how I’m hearing it too. Kevin, I know what your saying about Hal being the narrator of the Enfield sections, even in the 3rd person, but I guess that’s what I’m curious about: why would Hal (Wallace?) do that? I find it an interesting device.
This has clearly got to be the case. The Gately and, especially, the Marathe sections make this obvious, I think.
[…] at infsum this week Avery Edison stated with great honesty that she isn’t enjoying Infinite Jest. Which is strangely reassuring. I would claim that I am enjoying Infinite Jest, but I’m […]
I completely agree with the original post. I keep reading, but am getting nothing out of it. I actually am beginning to get angry with the author. If I hadn’t paid 10 bucks for the book I would have already stopped.
I’m amazed that a. this book is held in such high regard; and b. that the someone published another of this author’s works.
Really? Just because you don’t like the book doesn’t mean no one else does. Considering you’re posting this in an online community where tons of people are devoting lots of time and energy to discussing the book, do you really not understand that it can have merit, even if it doesn’t fit into your own personal taste?
Avery, I appreciate your honesty about this. I admire you for sticking with it, but I fear that your disappointment will only grow if you’re slogging through the book looking for a big payoff. When I first read IJ ten years ago, armed with a dictionary and a bucketful of determination, I realized pretty quickly that I became MORE frustrated by stopping to look up words or rereading sections that I didn’t find interesting. Once I let go of the idea of reading it well and expecting results, the reading became a hell of a lot more fun. I liked the stuff I liked, and I didn’t sweat the stuff I didn’t — and in the end I ended up loving the book.
I’m sure you’re over people telling you to enjoy the details, because if you don’t, you don’t, and that’s okay. For me, one of the cool things about IJ is that it has the potential to grab its readers in such a wild variety of ways. I hope you find something about it that works for you.
This is such a fascinating discussion – thanks to all of you for your insights and your honesty. My observation is that the beauty of the book (and its challenge) is the way it sort of forces you to keep re-identifying and re-evaluating the context. It’s like our current world – where everything seems to pivot on what we pay attention to.
Look at p169, where Jim O’s father sums up pretty much his life’s experiences and offers this to his son: “Any man can slip out there. All it takes is a second of misplaced respect.” The pot, forever calling the kettle black.
Similarly, look at the context (world in 2009) in which we are reading this – somehow, amid all the myriad narrators with their myriad dialects and points of view, with additional infinite access via footnotes/links/lists to all manner and levels of detail (look just within the IS site and beyond – and this on ONE BOOK), and how do we know what to pay attention to and what’s the “best experience” and worst possible things to miss and with a growing subtle anxiety and a greater and greater certaintly (that’s exhilarating and sinister) we are compelled to believe that all around us the story lines are converging and if we can’t see how or why, well, then, at the least, we’ve “fallen behind” and at the worst, we’re just plain lost…
In this context, it’s my observation that IJ is reality nested. It’s what it describes. And the great challenge for us – ok for me – (with the book as well as life) is that I/we keep thinking we can get “outside” to someplace where we can peer into it and reach some understanding of what the hell is going on. The characters, the author, the reader – all on the same court, literally on the same page facing the same dilemma!
Amazing! What a feat! Both the writing and the reading! Exactly on a par with each other in terms of challenge, discovery, frustration, faith… DFW’s genius. I love this book. And hopefully you can at least make peace with it! Good luck!
I didnt think Avery seemed hostile, just honest. This book is not for everyone. As Jerry Garcia said once (in reference to the Grateful Dead’s music): Our music is like licorice. Not everyone likes licorice. But people who like licorice really *really* like licorice.
That being said, I really like this book, and as said before, I started reading it on my own this summer, while in recovery (6 months) and because I wanted to. All before I found out about this project and because I laughed really hard when I read the Harpers articles about cruise ships.
I say, if you have been to a few hundred AA meetings, then you know this book is spot-on! Its an awesome literary tour de force, that will eventually have entire college curriculums devoted to its study. Impossible than anything short of space aliens wrote this book.
Honestly, the reason this book is so cool is because it is like if you took the time (and had the time) to actually verbally describe every signal detail and its significance at any given moment. I found I started to hear DFW-like descriptions of my girlfriends face as I was staring at her one night, and realized, that that is exactly what he is doing — taking the time to actually describe in exquisite detail the minor things that we never pay attention to. I heard the DFW voice writing paragraph after paragraph about her eyebrows and realized this literary style is pure genius. Unlike anything I have ever read. An ancient artifact in modern times. Unreal. Beautiful. Prose.
Honestly, I was completely blindsided when an overarching plot began to weasel its way in around page 400. I know you’re sick of that milestone stuff, but seriously. That’s when the thing started seeming like a coherent story to me.
For instance, you finally find out how all those portraits of people are actually connected. Stick with it. You’re on the brink – I promise.
[…] the Avery induced exodus, many, many folks continue to write about Infinite Jest. The most indefatigable chronicles […]
Can’t speak for anyone else, but I didn’t stop reading because of Avery’s post.
Also, it turns out that Infinite Summer is just as fun without actually reading the book! I still have all the RSS feeds in my Reader, and they’re still enjoyable to read. The book is not worth my time, but Infinite Summer and all the smart/wonderful people involved are still making this a great experience. 🙂
I’m relieved to read Avery’s post, having finally caved and given up (for now) at page 178.
Just wanted to put in a shout-out for DFW’s “This Is Water” (the published version of his 2005 commencement address) because it strikes me as the perfect counterpoint to this (wonderful, inspired) enterprise: a “book” that would actually be under a dozen pages if printed normally, but in this incarnation is only 137 small-sized pages with one sentence on each page.
“Infinite” quitters, read “Water” and rejoice! Arguably the most accessible DFW writing he ever wrote, and between this tiny book and the parts of the Big One you’ve read, you’ll have gotten a strong hit of the essence of one of literature’s (and humanity’s) greats.
[…] 5. If it wasn’t obvious, this post is in response to Detox’s post and Daryl’s post, both of which are in response to Avery’s post. […]
[…] 5. If it wasn’t obvious, this post is in response to Detox’s post and Daryl’s post, both of which are in response to Avery’s post. […]
[…] am not enjoying this book,” I wore my plot-driven excitement on my sleeve in a comment on the Infinite Summer blog—a comment that in retrospect seems to quaintly mix naïveté and […]