Shelf Lives, Vol 2: Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace

(To read an introduction to Shelf Lives, and the first "issue" about Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche's Americanah, click here.)

It's bonkers to me that this photo is nearly 15 years old. Look how young and bro-ish I look? 😅 (If you've never met me IRL, just take my word for it: This is Young Bro-ish Greg.) This photo is from 2011. I "posed" for it for a Book Riot piece in which contributors were asked to write about a favorite book. This photo is basically the culmination of three years of me talking about Infinite Jest nonstop to anyone who would listen, and many who wouldn't, or stopped listening and walked away mid-sentence.

And but so, it's probably not a shocker that Infinite Jest is the second entry in this Shelf Lives series. Here's this book's story: In the fall of 2008, I got a text from my then-girlfriend-now-wife. It said something like "I just saw David Foster Wallace died. Didn't you like that guy?"

Yep, David Foster Wallace had died (he died by suicide Sept. 12, 2008). And yes, I really did like that guy. But I was a DFW bandwagon fan. I'd only stumbled upon his work a few years prior, when somebody gave me a copy of Consider the Lobster. I was floored. I didn't know writing could do what writing was doing in these essays -- to surround a topic from all angles, to turn something inside out, examine it, and put it back together with words, and to make it so immensely readable you just can't look away, whether he's writing about if lobsters feel pain or the Adult Video News Awards. So then I read just about everything else he'd written -- even the terrible, impenetrable short stories, like "Westward the Course of Empire Takes Its Way," which DFW himself admitted later he'd crossed the line between reader enjoyment and reader aggravation. But I loved them anyway. I loved how he wrote. I loved his intellect. I loved his fart jokes.

But I held off reading Infinite Jest. At that point, as we arrive in the fall of 2008, it'd been 12 years since he'd published a novel, and I told myself when news of something new of his was imminent, I'd finally read this thousand-page tome. Then he killed himself. And nothing new would be forthcoming (though of course, something did: The Pale King -- a sad facsimile of a DFW novel). So I read Infinite Jest.

I expected it to be brilliant. It's brilliant. And impossibly sad, in light of DFW's death.

Reading Infinite Jest to me is significant not just because it's the best work by my favorite writer, but also because, while I read it, I wrote about books on the internet for the first time. To keep me motivated in my reading (Infinite Jest is brilliant, have I mentioned that? But it's also really difficult), I started a web log, or "blog" for brevity's sake -- at that time, a new and growing form of content creation. My blog was called Choad vs. Infinite Jest and I wrote about my progress through the novel and whatever else was on my mind. It was very raw and, now looking back, very cringe-worthy. (Side note: If you didn't think I was bro in my late 20s to early 30s already, let me explain the blog's title: "Choad" was my fraternity nickname in college. It comes from Beavis & Butthead. When I started the blog, it never occurred to me at all that anyone other than people I knew would be reading this thing. Or that 17 years later, I'd be writing about it and linking to it.)

When people ask me if they should read Infinite Jest, my answer is always along the lines of "Yes, by all means. But prepare to be frustrated." (A bookstore colleague who tried to read it on my recommendation began calling it "Infinite Rest" because every time she picked it up to read, she'd fall asleep within five minutes.) The novel disorients you on purpose for more than 200 pages, until you finally get your bearings and settle in. Sure, I understand why that can be off-putting. And I know fans of David Foster Wallace generally and this novel in particular have become somewhat of a punch line these days. That's fine by me. Punch away. I unashamedly love it.

So here we are, 17 years after reading Infinite Jest, and not only is this edition of the book (which is, strangely, a paperback, but with the hardcover's art. I don't remember, even, where I got it) still on my shelf, I have another as well -- a 20th anniversary "collector's edition" with a forward by Tom Bissell. Every year, I tell myself it's time for an Infinite Jest re-read. But I haven't done it yet. I'm not worried about a re-read affecting my memory of reading it the first time, or whether the novel "holds up." I just haven't done it. But if there were any book on my shelf that is screaming for a reread, Infinite Jest is it.

Who's in?

2025 updated photo