The Guides have begun reading, but won’t begin commentary until the 29th. This week they will use this space to introduce themselves. Feel free to do likewise, in the comments or in the forums.
I don’t know why I own Infinite Jest.
Well, let me clarify. I know the reason I own it: it is, by all accounts, exactly the sort of narrative I most enjoy. I love novels that bend, and then break, and then place into a woodchipper the conventional narrative structure. I adore films where you spend the majority of your time wondering what in the hell is going on. I am helplessly addicted to a TV show that has spent the last five years opening matryoshkas, only to reveal smaller dolls within.
Reputably, Infinite Jest is all these and more.1 So the reasons for my ownership are obvious.
What I am unclear on is why I own it. Like, the actual mechanics by which the book came to be in my possession. Presumably someone, at someone point, urged me to invest in a copy, but I don’t recall purchasing it. Or borrowing it. Or finding it on a suitcase in a railway station, attached to a note reading “Please look after this bear of a novel.”
Indeed, most of my memories of Infinite Jest revolve around bending over to retrieve something off the floor of our computer room–a pen the cat has batted off the desk, say, or a sheet of paper the printer has ejected with a whit too much enthusiasm–and seeing it, lurking on the bottom shelf,2 wedged between Underworld and Teach Yourself Perl in 21 Days (the former with a spine suspiciously pristine, the latter looking like it’s gone through the dryer). “Remember that night?” it asks. “The night we spent on the redeye from Washington D.C.? You read 120 page of me, promised we would stay together until the end. What happened?” I avert my eyes, quickly straighten, and flee. This may well explain why the floor of the computer room is two inches deep in abandoned pens and Google Maps hard copies.
In addition to Infinite Jest, here is a list of other David Foster Wallace works that I have somehow failed to read: all of them. Or at least that was the case two month ago, when I first envisioned this crazy event. Since then I have been wolfing down DFW essays as a golden retriever would a dropped ice cream sandwich.
Among the first was The View from Mrs. Thompson’s, which contains this train-wreck of a sentence:
The house I end up sitting with clots of dried shampoo in my hair watching most of the actual unfolding Horror at belongs to Mrs. Thompson, who is one of the world’s cooler 74-year-olds and exactly the kind of person who in an emergency even if her phone is busy you know you can just come on over.
Honestly, if I hadn’t already announced Infinite Summer, that might have been its end. It’s not the worst sentence I’ve ever seen,3 but I had to go over it three times just to parse, and thought of reading 1,079 pages thrice over the summer struck me as even more insane than the original proposal.
My trepidation lasted exactly 24 hours, until, halfway through his amazing essay Shipping Out (PDF), I stumbled across this thing of wonder:
Only later do I learn that that little Lebanese Deck-l0 porter had his head just about chewed off by the (also Lebanese) Deck-l0 Head Porter, who had his own head chewed off by the Austrian Chief Steward, who received confirmed reports that a passenger had been seen carrying his own bag up the port hallway of Deck 10 and now demanded a rolling Lebanese head for this clear indication of porterly dereliction, and the Austrian Chief Steward had reported the incident to a ship’s officer in the Guest Relations Department, a Greek guy with Revo shades and a walkie-talkie and epaulets so complex I never did figure out what his rank was; and this high-ranking Greek guy actually came around to 1009 after Saturday’s supper to apologize on behalf of practically the entire Chandris shipping line and to assure me that ragged-necked Lebanese heads were even at that moment rolling down various corridors in piacular recompense for my having had to carry my own bag.
Holy great jeezum crow almighty. It is clear that the peaks in Wallace’s writing are an order of magnitude greater than the occasional valleys.
And based on the first 20 pages of Infinite Jest, at looks as though the peaks in this novel will be so plentiful that altitude sickness will pose the biggest threat. Like a climber headed toward his first summit, I am filled with an excitement tinged with apprehension, and a hope that I have enough oxygen for the journey.
