Arimo!!!!!!!

Fermi tutti!
Chi mi aveva detto che questo era un libro si rimangi subito le parola!!
Non si prendono in giro così le persone.

Io, invece, ve lo dico chiaro e tondo:
non è assolutamente un romanzo, non è un libro ma è un esperienza; qualcosa in cui una volta entrato non sai se ne uscirai.
Non sto scherzando.
Qui si va oltre al meccanico movimento dell’aprire un libro; oltre al godimento dell’entrare dentro ad una storia, legare con i suoi personaggi e trarne tutte le riflessioni del caso; qui si va oltre all’atto di arrivare alla parola"FINE" perché anche quando la vedi stampata senti che non è nient’altro che una parola messa lì e non ha alcun senso reale perché è chiaro che non finisce lì.
Chiuso il libro so che questo non è una addio ma un certo arrivederci.
Ogni parola è un solco appena scavato.
Ogni paragrafo un angolo da scoprire.

Ne ho sentito parlare per anni come fosse qualcosa per adepti di un’oscura congrega di lettori. Leggerlo avrebbe significato passare ad un livello superiore.
In realtà, non sento di essere andata oltre ma, anzi, mi sento come incastrata in uno spazio con tanti puntini di sospensione........
..................

Venti pagine di farneticanti annotazioni manoscritte.
Settanta in Word (carattere 10.5- Trebuchet M).
Eppure è così difficile rendere un’idea.

“In questi tempi chimicamente tormentati”

Potrei partire da due edifici: l'ETA, l’accademia di tennis posta s’una collina e l'attigua ENNET, casa di recupero per dipendenze.
Oppure potrei partire dalla stramba famiglia Incandenza o da una pellicola pericolosa la cui visione imprigiona chi ne cade vittima.
Potrei partire dall’Experialismo o dal separatismo canadese e strani terroristi in carrozzina.
Un mondo futuro dove le multinazionali si impossessano anche del Tempo che diventa Sponsorizzato; così, ad esempio, il 2008 non si chiamerà più così ma “Anno del Pannolone per Adulti Depend”.
Nulla non so da dove partire.
Così comincerò a farneticare....
.....
So solo che prima esisteva l’Uomo con un mondo interiore fatto di immagini e pensieri da domare. Poi è arrivato David Foster Wallace ed ha aperto una porticina e come spiritelli questi pensieri travestiti da caratteri alfabetici hanno formato parole, riflessioni, riversandosi nelle pagine e nella vita di chi ha varcato questo cancello.
Prima esisteva il Romanzo.
Poi Wallace lo ha ignorato ed ha ridisegnato la Letteratura.

E’ un mondo nuovo dove la percezione di sé (del proprio corpo, del corpo altrui, degli oggetti, degli eventi...) è come una mappa del tesoro da decifrare perché parla una lingua di simboli che nessuno scrittore aveva mai pensato.
Tutto era già scritto ma niente mai è stato scritto così.
Questa visione futura di un mando corrotto, dove chi sta in alto è schiacciato dalla pressione di primeggiare e chi striscia al di sotto si divincola cercando l’uscita.
Le dipendenze che attanagliano tutti e una società, quella occidentale, che si crede libera ed è invece palesemente incapace di scegliere autonomamente.

Io credo fermamente nella magia delle parole.
Cos'è un’opera Letteraria se non una Voce che ti sta parlando?
Non un semplice suono ma un brivido di riconoscimento.

Ecco cosa Wallace mi ha detto a questa prima lettura----

Non era questo il mondo che volevamo.
Ora lo sappiamo.
Ma questo è il mondo in cui ci ritroviamo.
Padri assenti e madri castranti.
Scenari dove ognuno si muove nel proprio scontento rifugiandosi in un’intimità ossessiva.
Corpi menomati, menti ferite.
In fondo siamo tutti alla ricerca di vie di fuga:
un nuovo tipo di droga?
Un’esistenza che si circoscrive alla competizione e alla celebrazione dell’IO?
Tutto tende alla sospensione un annullamento del sè.
Ecco perchè l’Intrattenimento cattura l’Uomo.
Perchè solo così l'Uomo contemporaneo riesce ad essere felice...

Una società frigida, bloccata tra due scomode dimensioni:
in fondo siamo tutti fuori posto o forse siamo solo le vittime di un’infinita creazione di scherzi?


” Una sfocatura più deformante che confusa. Basta stringersi il cuore tutte le notti. Sembra l’uscita della gabbia ma sono le sbarre. Le trappole del pomeriggio. L’entrata dice USCITA. Non c’è un’uscita (...)In qualche modo la gabbia è entrata dentro di lei. L’ingenuità della cosa sfugge al suo controllo. Il Divertente si è ormai staccato dal Troppo. Ha perso la capacità di mentire a se stessa riguardo alla possibilità di smettere, e anche su quanto le piaccia ancora.”


[Avrei un miliardo di altre cose da dire ma per ora mi fermo qui]

UPDATED REVIEW from second reading, April 2021:
When I finished this book the first time, I swore I wouldn't read it again. I loved it, I put it on my favorites shelf, but it was just too much, too long, too intense to ever read it again. But here we go, nearly a decade later, and I've just finished my second reading. I'm pretty sure this will be the last time, but who knows?

I didn't like it as much. I gave it five stars the first time. This time around, I'd give it three stars, but let's split the difference at four. I don't want to argue with my younger self too much.

There are parts of this book that are SO good. Some of these massive, cram-packed pages you just fly through, can't wait to see what happens next, can't wait to get to know the characters more. Wallace knew how to write an action scene, and he knew how to write emotionally gut-punching dialogue. But so much of the book is either boring or tortuous or torturous. I forgot how much of it is truly disturbing stuff.

I just think this book is no longer for me. I may revisit my favorite parts, but the book as a whole requires an obsessive or addictive or masochistic reader, and I'm not that person anymore, apparently. Peace to all the Infinite Jest lovers, but this one is not as good as I once thought.

ORIGINAL REVIEW July 2012:
A few days ago I was reading this at the gym while on the elliptical, sweating copiously, and a girl yelled at me from across the room "how do you even keep your place in that book?", to which I responded, "I use three bookmarks: one for where I'm actually reading in the text, one in the place where it explains the chronology of the book, and one in the endnotes." Her method was to buy two copies of the book and keep one open to the main body of the text and one open to the footnotes. Anyway, when one brings up Infinite Jest, this is surely the conversation that ensues: not of the book itself, but one's practical experience of reading the book.

