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Warwick's Reviews > A Reader's Companion to Infinite Jest
A Reader's Companion to Infinite Jest
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[The first part of this review can be found here.]
WARWICK: I call... (dramatic pause) … David Foster Wallace!
Pause.
PROSECUTOR: I hate to break it to you, but....
WARWICK: Look, if you can drag my wife on to the stand, then I can sure as hell get a dead author to appear.
JUDGE: Oh for goodness sake...fine. Call David Foster Wallace!
Enter DAVID FOSTER WALLACE in regal bandana. The crowd genuflect.
PROSECUTOR: You are David Foster Wallace, are you not?
WALLACE: And so but then but so yes, I am.
PROSECUTOR: Would you describe the accused as an intelligent reader?
WALLACE: No, I would describe the accused as a dick.
PROSECUTOR (to defendant): Your witness.
WARWICK: Right. Er…Mr Wallace, is it true that when asked to name your favourite writers in literary history, you reeled off a list that included ‘Keats’s shorter stuff’ and ‘about 25 percent of the time Pynchon’.
WALLACE: I think you know that’s true.
WARWICK: OK, so leaving aside the fact that this is pretty fucking rich for someone who’s attempted a wholesale rip-off of Pynchon’s approach – doesn’t this tone, this attempt to sound discriminating, go to the heart of my problems with Infinite Jest?
WALLACE: You tell me, brother.
WARWICK: I mean, am I wrong in connecting this quote to your problems with dodgy research and sloppy editing? Isn’t it all the sign of some kind of larger underlying problem – a writer who is basically feeling insecure and out of his depth, and who tries to cover all this up by overwriting – by trying to appear much more intelligent and well-read and knowledgeable than you really are, and in the end didn’t it all just get too much for you to control? Or are my thoughts just being coloured by what I know happened to you twelve years after you published it?
DAVID FOSTER WALLACE rubs his beard.
WALLACE: Maybe you’re right. Maybe there is some insecurity behind it. Maybe I was too ambitious for my own good. Is that, like, a crime? You know, some guy once said that all novels are just volumes of a writer’s autobiography. This is mine. And you know what, maybe somewhere inside, I hoped that this insecurity, this loneliness, this crippling psychic fucking pain that you’ve so brilliantly picked up on, would actually speak to somebody. Would actually touch somebody, make them feel like they weren’t alone. Someone who was reading it and who thought they were the only one. That it might make them feel better, just for a moment. Isn’t that what this book’s really about? Isn’t that what all literature is really about?
Silence in court.
WARWICK: …Well fuck. I just feel bad now. You know what, David Foster Wallace? You’re right. You really are. I do admire your ambition, and I wish I liked your book more. Too many people I like and respect have loved this book for me to dismiss it. What happened to you is absolutely awful and I wish you’d stayed around long enough to have another go.
DAVID FOSTER WALLACE bows and throws his bandana into the public gallery. GIRL in crowd spontaneously orgasms. MAN in crowd throws off his crutches and walks.
WARWICK: The truth is, I can see why some people like this book very much. I just find it hard to understand why so many people my age think it’s the novel of our generation. Infinite Jest to me reads like a fascinating first draft. I feel about it something that a lot of people often say in reviews but that I’ve never really felt about a big book before: that it desperately needs editing. And although a lot of people talk about how good the writing is, there are very few examples of what they mean – I find a worrying lack of close reading in the most enthusiastic reviews, but again this could be personal preference because I happen to like reviews that pin their opinions to the text. If nothing else, your honour, I hope I have given enough examples to show that my aversion to this book is not down to contrariness or disrespect, but just insurmountable problems in my reaction to the writing.
JUDGE: No, you haven’t. In view of the wanton, reckless nature of the crimes committed, I have absolutely no hesitation in finding you guilty. You’re guilty, guilty! Guilty as a man can be. (donning a black cap) You are hereby sentenced to be clubbed to death by a hardback copy of Infinite Jest. And may God have mercy on your soul.
