david foster wallace - is he a cunt?

well i suppose i'll get that essaybook shortly and then maybe give ij a go eventually. ij certainly interests me, but i assumed i'd be wiser to pick up a book of short fiction instead of a 1000 page novel i had no intention of finishing anytime soon. looks like i fucked that up.

can we talk about his prose for sec here? does it seem a bit clinical(ly dead) to anyone else?? i mean he's certainly got an immense talent for detail & description, but it reads like some kind of mechanical eye registering every detail and then spouting it out in sheets of crystalline sentences.

ANYWAY um that's based on not much at all, but it's my experience as yet and i'm hoping yall can tell me it's atypical or that i'm way off somehow.

also is the (non-) ending to ij as much as a bummer as everyone says?

Yeah, when he's at his best. I didn't find this to be nearly as true of IJ as it is of, say, Brief Interviews, though.

Ditto "Everything Is Green" or "Girl With Curious Hair" or "Here and There" or "My Appearance." And definitely the title essay of "ASFTINDA" (the cruise ship one).

What Gravel said--that he find's DFW's sentence is in tune with Gravel's own--would seem to disprove the notion that the prose is robotic. Obviously it's just like the way at least some people process the world. So if Gravel and I are humans, then DFW's prose is human also.

Hahaha: so but anyway I do feel like the thought process is very, very human—even more human than the artifice of clean simple prose. I mean, it admits to the problem of humans speaking, which is that as soon as you open your mouth to make an argument, you’re secretly bringing to bear everything you’ve ever learned about life—and if you really want to support what you’re saying, you could trace infinitely back in every direction through howevermany examples and related points and contextual notes. (You an say “I like the Rolling Stones” but I don’t fully know what that means until you’ve told me how you feel about blues and the Beatles and where you grew up and what music you don’t like and what you do for a living and on and on recursively.) It seems human to me that Wallace pushes back the border a little to include more of that recursive thought; if there’s anything android-like it’s the idea that someone can actually whittle a complex thought down to a clean, well-organized essay!

i'm talking more about the fiction, which seems (and again my exp is extremely limited here) wholly without poetry, lacking pynchon's intensity or delillo's understated grace or proust's opiate rhythms or nabokov's playfulness or joyce circa dubliner's detatched humanist portraits. instead it just comes across as detatchment cold & clinical. i guess that isn't automatically a bad thing, but for me it's difficult to stomach here.

ok, i'll shut up until i actually finish one of his stories. maybe (seems logical) these are problems that are most visible in the exposition and dissolve as the text progresses, or maybe i've just badlucked across them. but really, i think there's just something about his goddamn writing i can't stand.

Two of my favorite bits of writing in fiction are: in Beckett's Molloy, where he goes for a page or two describing his system of moving 12 rocks from one pocket to his mouth to the other pocket; and Raymond Federman's Double or Nothing, where he describes going through a modestly complex arithmetic problem in his head:

five and four is nine and five is fourteen and nine is twenty-three and
five is twenty-eight and nine is thirty-seven and four is forty-one carry
over four four and eight is twelve and eight is twenty and four is
twenty-four and five is twenty-nine and two makes thirty-one and eight
is thirty-nine carry over three three and six is nine and five is fourteen
and seven makes twenty-one and three is twenty-four and five is
twenty-nine and one is thirty and four is thirty-four carry over three
three and one is four and two is six and one is seven four and one is
five for a grand total of: 574.91

An interesting guy, basically. Smart as hell.

The more I think about DFW, the less I like him. It seems to me that most of his appeal is superficial, and has maybe too much to do with his audience. i do love his linguistic energy, inventiveness, but the thing that does bug me a lot is his post-grad-MTV-Keanu Reeves(sp?) put on where he interjects a lot of pat, blank, empty teen talk and I can't help but think that he's one of those very irritating post adolescent male cunts who, still in their 30s, seem to be coming to terms with the idea that they were, in their early teens, thought highly precocious, and that, their being aware of this label became for them a kind of badge, which they always draw attention to, ie., cling to, by trying to sound extremely brainy one moment and then offering some kind of anaesthetised teen response which is a kind of ingratiating "apology", for being so smart.

So, in conclusion, false modesty does pretty much qualify you for a cunt. But then again, Martin Amis seems like the biggest cunt around, as far as authors go, and no-one could accuse him of false modesty.

As you might be able to guess I like the guy's work. If only because one of my friends, after borrowing IJ from me, said it read like it was written by an idealised version of me.

New collection of essays coming out sometime relatively soon, too.

Oh, and not a cunt.

There are a couple fan-friendly pictures - the beefy pic with the short hair, where he kind of looks like he's lost (from Broom or Girl, I think) and the one w/ the dogs.

I'm actually kind of interested in the contractual ins/outs of cover art and the dust-jacket photos. Anyone here published and have to go through w/ all of this?

there's a fiction anthology edited by zadie smith a couple years ago ('the burned children of america') (oyy) which has an introduction all about finding some manic-with-their-foster-wallace-fannishness-foster-wallace-fans in spain or something and one of them produces something from a pocket and OMG ITS THE BANDANNA

in my case cover was designed in house by the publisher w/ my input and approval and owned by them. author photos were provided (and paid for) by me. this is fairly typical in the US. at the urging of my agent, I was pretty demanding about the cover: rejecting two versions, settling on a third, then getting a fourth that was absolutely perfect. much to my chagrin, six months after publication I was informed the two biggest bookstore chains had basically passed on the book because they didn't like the cover! so I ceded control on the paperback cover and ended up liking that one too.