"Man, those endnotes were really killer. I swear, my thumb muscles are ginormous now from all the flipping back and forth."

"It took me four attempts to actually finish Infinite Jest."

"It takes me like ten minutes to read a single page, those letters are so small."

"That book's like five thousand pages long."

But from here on out, I want to avoid talk of people's reactions to the structure and physicality of the book. The important questions are not "how long does it take to read?" or "are the endnotes really necessary?" Instead, let's talk about the characters, the plot, and the world Wallace created in this diarrhetic-genius book of his.


(image copyright 2012 Idiot Genius)

Wallace is a master world builder. In the near-dystopian near future, the United States, Mexico and Canada have joined to form the Organization of North American Nations (O.N.A.N.). Much of New England is a nuclear wasteland, forcibly ceded to Canada and known as the Great Concavity or Great Convexity, depending on which side of the border you reside. There are various separatist groups who do not support this interdependence treaty, chief among them Les Assassins des Fauteuils Rollents (A.F.R.), a group of legless, wheelchair-bound Quebecois assassins hellbent on acquiring a superweapon that'll really show the Americans who's boss. I won't share how all of these assassins became wheelchair-bound; that's a delight you'll have to read for yourself. Oh, and instead of referring to years as 2007, 2008, etc., each year is sponsored by a product, e.g. The Year of the Whopper, The Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment, etc.

The weapon at the center of this novel, around which everything revolves, is the master copy of a film titled Infinite Jest, directed by one James Orin Incandenza. This film, referred to variously as The Entertainment or the samizdat is fatal in that its viewers become so invested in it that they lose all desire to eat, sleep, remain continent. The Entertainment becomes their world. (Social commentary, anyone?)

The filmmaker in question was the patriarch of the Incandenza family, one of the most endearingly messed-up families in all of literature. James was a renaissance man of sorts, dabbling successfully in art house films, optic science, the creation of tennis academies for gifted youngsters, etc. Unfortunately, he committed suicide in a very gruesome way, leaving behind three sons, Orin the professional football punter and ladykiller, Hal the extremely talented and intelligent but emotionally stunted tennis star, and Mario the profoundly physically defective but incredibly lovable protege of his father's filmic aspirations, and a tall, beautiful, agoraphobic wife, Avril, who gives and gives of herself to her family, yet has some dark not-so-secrets (as does almost everyone in this novel).

The characters are what makes this novel worthwhile. There are no secondary characters in this novel, in the sense that each gets a full quirk-infested and heartbreaking treatment from Wallace. Even the most minor of characters receives a moving and thoughtful backstory. Extant from the Incandenza family, the best character is Don Gately, a recovering Demerol-addict with a humongous head. While he's not as essential to the plot as some others, his story is one that is somehow essential to the book; without the descriptions of his monstrous addiction, his drudgery as the live-in Staff at Ennet House Drug and Alcohol Recovery House (redundancy sic), and the terrible things this mostly gentle beast is capable of, Infinite Jest would feel incomplete.

The book is hilarious. It's also deeply, deeply saddening. Wallace is a master of dark comedy and he employs it to great effect; without the humor, the things reported in Infinite Jest would be unbearably grievous. In Wallace's own words, "Wittgenstein believe that the most serious and profound problems and questions and issues could be discussed only in the form of jokes. In U.S. lit there's a tradition called black humor, which is a very kind of sardonic, sad type of humor. There are forms of humor that offer escapes from pain and there are forms of humor that transfigure pain."

It's not all so complex or grandiose or silly, either, though. Some of the best moments in Infinite Jest are when one of Wallace's characters gives a simple, yet profound take on love or devotion or heartbreak. Take for instance Hal's intense desire for something to give himself to: "It now lately sometimes seemed like a kind of black miracle to me that people could actually care deeply about a subject or pursuit, and could go on caring this way for years on end. Could dedicate their entire lives to it. It seemed admirable and at the same time pathetic. We are all dying to give our lives away to something, maybe. God or Satan, politics or grammar, topology or philately - the object seemed incidental to this will to give oneself away, utterly." (p. 900) It's moments like this where all of Wallace's characteristic complicated syntax is stripped away and what's left is a deep understanding of the human condition.

Many parts of Infinite Jest are boring. Anyone who tells you they enjoyed every word is lying. For instance, do the reader really need the manufacturing and historical details of every prescription medication mentioned (and there are a lot of them)? Why provide thirty pages of description of the Boston AA program when five pages would have done just as well? But it's okay to say that some of it is boring, I think Wallace would agree with that statement. In his extremely popular This Is Water, Wallace highlights that much of adult life is trudging through the boring, aggravating doldrums of a life that simply isn't always exciting and happy. In Infinite Jest, he's provided the full experience of life, even the not-fun parts, which non-intuitively make it an even richer reading experience.


(image copyright 2010 Jonny)

And but so the real question in a review is: Is the reading of this book really worth it? Well, you've already seen that I gave it five-stars, so the preliminary answer is "yes". But this is not the type of book I'd ever hand to someone and say "Read this. Now." The flowchart above shows the elegant complexity of the novel. Check out a larger version at the link provided. The book's super long, it's super difficult, and if you don't put every fiber of your being into understanding the plot, you won't be able to connect the loose strands of story into a cohesive whole. It's like the Bible in many ways. Everyone knows it's a great book, but how many have actually read it? And like the Bible, if you read Infinite Jest, it will have been worth your time.

Como? Como posso eu dizer algo sobre um livro, que me deslumbrou, mas do qual pouco entendi?
E se o relesse? Já. Agora. Não! Tenho medo? Tenho preguiça? Ou, somente, consciência da inutilidade de o fazer? Não sei. Apenas sei que me sinto tão minúscula quando penso no Gigante Imortal que nos ofereceu esta Infinita Maravilha.
Gostei de o ler? Não. Sim. Quero lê-lo de novo? SIM! Mas não agora. Talvez numa outra vida, num outro tempo...já nem sei o que digo. Deliro?

Afoguei-me em oceanos de tédio;
Sufoquei em mares de solidão;
Atolei-me em pântanos de angústia;
Planei em nuvens de euforia;
Voei em céus de alegria;
Perdi-me em labirintos tortuosos e assustadores;
Esbarrei em obstáculos quase intransponíveis;
Caminhei, obstinada e obsessivamente, por estradas cercadas de precipícios;
Tropecei, caí, levantei-me, continuei...
Cheguei ao fim. Cansada, perdida...
Cheguei ao fim...de uma Fabulosa, Inesquecível, Grandiosa viagem literária. Obrigada David Foster Wallace! Bendito sejas!