I dunno, I think the sentence you quote from Mrs. Thompson’s is kind of nice. Which is not to say that it’s easily diagrammable, but it’s fitting. My 5-year-old daughter has started using similar sort of infixed, uncomma-laden, phrases that, in print, may not render very well but that are I think sort of the way a whole lot of people talk, especially when in informal situations like, say, watching a horror unfold while watching TV at your neighbor’s house. But Holy jeezum crow almighty indeed: There’s so much good stuff in Wallace’s work that any valleys (whether your particular valleys agree with my particular valleys or not) are more than made up for by the peaks. For the essays, I suspect it’s better to read them in Wallace’s collections, incidentally, as there you get more what he intended to publish rather than what was published in (in his words relating to at least one essay) bowdlerized form in the magazines he wrote for.
It is a word like bowdlerized that both inspires and intimidates me into reading Infinite Jest. That I would choose to pick up a mammoth text written by someone whose vocabulary makes me feel as though I speak like a five year old, and along with the primary text, a dictionary so I might digest everything I will consume in this text.
To be honest though, I am not looking forward to seeing our collective writing become thicker and more difficult to understand, especially for the fact that we are not DFW and I could write a series of posts on how Wallace-esque language, while interesting to read for we wonks, does not condone clarity in communication. My glimmer of hope on this note came last night, though, as what I presume to be our protagonist, Hal, spoke his first sentence: “I’m no jock.” This should be a memorable summer.
Dang, I just love the idea that you started this whole website, virtually spawning a kind of novel reading movement–which was just mentioned in a local newspaper, by the way, but I can’t remember which one, sorry–because there is a book you owned that you never finished.
That was my attempt at a longish sentence but I think I could do better, had I the time.
Also, I exaggerate because it wasn’t only a book you owned that you never finished but a book you suspect might be very worth reading. In addition, I don’t know your actual motives. It’s just funnier to me to imagine you looking at this book on your shelf and this is the result.
There’s something so wonderful about this whole thing but I can’t put my finger on it, exactly.
Oh the multi-clausal sentences have begun! I am so very excited!
How he worms his way into the every part of our being…
I never leave a copy of Infinite Jest in my car. The first time, the whole car was stolen. The other time, my windows were smashed and my stereo was stolen. I read the book over 18 months in high school and had no more sense of it after reading. Just remember some mammoth tennis board game and weed. I’m taking this deadly seriously now, though.
That about covers it.
This is duplicated from my blog but it is a summary of why I am doing Infinite Summer:
Things I know about DFW:
* – he is very well regarded, especially online.
* – his style involves lots of writing, and footnotes.
* – he liked/played tennis.
* – he struggled with depression.
* – he struggled with addictions.
* – his writing can be incredibly funny and incredibly smart and incredibly moving.
* – all at the same time.
* – he made a really good speech at a commencent ceremony advising undergraduates on how to live (this theme is why I love DFW even without having read his most important book and why I am very excited about reading it).
* – he set a good syllabus for his teaching that I want to read all of.
* – he seemed to be a good teacher, and his class instructions are witty and inspire me to be more inventive with teaching.
* – he wore a bandana.
* – and glasses.
* – I have seen photos of him with a dog.
He wore a bandanna in public, mostly at readings, because when he would sweat profusely while reading, causing the pages to become soaked. At least according to Dave Eggers in the foreword to my copy. =)
It took me ten years to read Underworld. Great book.
I think you’ve hit on something strange and lovely: the way a certain piece of writing or music or art can insinuate itself into your life in a way that is orders of magnitude beyond the average “hey, I kinda like that”. And subsequently the relationship spreads out all over the place, into a full blown obsession w/ the creator of the work, and then forming what can become almost tribal friendships based on that shared passion etc etc. And the spreading out runs backwards as well as forward in time, so that in hindsight you start memorializing certain personal milestones like remembering the first time you saw the book, or when you knew you were truly smitten w/ the author’s style. (Sort of reminds you of the reminiscing over where you first met such and such a lover doesn’t it? That bar on the upper east side….)I remember distinctly savoring that exact passage from Shipping Out, reading and re-reading it before moving on w/ the rest of the article.And I knew I was “shot” when I discovered the Howling Fantods blog the next day and lost a whole morning right then and there. And the sense of joy and relief knowing there are all these other folks out there who are equally captivated. I think this is why people frequently end up talking about Proust when discussing DFW. Because both authors share the ability to articulate exactly what it is like to be “set-off” on a wildly digressive and swooning reverie of memories evoked by something as simple as the dunking of a madeleine in their tea. Or how such specific stimuli can take on a life of their own…have a virtual spirit, that you end up in a relationship with. In Proust it is the famous “little phrase”, a snippet of piano sonata, that Swann hears at a dinner party when he first realizes he is becoming amorously inclined towards Odette. The passage of music takes on a whole life of it’s own…and becomes almost a living thing onto which Swann can project the entire trajectory of his obsession…and then talk to,plead with, remonstrate over time as he slides inexorably down the rabbit hole. Speaking of which…I’m starting to ramble…thanks for the interesting bit of commentary Mathew.
