A self-described “semi-agoraphobe,” David Foster Wallace was hailed as a literary genius, and prestigiously honored as such, before hanging himself in September of this year. I recently read an article on him, his writing and the lifelong bout with depression that arguably fueled his creativity, powered his pen and ultimately led to his death. I’ve yet to read Infinite Jest, the book that solidified his reputation as a beautiful mind, but I just finished a journalistic piece he wrote for Harper’s Magazine in 1996. The essay, in a word (well, two): totally awesome.
It finds Wallace describing and commenting on the tourist experience, the trifling minutiae and the uniquely American excess exhibited during his one week trip aboard a luxury cruise ship in the Caribbean. From Wikipedia: “His ironic displeasure with the professional hospitality industry and the ‘fun’ he should be having unveils how the indulgences of the cruise turn him into a spoiled brat, leading to overwhelming internal despair.”
Wallace writes “Shipping Out” as an unedited camera, taking in everything with little regard for cuts. Neurotic attention is paid to the smallest of details, not necessarily for the sake of adding to the glut of information already provided in the piece, but if only for the special joy that comes from observing and recounting such trivialities. His prose is long-winded, heavily punctuated but not overly complex, and peppered with the kind of specific vocabulary that characterizes a rabid reader. Nouns like “appurtenances,” verbs such as “brazed” and “instantiating,” and perfectly descriptive adjectives like “glaucous,” “uterine” and “methamphetaminic.” Too, the content is so dense, though certainly not exhausting, that Wallace is forced to use extensive footnotes, unable (or unwilling) to cram even more information into the actual text of the piece. His writing is eloquent and pedantic but still retains a conversational quality that shines through in frequent colloquial phrases and exclamations. Whether measuring his cabin in units of “size-eleven Keds” or extolling the virtues of his overachieving shower and “fascinating and potentially malevolent toilet” (“a harmonious concordance of elegant form and vigorous function”), no stone is left unturned. I’m looking forward to reading more of his work.
It finds Wallace describing and commenting on the tourist experience, the trifling minutiae and the uniquely American excess exhibited during his one week trip aboard a luxury cruise ship in the Caribbean. From Wikipedia: “His ironic displeasure with the professional hospitality industry and the ‘fun’ he should be having unveils how the indulgences of the cruise turn him into a spoiled brat, leading to overwhelming internal despair.”
Wallace writes “Shipping Out” as an unedited camera, taking in everything with little regard for cuts. Neurotic attention is paid to the smallest of details, not necessarily for the sake of adding to the glut of information already provided in the piece, but if only for the special joy that comes from observing and recounting such trivialities. His prose is long-winded, heavily punctuated but not overly complex, and peppered with the kind of specific vocabulary that characterizes a rabid reader. Nouns like “appurtenances,” verbs such as “brazed” and “instantiating,” and perfectly descriptive adjectives like “glaucous,” “uterine” and “methamphetaminic.” Too, the content is so dense, though certainly not exhausting, that Wallace is forced to use extensive footnotes, unable (or unwilling) to cram even more information into the actual text of the piece. His writing is eloquent and pedantic but still retains a conversational quality that shines through in frequent colloquial phrases and exclamations. Whether measuring his cabin in units of “size-eleven Keds” or extolling the virtues of his overachieving shower and “fascinating and potentially malevolent toilet” (“a harmonious concordance of elegant form and vigorous function”), no stone is left unturned. I’m looking forward to reading more of his work.
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1 comment:
A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again and Consider the Lobster should be, like health care, universally available. If the government has to get involved in this, then so be it. Energy independence can wait.
By the by, I just noticed a request you made like two months ago to quote a thing I wrote. I forgot to set up e-mail notification for new comments on that blog and because I assume no one reads it anyway, long periods can pass before I notice new and exciting things there.
Yeah, totally quote me on that. I've always wanted to be a citation.
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