Não tem princípio. Não tem meio. Não tem fim. Uma Piada Infinita. Como o Mundo.

Contar algo da história não sei. Talvez umas pequeninas gotas:
Ténis, ténis, ténis - a simulação de uma guerra mundial, através de um jogo de ténis. Eschaton.
Droga, droga, droga - morte, miséria, alienação.
Depressão, depressão - doença, ou apenas o outro nome da tristeza?
Solidão, solidão - a solidão partilhada: estar sozinho no meio de uma multidão.
Cinema - um filme, cujo visionamento mata de prazer. Quem não quer vê-lo?

Falar das personagens? Ainda menos sei. Apenas um vislumbre das mais estranhas:
Joelle - a mulher sempre velada. Porque a beleza mata?
Hal - o jovem génio, inquieto, solitário, que sonha e tem saudades de alguém que não conhece.
Ele Mesmo - o cineasta que faz explodir a cabeça num microondas.
Orin - Que procurava o que não conseguia dar: amor?

Ah! E as estrelas? Pois! Uma? Cem? Mil? Milhões?
Aqui, nesta "caixinha" do Goodreads apenas cabem cinco...
Pois que sejam Cinco, e que simbolizem todas as que existem no céu.

An encyclopaedic trawl through human consciousness, Infinite Jest is an entire universe of a book formed of head-bendingly-encyclopedic magnitudes of ideas and detail. There is a core to this universe of ideas -of literature, mathematics, philosophy, comedy, science and humanity- which is inherently tragic - of people lost in their time, searching... Grappling with ‘what it is to be a fucking human being’, living with addiction. It's a tale about the pernicious nature of addiction, the human condition of solitude, and the pursuit of connection and purpose in a world that often appears inexplicable and absurd. 

And the debris of what it is to be a human being, in this incredible book, is magnified, dragged into the light for every pore to be exposed; every complex, core or ancillary detail; every astonishingly beautiful and devastatingly brutal, hideous and abhorrent detail of the minutiae of existence and consciousness exposed like a raw mass of nerves to be prodded and poked - to extract a mere giggle or, a life changing realisation.

It’s also devastatingly hilarious, full of depth and compassion; is profoundly moving and ridiculously rewarding. For everything good about life and art is in here... This is, for me, what literature is and does.

Infinite Jest’s back-of-book-blurb reads:

‘Somewhere in the not so distant future residents of Ennet House, a Boston halfway house for recovering addicts, and students at the nearby Enfield Tennis Academy are ensnared in the search for the master copy of Infinite Jest, a movie said to be so dangerously entertaining its viewers become entranced and expire in a state of catatonic bliss’

And but so at the heart of the book is a quest for the ‘master copy of Infinite Jest’.

Readers of Infinite Jest are themselves questing - connecting disparate plot strands, which echo through the episodic pieces, with the shifting chronology; the narrative perspective and the location(s). The master copy of Infinite Jest is the gravitational pull in this universe. An invisible force - for it is mainly absent throughout the story. What is omnipresent throughout is the interaction of reader and text and this is what makes it so ‘addictive’ and so compelling to read.

In a radio interview DFW explained that Infinite Jest is structurally based on a fractal object called a Sierpinski Gasket - smaller triangles inside other triangles:

http://www.zeuscat.com/andrew/chaos/s...

...although apparently ‘after editing’ is was, according to DFW ‘a sort of lopsided Sierpinski Gasket’.

This book -thematically and structurally- is utterly compelling. Infinite Jest shook me out of a malaise; took me out of myself and lifted me up to see many aspects of my life in the same gruesome detail. I’m a better person for reading it - I hope. 

Engaging with this beautifully-strange, complex and inventive book Is time well spent. My first reading was a dizzying enthralling experience - I couldn’t comprehend everything but I was enthralled. I complimented this first reading with research. With a deeper understanding of the book now, and of the literary tricks-’n-tools used, I’m veryveryvery much looking forward to revisiting this mad and fantastic universe of ideas. (I’m making a heart shape sign with my hands)
10 stars.

1. Ojalá pudiera explicarlo. No he sido un tipo feliz. No ha sido una lectura amena.

2. Ojalá pudiera explicarme.

3. ¿Cinco estrellas? Seis. O una. ¿Cómo somos tan ingenuos como para poner estrellitas estúpidas en nuestras lecturas?

4.Todo este libro es una teoría contra estas estrellitas y contra todas esas mierdas que nos distraen de aquello que nos podría destrozar. No, 'podría' es un tiempo verbal erróneo.

5. Un libro de 1209 páginas y con una estructura dispersa y perversa te está diciendo que no te distraigas. Hay que estar muy enfermo para parir este libro.

6. No tenéis que prestarme atención. La herida está aún caliente. Supura. Y no sé lo que me digo. Ni sé cómo comportarme ahora. Y qué feo sería dejar esta lectura atrás, metida en esa ingenua carpetita de "leídos", como si eso significase algo. Esto no es una reseña. ¿Habrá reseña? Reseña. Saña. Distancia. Colapso. No sé. No estoy preparado para muchas de las cosas a las que dije que podría hacer frente.

7. ¿Y si las cinco estrellas me las estuviera dando a mí mismo? Como galones. Como Comandante General de nada que importe. Con la capacidad de soltar un discurso sobre aquellos que se quedaron por el camino. Banderas a media hasta. Notas malditas que devoraron a mis aliados. ¿Y si Goodreads fuera un sistema métrico de lectores y no de libros?

8. No tengo ni idea de qué ha pasado. No puedo explicar por qué el narrador omnisciente le deja el micro a Hal en la recta final. No sé qué se esconde tras el velo de la chica más bonita del mundo. No sé qué he aprendido por el camino. Pero, ¿qué queda después de todo esto? No sé si existe la redención a pesar de que todos los personajes la buscan. No me preguntéis de qué va esto. No lo sé.

9. Mi consejo: No leáis este libro. No gastéis vuestro tiempo. De verdad. Disfrutad de las lecturas. Dejad de lado esas listas de lecturas indispensables y leed lo que os dé la gana. No es una novela que se disfrute en muchos de sus tramos. Pero si, a pesar de todo, desoís mi consejo, cosa que deberíais hacer, saludad de mi parte a todos los cadáveres que he ido acumulando en el proceso de lectura. Todos esos cuerpecitos de lectores ingenuos que compartían mi rostro y que he enterrado en el patio trasero de los Incandenza.