Hopefully, I’m well prepared for the fun of reading Infinite Jest because I have subsequently read two of Dave Wallace’s books of essays that made me piss in my pants in public from laughing. It never happens that I read three books by the same author in the same year. Must be a sign.
I was introduced to DFW’s writing in January of 2006 when The Morning News posted a link to his Kenyon College speech.
Since then I’ve read everything DFW published in book form, some books twice, and plus essays. I have attached myself limpet-like to his out-sized writerly persona. My wife gets a strained, patient look on her face when I bring up the man or his writing. I still haven’t gotten over DFW’s suicide, but I’m getting used to it. He got me to watch “Blue Velvet” b/c of one of his essays, and now reading /Infinite Jest/ this time around, I hear Angelo Badalamenti music in my head during the novel’s James O. Incandenza sections. The entire novel, in fact, encapsulates for me my lived experience of the late 1980s, attending high school (Class of 1990, Bengals ruleth the world), arguing on the debate team, experimenting with forbidden substances, laughing with friends, pulling pranks, engaging just about any frenetic or antic activity at all just to stave off the great fear of What Comes After Graduation. /IJ/ evokes all this for me and more.
And yet, I still feel like I can maintain somewhat of a clinical commentator distance in this Infin-Jest-athon, and can soberly assess this or that chapter or sentence on its literary or technical merits. I didn’t go to college. I’m prone to foam-flecked jagged rants when provoked, but make liberal use of the ‘delete’ key. I like a good laugh.
This is your humble servant-commentator out of Orem, Utah, another, but not The, Matt.
This is a good idea, to read “Infinite Jest” this way. I tried reading it about nine months ago and got so frustrated by page 100 that I gave up. But reading ten pages a day may help to ease that frustration. Perhaps after Infinite Summer, I’ll do “House of Fall(ing) Leaves”–another book I haven’t been able to get through.
House of Leaves is an absolutely phenomenal book. A lot of people don’t like it, but I think it’s brilliant.
I’ve never tried to read Infinite Jest before, but since I finished college (10 years ago), I’ve had trouble completing complex novels without some sort of deadline or guide. I haven’t been able to read Faulkner, or famous Russian lit, and Pynchon’s Mason & Dixon is my personal started three times but have never made it past page 150 book.
I love reading, I love books, and I love the feeling you get when you finish and book and feel like that was the best thing possible that you could have done with the time you spent reading it. I started reading a week earlier, since that timed with a planned vacation, and if this is the “difficult” part, I can’t wait until the “good” part comes in.
I’m finding his style of writing fascinating. DFW obviously had a great mastery of language and writing, and could structure sentences perfectly. I’m really enjoying seeing how the narrative goes along in perfect sentences, and then changes to capture a particular voice of a character or a mood. Those valleys in the writing are intentional, and I’m finding it very interesting to see when and how he uses them.
Oh no, I fear the endnotes page may be down. I’m getting a 404.
These have been fixed–thanks!
I realize many others have expressed this, but thank you for starting this project! Infinite Jest has been on my list of “I really need to read that one day” for years and this has given me exactly the impetus needed. The whole Infinite Summer idea is wonderful and it’s great how it’s expanding and spinning off links, etc. I have tried, without success, to get a group of friends to join me on this journey for in person discussions so I’m really looking forward to the posts/comments/forums and assorted blogs. I’m loving the book so far, aiming to stay just slightly ahead of schedule and hoping that I’ll be able to maintain that while keeping up with my previously scheduled on hold deliveries from the library!
