It's a little late but better than never. My thoughts on David Foster Wallace that is. He was the best of our generation and all and terribly brilliant and it's sad he killed himself and all, but I don't think I'm gonna enjoy reading him. Infinite Jest is what, 1,079 pages, which doesn't scare me, but hearing it compared to Moby Dick or Gravity's Rainbow does. Ugh. Painful. Brief Interviews with Hideous Men I might be able to stomach, but why would I? I live too close for comfort to a few of them. And an article on Roger Federer? I was tortured by a family of tennis fanatics for too long in my early life. Where does this leave me? With Twilight I guess, and the sexy school of adjective writing.
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