Like this ...

http://www.ncf.ca/~ek867/david_foster_wallace.jpg

http://www.twbookmark.com/images/46/25786.jpg

"I am a part-time yoga instructor, but I'm going to massage school."

http://www.sherdog.com/fightfinder/Pictures/coleman_profile.jpg

I read broom of the system for the first time last week and loved it. I have no idea why I wrote this.

Please let me know when they make a miniature version I can keep on my dresser.

All of this, when I saw him like 7 years ago, seemed really contrived, an image he was marketing, and something that would help him land the ladies.

it's sad he was a writer

i would vote for changing the name. i am still upset over this.

you could, you know, not bump the thread

I am surprised at how shocked I've been about this. I've been at home with a cold and it's just been the toughest couple of days. I'm stuck in the loop of walking past the bookshelf and casting a furtive glance at his books, resisting and then failing to pick them up and leaf through. Have mostly gone for Obliviion, and I don't know about anyone else but have found it hard to do. I've thought about his "Good Old Neon" for so long but reading it again is too hard.

Ѿ

.. what?

https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/affective-exchange-amy-hungerfords-making-literature-now

Hungerford, however, does not see the gain of “love” in the work of another contemporarily canonical icon, David Foster Wallace — she sees the cost of hatred. On the basis of preliminary evidence of Wallace’s “misogyny” found in selections of his short stories and in D. T. Max’s biography of Wallace (Every Love Story Is a Ghost Story, 2012), Hungerford declares that she will “not read any further in Wallace’s work” and proposes: “If there was something rotten in Wallace’s relationships with women [ … ] might there be something rotten in the writer-reader relationship, too?” She suggests that if Foer’s writer-reader ethos is “lovemaking,” then Wallace’s is “fucking.” Thus she posits — as “heretical” as it may seem — that every act of reading can be an “act of choosing.” In the case of herself and Wallace, she “refuse[ s ]” her consent.

In September 2016, Hungerford published a version of her Wallace chapter as an article, “On Refusing to Read,” in The Chronicle of Higher Education, which sparked competing cries of support and dissent. As Tom LeClair notes in his Full Stop review of her book, Hungerford’s Chronicle article has a different argumentative thrust: she refuses Wallace in order to resist the “market imperatives” which led his publishers to “dare” reviewers to read the tome-like Infinite Jest and then led those reviewers to assign it critical value as recompense for their cognitive and temporal losses. While this argument is also in Making Literature Now, it takes a backseat to Hungerford’s misogyny claim which, in turn, is absent from the article. LeClair reads this omission as a ploy on Hungerford’s part, a “defanged” teaser to her book’s melodramatic “two takedowns” of Foer and Wallace. I have to wonder instead whether the misogyny argument is absent because Hungerford had trouble placing an article about misogyny. In Making Literature Now, she notes that upon pitching an article about not reading Wallace on the grounds of misogyny, she was met with the advice to read more Wallace to find more misogyny. Hungerford sees this as an assumption “that Wallace’s work ‘about’ misogyny must somehow be revealing or smart about that subject.” This is the assumption that she wishes to interrogate.

I think he was more of a misanthrope than people generally realize and I stopped reading "Oblivion" because I found it kind of unpleasant. But the rape/consent metaphor this writer uses for refusing to read an allegedly misogynistic author is too loaded. And claiming the authority to mount a comprehensive takedown of an author without undertaking the labor of reading them is dumb.

I don’t think Hungerford is suggesting, here, that literature courses should never confront misogyny — or other iterations of hatred — but that seeing as teachers hold the readerly consent of their students in hand, they should choose their texts and authors carefully. To me, Hungerford’s affective-interpretive “worth” system reads as fair: if a reader must pay the cost of imbibing hatred, the author must offer the payback of equivalently potent critical “insight.” Any less is hatred for hatred’s sake. And hatred is worthless

This is such a transactional take on reader response theory. I don't think much good can come from analyzing literary texts as a balance sheet with "value" in one ledger and "cost" in the other. Isn't art supposed to be a repository for kinds of knowledge -- emotional, experiential -- that can't easily be translated into concepts (much less quantified)?

What do u think of that article j.?

making literature now...with McSweeney’s and Everything Is Illuminated and DFW? yuck. thanks, trump!

she must have been sitting on that book for a good ten years waiting for the right time to strike.

i re-read his tracy austin piece -- i think hes otm abt her just lacking introspection/depth; ive come to really like her as a commentator, shes astute but every bit of analysis is p surface level idk not knocking her

j. never explained what he thought about the tendentious la review of books piece he linked to.

Recently read Adrienne Miller's In the Land of Men and I am voting cunt

You push a woman out of a moving car, you’re an undeniable cunt

was she wheel shaped though?