10. Por último, Brenda Alén, Gran Matriarca del Tiempo Subsidiado, un saludo y un agradecimiento extremo por no quitarle ojo al tipo alto que tropezaba con facilidad con los términos farmacológicos. Todos mis respetos a la Chica del Momento Constante.

RESEÑA COMPLETA ->http://galletaschinas.blogspot.com.es...

2023/116

'Now we are talking.
'My biggest pet peeve in literature, let's see...Oh, I have one. Have you seen those people who misspell Roberto Bolaño's last name? Instead of Bolaño, they type Bolano, and I don't know why; I don't get it, but it kind of drives me crazy (laughs). Just kidding.'

'Q.'
'Sure. Man, the simple answer is "Yes, I read Infinite Jest and I liked it," but the real answer is more complex than that. See, everything started back in 2020. If you know who Taylor Swift is...

'Q.'
'I mean, if you are gay, you are supposed to be a super fan of her. To tell the truth, I wasn't, and I am not. I don't know why, but, uh, other than some exceptions, it's usually true, right? The gay thing, I mean.
'So, back in 2020, I didn't know who she was, so to speak, I knew she was a singer, but I never listened to her music. I knew some of her songs—not by name, though—because I happened to hear them on the radio, at a party, and so on, but I never knew about her properly speaking. You know what I'm sayin'? It was actually in the summer of 2020 when one of her interviews popped up on my Instagram reels. Was it an interview? Yeah, yes, and there was another singer, or celebrity, next to her, whose name I cannot recollect; I'm sorry. To be fair, it was a 3ish-minute video; she was answering a question, I guess, but uh, what she said, man, what she just said—it changed something inside me. No joking. She said, in my words, 'cause I don't think I can say exactly what she said, but she said, "I'm 25, and I'm too old to learn a second language," or something like that. And, you know? There was a pandemic outside; I was having a lot of free time, and I was in fact 25. I thought, "No, you are not too old to learn another language," “Are you?” (this to myself), and by the way, I was watching the interview with Spanish subtitles. I spoke no English back in 2020, my man, no English (almost) at all [1].'

'Q.'
‘Yes, I wanted to give it a try, you know? Many of my friends were fluent in English back in college. When I moved to Buenos Aires for half a year, I'm not joking if I tell you I was the black sheep in my group of friends—the only person who was incapable of speaking any languages other than Spanish. "Was I sad because of that? Not at all." Why should I care in the first place? I was certainly very comfortable with my Mexican Spanish[2]. You are living in your comfort zone, you know. Then I saw that video, and it was as if someone just dropped a bucket of cold water on me. And like a new challenge, you know? Both at the same time.

'Q.'
'A friend of mine told me so. Yes. He said that to me one day when we were talking about another difficult book, one of those books I've seen on a lot of TBR lists, but that usually ends up being postponed...

'...'
'Sorry, I thought you were about to say it (laughs). Ulysses by Joyce. I might be planning to read it next year, you know, just to experience something challenging again. IJ—I will start calling the novel "IJ" if you don't mind; it's easier for me, I guess—IJ was challenging, of course. Man, my friend told me it was a crazy idea, you know, to pick up IJ just like that. He said something like "you'd better buckle up," then I asked 'im, why would you say that? Is it that difficult? And uh, he said, somehow laughing at me; I don't know if at me, to be honest with you, but uh, my man was more than chuckling, I can tell you that; he said "Infinite Jest beat me" like, it took 'im about six months to finish it up; he couldn't make out what the author was saying sometimes; it was like chaos. Nay, havoc. He only speaks English, by the way, so I said to myself, "You're freaking dead, Axl, what were you thinking?" You know, there was no way I'd survive this.

'Q.'
'And yet I survived this, right? Look, I don't want to sound pretentious whatsoever; maybe... No, wait, I know by that face what you are thinking: "Someone who says 'I don't want to sound pretentious' is about to say the most pretentious sh*t that has ever said," but listen, man, and that's why I brought up that interview in the first place. You are never too old to learn another language, let alone read books or talk to other people in that language. 25? Seriously, I had to start learning English almost from scratch, you know what I'm saying?, and I'm not here blaming the education system in Mexico, though I know it could be way better, but hey, it's up to you in the end. It's always up to you as a student, right? I was so freaking lazy back then; I wanted to pass my tests with flying colors, and then I couldn't care less about my education. It was just like a requirement, you know, and I moved on. So, one day, during the lockdown, I was thinking about learning English, but this time, seriously, not with a grammar textbook—that sh*t never worked for me—but English, like in real life.

'Q.'
'No, it wasn't because I wanted to read books in English. That didn't cross my mind at first, but then I picked up my first book—written in English, I mean—and I knew I needed to keep going. After almost two years, in January 2022, to be more precise, I decided to read only in English. From that moment on, it was hard work. I'm not gonna lie, but somehow I made this a habit. Then audiobooks[3], you know, 1.0 speed, 1.1, 1.2, 1.3, and so on. Today I can handle some audiobooks at 1.5 speed, and don't get me wrong, it's not as if I want to finish them ASAP; I just want to see if my English is coming along nicely (chuckles).

'Q.'
'Somehow I knew IJ would be, like, something I never read before. My friend scared the heck out of me. I thought, if he was not able to enjoy the novel, would I be able to do so? Plus, he never said the book was confusing, just challenging, whatever that means. Challenging because of... what? Prose, style, characters, plot, topics—what did he mean by 'challenging'? That was always on my mind until the day I picked up the book for the first time. I...

'Q.'
'That's right, audiobook. The audiobook is pretty good, actually. The man who narrated this whole mammoth, wow!, I feel nothing but respect for him. What was his name? Don't you happen to have Audible on your phone? (The interviewer shakes his head.) I didn't bring mine. Well, never mind. He did an astonishing job—a superb performance. And uh, not only did I listen to it, but I also followed along, you know, an ebook and everything, because, as my friend said, "it was challenging," so I wanted to be prepared for the journey.

'Q.'
'Ok, this is a difficult question, you see. I can't even think of a short answer right away. Two words to describe the whole book, you mean? I'll say tennis and addiction. Yeah, those two: tennis, because one of the main characters plays tennis, and part of the novel focuses pretty much on the game; and addiction, because most of the characters are having a really hard time, drug-wise. Also, AA[4] is mentioned a few times, NA—which I didn't know was a real thing, to be honest with you—and some procedures to make people feel better, if that makes sense.

'Q.'
'Next question, please. I don't really think I have an answer to that, sorry.

