Slate.com has collected some remeberances of David Foster Wallace by various editors and writers who either worked with him or met him or knew him in some way.
Interesting stuff. Except I found the one by Joyce Carol Oates to be annoyingly stock for some reason. I don’t know. JCO just kind of annoys me in general.
My progress on Infinite Jest creeps along. I am on page 37 at present. I’m hoping my progress will pick up not that I feel a bit more acclimated to the territory of this novel. It’s a lot to take in as you first begin to read, at least it is for me. But I have to say that I’m quite enjoying it. There is an exuberance to the prose that is both compelling and a little unnerving. It’s like a curious vibrating thing that I’m a little nervous to touch, and yet want to very much.
There’s an excellent verbal exchange between the main character, Hal Incandenza, at age 10 or 11, with a professional conversationalist that his father has sent him to see based on claims of the father that Hal never speaks. Hal refutes these claims by Himself, the nickname that he, Hal, and his mother and brother have given to the father/husband. By the end of this chapter, it would seem that the conversationalist is really Himself, i.e. the father, in disguise. A hilarous and heartbreaking scene.