The PROSECUTOR starts handing out pitchforks to the crowd.
WARWICK: I wish to appeal the sentence, m’lud!
JUDGE: There is no higher authority than Goodreads.
WARWICK: On the contrary, Judge Chandler! I wish to appeal...(dramatic pause)...to Amazon!
CROWD: Gasp!
Enter AMAZON REPRESENTATIVE in suit. His pockets bulge with money and banknotes protrude from his sleeves and trouser-cuffs.
AMAZON REP: We at the Amazon corporation – er, I mean the Amazon family – hereby grant the defendant’s appeal. If he were killed, we would no longer be able to profit from his compulsive Amazon buying habits.
PROSECUTOR: You mean—not only does he not like Infinite Jest, but he also shops at Amazon!?
MAN IN CROWD: He killed my local bookstore!
WOMAN IN CROWD: He’s literally Hitler!
ALL: Get him!
WARWICK: Uh-oh. Time to scarper! (Exit, pursued by cast. And a bear.)
Curtain.
EPILOGUE
(from ‘James O. Incandenza: A Filmography’)
RETURN TO REVIEW (please leave any comments/abuse at original review)
WARWICK: I call... (dramatic pause) … David Foster Wallace!
Pause.
PROSECUTOR: I hate to break it to you, but....
WARWICK: Look, if you can drag my wife on to the stand, then I can sure as hell get a dead author to appear.
JUDGE: Oh for goodness sake...fine. Call David Foster Wallace!
Enter DAVID FOSTER WALLACE in regal bandana. The crowd genuflect.
PROSECUTOR: You are David Foster Wallace, are you not?
WALLACE: And so but then but so yes, I am.
PROSECUTOR: Would you describe the accused as an intelligent reader?
WALLACE: No, I would describe the accused as a dick.
PROSECUTOR (to defendant): Your witness.
WARWICK: Right. Er…Mr Wallace, is it true that when asked to name your favourite writers in literary history, you reeled off a list that included ‘Keats’s shorter stuff’ and ‘about 25 percent of the time Pynchon’.
WALLACE: I think you know that’s true.
WARWICK: OK, so leaving aside the fact that this is pretty fucking rich for someone who’s attempted a wholesale rip-off of Pynchon’s approach – doesn’t this tone, this attempt to sound discriminating, go to the heart of my problems with Infinite Jest?
WALLACE: You tell me, brother.
WARWICK: I mean, am I wrong in connecting this quote to your problems with dodgy research and sloppy editing? Isn’t it all the sign of some kind of larger underlying problem – a writer who is basically feeling insecure and out of his depth, and who tries to cover all this up by overwriting – by trying to appear much more intelligent and well-read and knowledgeable than you really are, and in the end didn’t it all just get too much for you to control? Or are my thoughts just being coloured by what I know happened to you twelve years after you published it?
DAVID FOSTER WALLACE rubs his beard.
WALLACE: Maybe you’re right. Maybe there is some insecurity behind it. Maybe I was too ambitious for my own good. Is that, like, a crime? You know, some guy once said that all novels are just volumes of a writer’s autobiography. This is mine. And you know what, maybe somewhere inside, I hoped that this insecurity, this loneliness, this crippling psychic fucking pain that you’ve so brilliantly picked up on, would actually speak to somebody. Would actually touch somebody, make them feel like they weren’t alone. Someone who was reading it and who thought they were the only one. That it might make them feel better, just for a moment. Isn’t that what this book’s really about? Isn’t that what all literature is really about?
Silence in court.
WARWICK: …Well fuck. I just feel bad now. You know what, David Foster Wallace? You’re right. You really are. I do admire your ambition, and I wish I liked your book more. Too many people I like and respect have loved this book for me to dismiss it. What happened to you is absolutely awful and I wish you’d stayed around long enough to have another go.
DAVID FOSTER WALLACE bows and throws his bandana into the public gallery. GIRL in crowd spontaneously orgasms. MAN in crowd throws off his crutches and walks.
