[.ca] Infinite Jest (ISBN 0316066524)

From Amazon.com:
In a sprawling, wild, super-hyped magnum opus, David Foster Wallace fulfills the promise of his precocious novel The Broom of the System. Equal parts philosophical quest and screwball comedy, Infinite Jest bends every rule of fiction, features a huge cast and multilevel narrative, and questions essential elements of American culture - our entertainments, our addictions, our relationships, our pleasures, our abilities to define ourselves.

Yes You Are Ready:
Buy or borrow this book, don't read any reviews and ignore whatever I might say in this one (except, natch, the part about ignoring whatever I have said in this one). Read it and find out for yourself if you enjoy it or not. Sometimes expectations ruin an experience. It's always been in the back of my mind, but lately I've been thinking a lot about my whole role in whole book/film/art sheme of consumer-publicityb17ch-artistkreator. I'm pretty much certain anyone reading this review has faced the same ordeal... I read a book, I see a movie, I write a review, I get depressed because I'm always the consumer, never the creator, no matter how hard I try to break from the cycle, my disappointment in my abilities throws me into another round. Eventually I become so disaffected I completely lose faith and interest in all but the most banal of things (this is where we watch American Pie 2, Along Came Polly, and Mr. Deeds three times each, becoming more downtrodden at each viewing), my drawings are scribbles, my writings mere excremental traces of having read too much Burroughs. When I'm on the verge of the nervousbreakdownsuicide stage I somehow always manage to venture upon something that invigorates my hope and removes me a couple steps from utter isolation and depression. Clearly I'm trying to make the point that Infinite Jest is one of these things. In my endless repitition of this most vicious cycle, I have somehow stumbled upon the realization that sometimes it's just better to not know anything about whatever it is you're about to do than to begin forming expectations anticipating something greater than what could possibly be. The things that most touch me seem to be those that blindside me, turn me into a deer caught in headlights, flatten my heart, inflate my brain, blend them to one. Not two months ago I recieved the pleasant sensation of a sledgehammer to the heart after attending Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind in complete ignorance, having seen nary a review or advertisment (except a series of quarter-page ads in SF Guardian). Except for some mild expectations created by the blurbs on the cover (I imagine a great habit would be to black these out with a sharpie the moment you get a book (or post-its if you're borrowing)) and having heard some about IJ's reputation , I had no clue what I was getting into... and I think it works best this way. The BS out of the way, I can say that, yes, Infinite Jest runs a bit too long (and, aparently, an additional 600 pages were edited out) and sometimes a bit too dry quirkish, but it really sings when it hits the right notes. Reading the Salon interview I was a bit shocked to find out that Wallace is more of a mannered acadamian than the hard-science-major-kesey-loving-hippy-prodigy, which makes it a lot harder to maintain my image of him churning his guts to push this writing out of his heart... but, sometimes you can never tell...

Quite Good:
I will not go on about how great this book is. Every positive review you see is true. To the potential buyer I want to offer some tips for enjoyment: 1. Keep a dictionary near-by. Yes, you ARE smart, but some words are....well you will see. 2. Thumb through the foot-notes (yes, foot-notes) BEFORE reading and write down the numbers of the indices that appear to be important; i.e. are of significant length, have diagrams, etc.. Certain important footnotes are indicated as such by the author in the novel itself. I discovered this helped me absorb most of the importance of the foot-notes without interrupting the flow of the book. Enjoy!

