This book was… Fuck I don’t know how to describe this book.
It’s partially an exploration in writing. David Foster Wallace is obviously a brilliant writer, and the book contains many scenes that were nothing short of gripping. But it’s also obvious that he was having fun writing this book. He was playing around with it - mixing in multiple different writing styles, the endless footnotes, the odd ways he tells you important information. It’s just… eclectic. And wonderful. And difficult. And funny. And dense. It’s all of these things, and so much more.
It’s also partially an exploration of how important entertainment is in our modern American culture. He introduces multiple characters throughout the book with many different ways of keeping themselves occupied. Some devote their lives to sports. Some devote their live to their jobs. Some devote their lives to drugs. Still others devote their lives to their 12 step programs that helped pulled them out of their addictions. And so many times in this book I felt like Wallace touched on essential components of human behavior. His musings on depression and the moods and feelings that come with that are intense. His descriptions of human nature and thought and actions are so vivid. I read his description of a character having a seizure and I thought I was going to have a panic attack. Same for when he described a former drug addict in the hospital with a tube down his throat, unable to protest as his doctor insists on giving him Demerol, the very drug he was addicted to. It was intense and I was so afraid for the character, who I had grown to like.
There’s just so much to unpack in this book… I can’t do it justice.