WARWICK: The truth is, I can see why some people like this book very much. I just find it hard to understand why so many people my age think it’s the novel of our generation. Infinite Jest to me reads like a fascinating first draft. I feel about it something that a lot of people often say in reviews but that I’ve never really felt about a big book before: that it desperately needs editing. And although a lot of people talk about how good the writing is, there are very few examples of what they mean – I find a worrying lack of close reading in the most enthusiastic reviews, but again this could be personal preference because I happen to like reviews that pin their opinions to the text. If nothing else, your honour, I hope I have given enough examples to show that my aversion to this book is not down to contrariness or disrespect, but just insurmountable problems in my reaction to the writing.
JUDGE: No, you haven’t. In view of the wanton, reckless nature of the crimes committed, I have absolutely no hesitation in finding you guilty. You’re guilty, guilty! Guilty as a man can be. (donning a black cap) You are hereby sentenced to be clubbed to death by a hardback copy of Infinite Jest. And may God have mercy on your soul.
The PROSECUTOR starts handing out pitchforks to the crowd.
WARWICK: I wish to appeal the sentence, m’lud!
JUDGE: There is no higher authority than Goodreads.
WARWICK: On the contrary, Judge Chandler! I wish to appeal...(dramatic pause)...to Amazon!
CROWD: Gasp!
Enter AMAZON REPRESENTATIVE in suit. His pockets bulge with money and banknotes protrude from his sleeves and trouser-cuffs.
AMAZON REP: We at the Amazon corporation – er, I mean the Amazon family – hereby grant the defendant’s appeal. If he were killed, we would no longer be able to profit from his compulsive Amazon buying habits.
PROSECUTOR: You mean—not only does he not like Infinite Jest, but he also shops at Amazon!?
MAN IN CROWD: He killed my local bookstore!
WOMAN IN CROWD: He’s literally Hitler!
ALL: Get him!
WARWICK: Uh-oh. Time to scarper! (Exit, pursued by cast. And a bear.)
Curtain.
EPILOGUE
(from ‘James O. Incandenza: A Filmography’)
The ONANtiad. Year of the Whopper. Latrodectus Mactans Productions/Claymation action sequences © Infernatron Animation Concepts, Canada. Cosgrove Watt, P. A. Heaven, Pam Heath, Ken N. Johnson, Ibn-Said Chawaf, Squrye Frydell, Marla-Dean Chumm, Herbert G. Birch, Everard Meynell; 35 mm.; 76 minutes; black and white/color; sound/silent. Oblique, obsessive, and not very funny […].
RETURN TO REVIEW (please leave any comments/abuse at original review)
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Reading Progress
August 26, 2022
– Shelved
August 26, 2022
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Jack
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Feb 20, 2023 01:42PM
That was a lovely story and you told it so well!
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Dear Sir,This review was both epic and hilarious, making it most apt to level at a book like 'Infinite Jest'. May you forever be the person who in turn goes on to vehemently dislike all the books I have become fond of, from this day forth. With reviews like this you won't so much be "treading softly on my dreams", as "gently euthanising Throckmorton my sleep paralysis demon."
Throckmorton is an 7ft tall taxidermized Roosevelt elk, with glowing red eyes, who rolls silently into my bedroom on castors...and with whom I have recently managed to broker an extremely tenuous armistice. However, diplomacy has never been my strong suit and I am no Scheherazade, so this temporary ceasefire has bought me a mere few night's respite and I therefore need to see him vanquished post-haste if I'm to have any hope of living long enough to put even the tiniest dent in my TBR.
Thank you in advance for your understanding in this matter.
Yours Faithfully
The middle-aged, middle-class, white woman literally called Becky.
It brings me no joy to say I disagree with a wonderful writer such as yourself Sir Warwick- namely on the counts of IJ needing a further edit (original draft was 1500 pages) and DFW being, to paraphrase, a feral simian shrieking with needless verbosity- but otherwise a wonderful epilogue to a unique and witty review.
Not at all, I love being disagreed with! And one man's feral simian is another man's…well, you get the point.