Infinitely entertaining:
"Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy..." -from Hamlet, by William Shakespeare In this gargantuan novel, Infinite Jest is the title of a movie so enthralling it leaves viewers mesmerized, unwilling to wrest their gaze from the screen. Audiences don't care about anything else, and literally die of pleasure (the descendant of Monty Python's Killing Joke, perhaps?). Infinite Jest (the novel) is set approximately two decades in the future, and deals with a society obsessed with entertainment and amusement. The former NAFTA states have been reorganized as the Organization of North American Nations, or ONAN. The President of the United States, the titular leader of ONAN, is a somnambulant ex-crooner named Johnny Gentle, who's most original idea is to offer large corporations sponsorship opportunities-thus, each year is now named for a commercial product, resulting in the Year of the Whopper, the Year of the Trial Size Dove Bar, and the Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment, during which most of the novel is set. ONAN is under siege from wheelchair bound Quebecois terrorists, who are pissed that their province is now used as a toxic waste dump (the waste is hurled there from Massachusetts by giant catapults). Their master plan: obtain a copy of the lethal movie (code named "the Entertainment"), and make it available for the mass consumption of the largely lethargic American populace. Searching for the master copy of the film, the terrorists focus on the sons of the film's deceased autuer, J. O. Incandenza, Jr. (who committed suicide by sticking his head in a specially rigged microwave oven shortly after completing the film). Icandenza's progeny are Orin, a skirt chasing professional football player, Mario, mentally deficient and physically deformed, and Hal, a brainy tennis star at the Enfield Tennis Academy, an institution his father founded before embarking on his film career. The majority of the action in the novel takes place at the Enfield Academy and at Ennet House, a rehab center located just down the block from the tennis school. These institutions yield dozens of humorous asides and a plethora of quirky, memorable characters. Enfield provides opportunities to comment on celebrity and obsession, while Ennet House gives Wallace a chance to hold forth on addiction, self control, and Alcoholics Anonymous. Wallace's primary theme is that America is slowly amusing itself to death. Obsessed with entertainment and self gratification, America is sliding into the abyss. Are there answers to this dilemma? Wallace seems to think so, constantly emphasizing the need to balance freedom with authority (his admiration for AA is obvious). Yet, he demonstrates that no answer is perfect: witness Lenz, in rehab to kick a drug habit, responding to the rigid structure of AA by killing domestic animals (you'll never hear the word "There" again without thinking of him). Reading Infinite Jest is an ambitious undertaking. Don't be intimidated by its size (the hardcover weighed in at 3.3 pounds)-just be sure to set aside a few weeks to get through the thing. An unabridged dictionary and Physician's Desk Reference will also come in handy, as five dollar vocabulary words and pharmacological references abound. (And I haven't even mentioned the footnotes.) The original manuscript was reportedly some 300-500 pages longer and in need of severe editing, which may explain why the narrative just seems to end. The abrupt ending need not discourage you, however, as obsessive readers have reported that the novel is recursive, appropriate in light of its title. Witty and deep, Infinite Jest is science fiction in the vein of John Barth's Giles Goat Boy or Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five, a massive showcase for Wallace's writing talent, intelligence, and oddball sense of humor. Is it the great American Novel? Beats me. Some critics compare it to Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow, but they say that about any book over 600 pages that you actually have to think about (I find it ironic that critics cite a book few have read to explain a book that even fewer will have the patience to read). Is it funny, erudite? Yes. Is it worthy of your attention? Most definitely. But be warned, Wallace's writing is as addictive as the movie Infinite Jest-- you may experience withdrawal pains upon finishing.

Brilliant Book Falls about 1600 Pages Short--Book Flap a Lie:
It is no secret or should be no secret that the book has no resolution. This is misleading because it certainly aims toward a conclusion, hints and foreshadows one that the author has in mind but stops short of it as though Wallace had to hurry up and publish what he'd written so far to pay the rent. The book becomes wildly addictive as the reader gets 500+ pages into it and--as the book is about addiction--that is the point (and the big joke or infinite jest) that the reader becomes addicted and then can't continue on, has to stop suddenly, should join a 12-step IJ group, presumably. As long as it is, a lot of the questions the reader has at the beginning are, in fact, answered and you do get an idea of what is on the addictive movie cartridge but it stops as it hurls toward a conclusion that could probably fill another 1000 page book. Almost every subplot is left unresolved and hanging as though the author forgot about them completely. As it turns out, the comment on the hardcover flap about "a breathtaking, heartbraking, unforgettable conclusion" is a complete falsehood and purposely written as part of the later joke on the reader that there is no conclusion, which feels almost as clever as it is sour.

An infinite number of monkeys typing...:
...on an infinite number of typewriters would eventually spell out... By turns brilliant, exuberating, exhausting, thought-provoking, trying, and hysterical, IJ was for me, in the final analysis, an exercise in forebearance. I have nothing substantial to add to the numerous reviews on this page. It seems that most readers either love or hate this novel. I would only add that I too loved parts of it, that I relished Wallace's twisted perspective on even the most mundane subjects, admired his command of the language (and frequently extraordinary turns of phrase), and was -- how can you not be? -- pretty awed by the breadth of his learning. Was IJ really (as a reviewer notes below) his senior thesis in college? Pretty mind-blowing if so. Did it really (as another reviewer mentions) exceed 1700 pages in length before it was edited? What remained could have used some robust editing, too, to say the least. Having just finished IJ last evening, I cannot speak to its lasting effect on me (as a reader, a thinker, etc.). In all of the ways that reviewers below say their patience was tried by IJ, mine was too. In many of the ways that reviewers say their imaginations were fired by IJ, mine was too. In the final analysis, I'm glad I read IJ, if for no other reason than it taught me much about the writer's craft (for better and worse). However, my overwhelming feeling, the morning after, is one of relief. I'm done with it. In order to understand the novel's (non-)ending, I need -- so others suggest -- to reread the beginning, substantial parts, or the entirety of IJ again. I herein join the ranks of those who couldn't care less what the ending means. As an extended creative writing exercise, I thought IJ was brilliant. As novel, I found it a bore.