(...)
(...)

'Q.'
'Why so? It's difficult to talk about a topic when you are not that familiar with it. For instance, if you see these characters, all of them have problems[5], but who doesn't? Of course, this novel is not supposed to be a sad depiction of a society in decline, but the other way around, you know what I'm sayin'? It's funny, and no, you are not laughing at these characters' misfortunes; you are laughing because they are laughing too. The tone, you know, is surreal, like a some-misfortune-happens-to-me-and-now-I-laugh-like-a-maniac-instead-of-crying sort of thing.

'...'
'And then, when you see that Wallace was also having a bad time, everything in IJ makes a lot of sense. If you read a little bit of his biography, you'll see he was also struggling; he was trying and struggling again. It was like a vicious cycle, you know. My father told me one day how difficult this is for a person who can't find the way. In IJ, though, the characters seem lost from the very beginning, and they don't seem to care at all. It's almost as if they were dead, even though they don't know they are dead already, but the reader knows. Oh boy, of course the reader does all the way through.

'Q.'
'There lies its difficulty. See, IJ is not a difficult book per se because it's written like a “conventional” book. Yeah, I mean, the story goes back and forth quite a few times, and so does the plot in hundreds of other books; it's almost like a freaking hurricane, you know? I've been there before, not really funny (chuckles). But uh, its content, man, I was very confused at times when reading it. Not only is this one of the most challenging books I have ever read content-wise, but it's definitely one of the longest too, and because of that, I wanted to give up many times, not gonna lie. I have read massive books before; don't get me wrong; however, one thing is the length, and another thing is the obstacles you find along the way. For instance, you need to look up so many words; that's so true, and on top of that, many of them don't even exit! Can you believe that? There are many Wallace words here and there. Politics is another topic I was struggling with. Plus, the author also butchering some names of places and cities in Mexico didn't help.

'Q.'
'Yeah, I was happy to see my country in the novel. I wanted it to have a more important role, though, just like Canada and, more specifically, Quebec. But, you know, it is what it is. He (Wallace) is even mentioning an important volcano[6] in Mexico whose name is rather difficult to pronounce, even for some native speakers.

'Q.'
'Man, I don't understand why. I mean, have you seen that some people, when talking about IJ, are mentioning something regarding a cartridge? And they say this, and they say that, basically spoiling the story. I...

'Q.'
Yeah, 100%. It's a freaking spoiler, man. That doesn't happen in Chapter 1. No, the thing about the cartridge starts almost when you are halfway through the novel, let's say 40%, and of course, you have some hints before, but nothing like, 'the cartridge thing is about this,' specifically, if you know what I mean, so, if you happen to read some reviews of IJ, be careful if you haven't read the novel; some readers might get excited a little (chuckles). If you don't mind, well, then read them.

'Q.'
I think so, yeah. Wallace had some sort of psychic power—visions, so to speak, right? He was able to see the future of his own society—our society, actually. There is one part, for instance, that has something to do with 'video calls,' and when you see that in retrospect, you realize that this is how people usually feel regarding this topic, for example, when they have to work, take classes, and the like, video calling somebody else, you know, and this way to interact with others became a very important tool a couple of years ago, because of the pandemic. My point is that those feelings in Wallace’s time and ours are not really that different. I remember taking some classes[7] in 2021 and never turning on my camera. I was always wearing pajamas and with my untidy hair at 7 AM in the morning, and obviously I didn't want anyone to see me that way, so, since it was not mandatory, I was always there, in the shadows, like a freaking ghost (nervous laughter). Maybe because I am also an introvert, I didn't want anyone to stare at me when I was talking or giving my opinion on something. Just like a Wallace scene, you know.

'Q.'
'Well, it is not a 5-star book...
'I mean, it is not for me. Yeah, sure, I can see why some people might love this book, and of course, I know others hate it; I can also tell that. But, listen, I think this comes down to your reading experience; it's up to you whether you see a masterpiece or not. Personally, I didn't have the greatest experience, because sometimes, a few times, it was boring as hell, and other times it was unputdownable (is that even a word? ), but uh, overall I liked everything Wallace was offering here to the reader, if you know what I mean. Again, the length didn't help, but I already said that, so...

'Q.'
'4 stars.

'Q.'
'Of course. Maybe in a few years, maybe in a decade, maybe in 20 years. I mean, I'm assuming I'll live more years[8], so I hope so (chuckles). Reading the book in English was a challenge, sure, but I just couldn't give it a try in translation. Not if I can avoid it. If I think about quitting my English journey[9], I just need not to forget what that video I talked to you about taught me: 'you are not old, never too old to do whatever you wanna do,' and then you just grab the book and keep reading it. It sounds simple, I know; you just need to try it; it is as simple as that. Plus, I learned lots of new words—new to me anyway. I bet you know what a wraith is, right? Well, I didn't, but now I know what it means, all thanks to Wallace's novel. Thanks to reading books, actually.

'Q.'
'Ok, if I had to give some advice for someone to read IJ, it would be “don't be afraid, and pick it up ASAP.” Narrative-wise, yeah, I mean, it is complex, right, but nothing impossible to read. It is pretty readable, as a matter of fact. Vocabulary-wise, if you are a native English speaker or your English is superb, you'll be fine; there's nothing to worry about. If your English is like mine, meaning decent, well, you'll suffer, right? (giggles), but take it easy; eventually you'll survive. Content-wise, here I have some trouble. I can't promise you will always be interested in the topic of the day; you know what I'm sayin'? Sometimes you'll find very thought-provoking passages; other times you can't even tell what's going on (it might become very experimental and stuff like that); other times it will be monotonous, but uh, just keep going. It's also not possible to enjoy everything when it comes to mammoths. Trust me, the journey is worth the effort and the time.

'Q.'
'I thought you were to ask me about my favorite character[10] or something like that at some point, but thank God you didn't. I'm so forgetful, man; I don't think I remember their names by now. It's been almost a month since I finished this up, and the more time passes, the less I remember specific scenes in the book, let alone names.
'Well, man, it was also nice meeting you, and I'm glad you wanted to know a little bit about this passion for books and—most importantly—about IJ, Axl-wise anyway, you know (laughs). I might sound crazy or something, but it seems to me as if you had to receive some kind of prize once the novel is finished, due to its length and so-called difficulty. I'm still waiting for mine, though, just saying (chuckles).

'...'
'Fine, let's move on. I was saying before the interview that I still needed to buy some groceries for our Christmas dinner and some things for the dessert I was told I needed to prepare. I'm doing some cajeta crepes with toasted pecans[11], just uh, in case you want to come by, you'll have a good reason to do so.