So I just broke up with my old lady and moved onto a farm. Time to kick back with DFW and get er done this time!
Is it weird that your first footnote caused me to hysterically giggle? The bad hysterical, not the fun one.
Thanks so much for doing this. Idea: Can you put a #infsum twitter feed on the sidebar? Might be nice.
Linked in here from two different web logs. I heard about the book a few years back but never bought it. Saw this and thought it would help me get through the parts I don’t understand so I figured why not buy it now. The 75 page a week pace is do-able and I prefer long books when they are good. I guess everyone prefers that long books be good, but I get mad when good (shorter) books end. The end also coincides with my summer vacation if I start to lag behind.
I have read some long books that are old, like War and Peace and long non fiction books on economics, but never any of the books newer novels that are generally lumped into this category (not to generalize). So far I am on page 50 and I am supprised that it is pretty easy going so far. Definitely easier than the last book I read, a translated-from-German 1922 economic treatise on Socialism.
OK…so far I love this book (I am on pace) but NO WAY am I going to be able to read it AND the great blog posts AND the in-depth commentary /discussion… 🙂
[…] Over at Infinite Summer, the guides are telling us about where they got to Infinite Jest [IJ] (here, here). This post is about where IJ got […]
I was lucky enough to randomly pick up IJ about six weeks ago. I’ve maxed out my renewals from the library come Thurs., so I’ve got to take the book back for a day or so, or however long it takes for me to refresh my three consecutive two-week checkout periods.
Anyhow, I feel very lucky that I found out about this whole idea last week, because I’ve been making very slow progress (now at about p. 250), and was possibly in danger of giving up. I think I’m going to persevere now that I know a bunch of other Wallace fans are doing it together in his memory.
I discovered him a few years ago when a grad school professor made me read the Harper’s essay about the cruise ship. Since then I’ve read just about every word of nonfiction he wrote, to my knowledge (NF being my main personal and professional interest). In the process, I’ve become one of those quasi-irritating DFW fans that wastes no opportunity to evangelize the uninitiated. After his suicide last fall was the first time in my life where I’ve ever felt actual personal sadness over the death of someone who was a total stranger to me. Which I think is sort of at the heart of why he appeals so strongly to me and others like-minded: his writing is so intimate, exuberant, honest and lively that he did become a friend of sorts.
IJ has been my first try at a DFW novel, and I’m looking forward to this project.
Andrew
On the topic of bad sentences, an example DFW had of TERRIBLE sentences from “Authority and American Usage”
“If such a sublime cyborg would insinuate the future as post-Fordist subject, his palpably masochistic locations as ecstatic agent of the sublime superstate need to be decoded as the “now-all-but-unreadable-DNA” of the fast industralizing Detroit, just as his Robocop-like strategy of carceral negotiation and street control remains the tirelessly American one of inflicting regeneration through violence upon the racially heteroglassic wilds and others of the inner city.”
Yeah. Now that’s a bad sentence.
Ugh, House of Leaves. I read it and found the whole ‘words-shaped like what’s going on’ thing pretty cool, and the basic love plotline was ok, but the whole thing felt rather empty. Secret messages hidden in the text are cool, sure…but not if they’re pointlessly childish like having a list of names where the first letters spell out A LONG LIST.
If you want some real screwy structured novels read some John Barth (who was a large influence one way or another on DFW, who wrote a story responding in sorts to a Barth story)
Chimera by Barth is a book composed of three novellas. The second one has an entire level of narration I didn’t catch until halfway through, and then the third one has the most confusing structure I’ve ever seen. Not to give too much away, but the third story contains a character who reads another character in the form of the second story (???) before turning physically into the third story itself and complaining about how he’s written. Kinda. I left out about 15 levels of confusion so as not to give away the actual ending. But it makes the actual structural complexity of House of Leaves look like See Spot Run.
[…] Summer continued to pop up in my daily internet reading, but it wasn’t until I read the guide introductions and saw someone refer to House of Leaves (one of the most amazing books I’ve read) as […]