(...)
(...)

'(laughs)'
'Wait a minute, are you still recording? Oh man, please sto...

----

[1][a] I was able to understand English reading-wise, papers from college, and the like, but my pronunciation was awful and inefficient, and my ability to speak English was nonexistent. My classes since high school were even worse when our teacher A or our teacher B taught us what I usually call 'second-hand English': not only were we (the students) learning wrong spellings and pronunciation, but we (at least some of us) were unable to correct those mistakes later on in our future courses. Those mistakes were like the fossils of an invented language.

[a] As I read Infinite Jest with Alan, because reading such hard books with friends is always fun, he told me about typing a review à la Wallace, with some footnotes on footnotes and so on. I thought it was a brilliant idea, but I didn’t want to replicate exactly what he was about to do, so instead of a review, I decided to go for an ‘interview,’ as the ones you find in the novel, especially Joelle’s interviews that are pure literature.

[2] Buying groceries in Argentina was always challenging, especially in the produce section:
Grapefruit: in Mexico, we say 'toronja'; in Argentina, it's called a 'pomelo.'
Avocado: 'aguacate' in Mexico, 'palta' in Argentina.
Strawberry: 'fresas' vs. 'frutillas,' can you tell the difference?
Pineapple: I'm in the mood for some 'piña,' sorry? Oh, it's called an 'anana' here. Right.
Peanuts: 'cacahuates,' no? 'Maní,' got it!
Lemon: limón in Argentina, lima in Mexico. You win this time, Argentina, I know.

I can keep going, though I should just stop right here. You all get my point.

[3] As of today, listening to audiobooks is the way I enjoy my books the most. I can't even pick up a physical copy unless I'm buddy reading the book with my mother. Otherwise, I will always choose audiobooks. Am I having a problem? You tell me.

[4] 'Are you ready, Os? [a]' 'you were supposed to be ready one hour ago. What were you doing?'
'I'm almost there, mom. I just didn't think I had to go too.'
'You know your father will be happy to see all of us there. Today he's having his anniversary; you know that.'
'I know, I know. But what if it's super boring, mom? What am I supposed to do during the meeting? Last time I was so bored, I had just to be there, quiet while those people were talking in front of everyone, telling stories I didn't care to listen to. What if...'
'Today it will be different. The last time was a normal day. Today is your father's.'
'You told me he stopped drinking a few years before I was born, so like, 10 years ago?'
'Almost, eleven. In summer 1992, a friend of his took him to AA. He was not fine, Os, your father. He needed help, and this friend of his helped him.'
'Uncle Nato[b], you mean?'
'Right, uncle Nato. Now, go and brush your teeth, and be ready. In 10 minutes, we are leaving. We can't miss your father's speech, can we? Now go, go.'

**** My review continues in the comment section below because turns out it is too long:

Mulholland Drive (M.D.) is the movie that made me a David Lynch fan. Infinite Jest (I.J.) is the book that has made me a DFW fan. I mention this because the first time I saw M.D., I immediately rewatched it. Likewise for I.J. - as soon as I finished it, I flipped to the beginning and started again. This is a book so fractured in structure that it needs serious re-examination and puzzling over. M.D. and I.J. break up the story rather than direct telling, dropping clues and hints along the way. They both are confusing and strange, and sometimes deeply chilling, but heartbreaking sadness is the ultimate effect.

Big Important Books (B.I.B.) always have many resources available to help us sort things out. But in the end there is no help - what the book is about is more than what the book is about - it is the experience. The jest is there to 'get', not explained. Be prepared for dissatisfaction, and be ready to search for answers - and not just within the text - but within yourself: life gone wrong, addiction, flesh and blood not put together in the right order, pain (psychic and physical), fears and phobias. Your spine rushes with pain synesthesia (the pain felt by the observer of another's pain) as DFW forces you to witness strange and cruel deaths. We get the howling fantods.

This dystopian-lite world is a messed up version of our own, slightly in the future. I can't overstate what a depressing effect subsidized time has: YEAR OF THE DEPEND ADULT UNDERGARMENT. Y.D.A.U. Order and logic replaced by Kafkaesque commercial nonsense. And, O.N.A.N.!

I loved the long, leisurely scenes, detail after detail piled on. I loved the seemingly endless cast of characters.

There are three brothers, and a dead father. The Brothers Karamazov comes to mind. There are references to Hamlet, and obviously the title insists that we hold that as a constant. We cheer for Don Gately, a drug addicted killer with a ferocious and jolly elan, who finds redemption through the crime and punishment method.

This is a funny book. There is something hysterical on nearly every page. It is also a book of horrors.

There is an especially horrific moment where the cruel Wallace has primed us TO LAUGH when Hal screams "...something smelled delicious!".

Poor Hal: 'This boy is damaged.' 'Like a stick of butter being hit with a mallet.' 'A writhing animal with a knife in its eye.'

I.J. is lengthy. I cannot reread the whole book again right now...my hale and hearty nondelusional God-fearing Albertan's brain fears the danger of getting caught in a loop with no desire to read anything else. This is a book that could do that. Still, I can dip into it anywhere, browse the endnotes, read all about the Enfield Tennis Academy (E.T.A.), study the rules of Eschaton, the Boston AA meetings, Gately's memories of Mrs. Waite or his musings on figurants, read the outline for Blood Sister: One Tough Nun, or The Medusa vs. the Odalisque. The history of Video telephony, Eric Clipperton and his Glock 17. Examine the truth about Canadian-terrorism, the Assassins des Fauteuils Rollents - the fanatically patriotic Wheelchair Assassins of southern Quebec. The radical Edmonton Jesuits. A Jarvik IX Exterior Artificial Heart kept in an Etienne Aigner purse. Yrstruly and everything like that.

There are riches to mine, so many perfect little jewels to examine more closely: urban legends, displacement-launch into the Great Concavity/Convexity, feral hamsters, Ennet House Drug and Alcohol Recovery House - and the hellish municipal deal where only one side of any street is legal for parking, and the legal side switches abruptly at 0000h. Stice's bed, the Wraith, DMZ, the lovely piece of mold, the black sail, nucks, tattoos and HOW DO YOU LIK YOUR BLUEYED BOY NOW MR DETH...

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Tuesday, November 15, Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment

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n  n    n  n

Dang! I didn't see this coming. I hadn't expected to be giving up on Infinite Jest out of boredom, of all things. I mean I have seen people mention its length, its complex structure, non-linear timeline and all of that, but I don't hear people talking about how boring this can get. We know the kind of reputation Infinite Jest and Wallace enjoy on Goodreads. I can't think of another book which has elicited reviews as passionate and personal as this one does. I feel any one of those reviews has more heart than what I've read in IJ so far. Of course there were parts that I enjoyed and which made me feel something, even stirred a personal memory once. But then Wallace is too eager to jump to a different thread and impress us with may be an essay or a tech report or some political news story. That's not what I read fiction for. Give me an opportunity to connect with the characters, give the characters some space to develop. Or at least, spare me large chunks of dry prose, give me something engaging. Based on the overall vibe of the reviews I've read, I was expecting it be a a bit more character driven. It has lot more plot than I care for at the moment. I didn't mind the footnotes (and Kindle does make it very easy to flip back and forth), of which I've read more than 50 so far. But majority of them seem unnecessary to me. I am sure it has something redeeming further in. But from the impression I've so far, I don't want to invest the time to look for that tiny diamond in the haystack.
Though if I were stranded on a deserted island with nothing but IJ, sure I'll read it. Or perhaps my curiosity about it's status in the little Goodreads universe will get the better of me one day.

Why does the ending make me so uncontrollably angry? I won't tell you. Read the book.

I was struck by the almost never-ending parade of helplessness and hopelessness riding undercurrent through an endless procession of inutile but heroic strivings. In reading this, I was a hamster running his wheel forever.

Putting aside all of the literary arguments, the thousands of mild references to just about anything that DWF thought might be fun to include in the book, or amazingly deep characterizations, I was, in the end, a man who hit the sidewalk.

I kept expecting the plot to go somewhere, but as we all know, literary fiction eschews plot and spits it out without swallowing. Which is a shame, in this case, because there were some rather interesting threads in threes that came within a micrometer of satisfying me.

Am I repeating myself?

I enjoyed the AA meetings the most, with the sequence of 1.5 million words devoted to tennis trailing last. I wanted to see what sparked 1995 and 1996 as the years of literary treatments of self-help groups. I wanted to know if Chuck Palahniuk and DFW compared notes, since Fight Club came out the same year as IJ. The omnipresent feel and the overwhelming need for absolute acceptance permeated both novels, ignoring plot treatment, of course.

The tennis sequence read like the ultimate dystopian literature, all form and serve signifying nothing, a deep 'orchasm' of constant movement representing the ultimate stalemate, a reversible nihilism. It cumulated in Mario shaking a single hand, which either justified the whole thematic battle being waged, or disproved it.

Madam Psychosis probably got to me the most. I don't even have words to describe how I feel, although I wouldn't bother mentioning how being a PGOAT or an ex-PGOAT is like being a woman blown large and absurd, or how those thousands of subtle nuances in her character made her as beautiful as it made Avril so subtly monstrous.

Even the Mad Stork got my sympathy near the end, and he was a really hard sell, pushing me through 60 hours of a novel before I can get close enough to him to even see him through his technical brilliance.

The novel deserves thinking about. I dare say it deserves thinking about, after the fact, a lot more time than it takes to read the MFer. And I might.

But heaven forbid I ever read this book ever again.

I read Atlas Shrugged. Twice. There was a Simpsons episode that had a character saying, "I read Atlas Shrugged, and I'll never read again."
This became my sentiment right after reading IJ, and I LOVE books.

Of course, I've already started a new novel. And it's going to be light. And fun. And it doesn't have an author who hung himself by the neck till he was dead, dead, dead.


Brad K Horner's Blog

I've finally reached the end of this amazing book. It's not an easy read, but after a while you discover that there are good reasons why it has to be the way it is.

The review is the mini-blog I kept while I was reading it. It sort of contains spoilers: I don't give away very much about the plot, but I do spend a lot of time speculating about what the overall point of the book is. So if that kind of thing bothers you, you probably shouldn't read on. Read Infinite Jest instead, then come back and see if you agree with me :)

The rest of this review is in my book What Pooh Might Have Said to Dante and Other Futile Speculations

This was the first DNF of my life. I'd desperately wanted to finish it, but after reading it for about three months one evening I realised I'd only reached page six. I tried skipping the footnotes after that in the hope that it would speed things up, but by summer I was still sitting at 2%. This was 2006. Had I continued reading for an hour a day since then, I reckon I'd almost be on chapter 3 by now, but I don't regret the decision. Life is too short, and some books are just too infinite.

See also, The Bible.

"The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you."

Disclaimer: This is not a proper meat & potatoes review discussing plot, spoilers, alternate reality etc, etc, rather this is like Gately's shoddy cooking- boiled hot dogs, dense damp meat loaf...my poor food for thought!

The IJ experience:

 I'll confess at the outset that, there were times, when this book gave me the screaming meemies, the howling fantods- but true to my completist pledge; just like Don Gately, I plodded on.

Considering statements like "There isn't a lazy sentence in IJ" & the writer himself describing all the technical details as absolutely essential - I had a kind of Snakes & Ladders experience reading it- I laddered up the smooth, beautifully flowing passages & then was brought crashing down by the jargon- loaded technical portions. 

True to DFW's philosophy background, IJ makes use of Wittgenstein, Lacan, Kierkegaard & a few more philosophers' ideas yet a lay person will perhaps mostly identify with the Stoics— It requires a stoical approach to handle DFW vocabulary in IJ- words like priapistic, recidivism, apercu, eidetic, striated, necrotic, fuliginous, etc & the neologism- ( There's one GR review based solely on a vocabulary list in IJ, pretty intimidating.), in fact, I'm tempted to pepper my conversations with them but then most folks will avoid me out of fear...


For a book loaded with references & homages, high philosophy & maximalist style, IJ surprisingly puts its faith in cliches! The contrast is setout in Geoffrey Day's mockery of it:

"AA’s ‘attitude of platitude.’ Per Day: “…life is so much easier now. I used sometimes to think. I used to think in long compound sentences with subordinate clauses and even the odd polysyllable. Now I find I needn’t. Now I live by the dictates of macrame samplers ordered from the back-page ad of an old Reader’s Digest or Saturday Evening Post. Easy does it. Remember to remember…” etc, & Gately's wise realisation that "cliched directives are a lot more deep and actually hard to DO."
A drowning man clutches at straws- Hal's arsenal of words, memorized dictionary, won't help him- there's a telling in "analysis-paralysis."
Here is an illuminating article:

http://www.theawl.com/2011/04/inside-...

The Québécois part that most readers hate, somehow made sense to me- as Indians living with the Kashmir question; we do understand the whole issue of militancy & separatism- the politics of it, also provides the wider narrative arc- how America is perceived by "the other."

IJ is hugely entertaining cause that was Wallace's ruse to draw the readers in- from the brilliantly sarcastic Videophony section, to the sweet & sour nostalgia-inducing humour of student life at ETA, the poignant humour of Mario & Gately sections, the 'Swiss' connection of Marathe, to the gross out, sick dark tracks of the likes of "Raquel Welch" & Randy Lenz kind- the jest is all- encompassing & yet the humour in IJ is perhaps Roberto Benigniesque Life is beautiful kind, where the laughs help you face the horrors of life in a tragi-comic way but you never get to  forget the subtext. Makes sense, considering Wallace wrote "a sad novel"*:

"I wanted to do something real American, about what it's like to live in America around the millennium . . . . There's something particularly sad about it, something that doesn't have very much to do with physical circumstances, or the economy, or any of the stuff that gets talked about in the news. It's more like a stomach-level sadness. I see it in myself and my friends in different ways. It manifests itself as a kind of lostness."**

In another interview, he said:

"I think it is a very sad time in America and it has something to do with entertainment. It's not TV's fault, it's not [Hollywood's] fault, and it's not the Net's fault. It's our fault. We're choosing this."***

The American Dream and its Copycat Versions Elsewhere :

 IJ is DFW's frenzied meditation on America's insatiable  appetite for self-destruction- drugs, alcohol, entertainment, & its single-minded persuit & worship of success. It describes individuals trapped in their individual existentialist hell quite like the cockroaches trapped under the glass tumblers in Orin's bathroom.

And yet in this globalised culture, it'll be wrong to look at it as just an American novel cause more & more countries around the world are trying to emulate The American Dream- of forever happiness, youth & success- don't know if Europe is still living in the Henry Jamesian world of cultural superiority over the "moneyed"(?) Americans, but in traditional socities like China & India, this single-minded  persuit of individual happiness is wrecking havoc. But the alternative that Wallace seems to be prescribing- Gately's blend of altruism, doesn't quite cut it.

Wallace never travelled East or he would've seen that Altruism is the other extreme -as Indians, my parents' generation was brought up on the ideals of self-negation & service before self- that led to neurosis of a different kind. The solution perhaps lies in a fine balance between individual aspirations & societal obligations.

Another thing that deeply affected me was the spiritual void in the lives of the IJ characters. The "urban chaos" & the litter-strewn paths through which Randy Lenz prowls on his nocturnal adventures, recall the barren landscapes of Eliot's Wasteland. Coming from India, where religion plays a major role in the life of an average person, IJ's godless universe was daunting to say the least- ppl here flinch as if god were a dirty word! The AA staff hasten to add - pray to your "higher power"- and may I know who exactly are these higher powers? Money, success, name & fame, addictions, entertainment, beauty- all turn out to be false gods- none of them provide deliverance. 

Still, no one can accuse Wallace of intellectual inconsistency- his message has always been "to connect," to feel truly & deeply or be forced to express those long-suppressed emotional needs in a grotesque Kevin Bain- like way.****

The wraith says to Gately: "ANY conversation or interchange is better than none at all, to trust him on this, that the worst kind of gutwrenching intergenerational interface is better than withdrawal or hiddenness on either side."

In IJ world, even 'figurines' get to have voices, dignity- hence the plethora of minor characters- every voice is worthy enough to be listened to- even a scum like Randy Lenz's.
That message coming from a whiz kid, a person labelled "too clever for his own good," is humbling indeed.

Wallace expressed the same idea in his famous speech This is Water:

“The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day.”

So many characters in IJ feel trapped inside their heads, so much so that J.O.I. blows his brains out inside a microwave. The sadness Wallace talks about is solipsism, Hal Incandenza's biggest problem- the "lexical prodigy" is rendered mute.

Why must you read IJ? :

I hear the backlash against IJ & its writer has already begun. People write one clever article/review & think they have dented the DFW armour! Here is the deal- there is no resolution in IJ so why not write a sequel & make it clever throughout the 1079 pages ( I'll settle for cleverness because an equally sustained brilliance through such length is perhaps too much to ask/expect).

Read it cause as Dave Eggers says in the foreword " We have an obligation, to ourselves, chiefly, to see what a brain, and particularly a brain like our own- that is, using the same effuvium we, too, swim through- is capable of. It is why we watch Shoah, or visit the unending...Vollmann's 3,300-page Rising Up and Rising Down...well, the list goes on."

And so but then, read the book!

References:
(*)http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ggtt7c...

(**)Here's the link to the Salon interview:
http://www.smallbytes.net/~bobkat/jes...

(***)Valerie Stiver. "Interview with David Foster Wallace." Stim e-zine: n. pag. Online. Internet. Oct. 1998.

(****)Wallace is of course, here, taking a dig at Lacan's "Inner Infant"- "the point here couldn't be any clearer: nearly everyone in the significantly designated Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment is a grownup baby in diapers, crawling on all fours in search of something to fill that need for maternal plenitude, for wholeness, or,at the very least,someone or something to blame for his or her own unhappiness."(P.131) from Understanding David Foster Wallace by Marshall Boswell.

Here is an article I enjoyed reading:
http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archi...

Acknowledgements:

A heartfelt thanks to MJ & Nathan N.R. From Completist Club for gently nudging their group members to complete their fav writers' oeuvre.

A big shout out to Jim of Brain Pain (whether he hears it or not!) for inviting me to access the IJ discussion there- what a superb way to conduct a group read!

* * *
Ending the year on a high— no, not induced by drugs/alcohol, rather, by the magical incantations of words, of the most potent kind. This is what makes me revere the written word & place writers (with all their flaws & failings) next to Gods!

In IJ, Wallace has laid bare the anatomy of addictions- I wonder what he would've said to reading & social media as addictions!? No offence to anyone but I often wonder how can people finish heavy tomes in 2-3 days flat unless they are compromising other vitally important aspects of their lives? And this pressure/ compulsion to be online 22/7? It's not for nothing that Hal decides to drop out of the rat race!

Lyle says "You might consider how escape from a cage must surely require, foremost, awareness of the fact of the cage." (P. 389)
It's really important to go out & get some fresh air, exercise regularly so we live healthier, longer lives & thus, are able to read more! It's all quite 'annular' if you get my drift!
Review to follow.