David Wallace Tribute

Tragic to think he would have to hang himself!

I have suffered depression many years with mental and physical anguish daily and it wasn't until the love of Jesus saved me and set me free!

I pray his loved ones will seek Him and ask for comfort and peace!

Jwls

No disrespect is intended by the title of this reminiscence. Some disgust, yeah. But that's momentarily. David Foster Wallace, like most holy fools, decided that it was necessary to leave no stone unturned to Figure Out What it Was All About. Thus his tendency to be verbose and hyperbolic. Like Jack Kerouac, one writer to whom he is not usually compared. But he, like Kerouac, was right; when you're trying to figure out what the immense imponderable Thing was that just lumbered by, crushing just about everything in its path, do you scrimp on time to gather clues? Not Wallace. As Coltrane once told Miles Davis one night after 'Trane's solo went on about 40 bars further than Davis would have preferred in some jazz club back in the late 1950s, "It took that long to get it all in." Regrettably, sometimes one finds out that what just passed is something one wasn't hoping to see. Other times, it's just Life writ large. Either way, it's better to be informed, in case whatever it was decides to come back.
Now for the 'screw' part. It's about taking one's life. The late Japanese author Yukio Mishima once commented that if one is to do so, best not to leave a note: 'A silent death is an endless word." I mentioned this to my Dad once, and he asked, "Huh. Wonder what word?" I suggested, ''Screw you'?" "Nah," he replied. "That's two words."
Where Wallace is concerned, remember the words that do have endings. The author is what's left after the writing is done. The author, I believe, would prefer you remember the words. RIP DFW.

Ti Ho Voluto Bene. Mi Mancherai.

Ouch.

I found out about this while watching This Week with George Stephanopoulos on Sunday. The news shook me to my core. DFW was a true literary genius. I spent months of my life immersed in Infinite Jest, finishing the book. It was a sprawling, insanely challenging, hysterically funny, obscenely violent, frequently exasperating, but ultimately profound work. IJ is a part of my life. I subsequently read his short stories. What a gift he was to our society. David Foster Wallace raised the bar for intellectual thinking. This is a huge loss. I'd always hoped that he had another great novel in him. It is so sad that many of the most brilliant literary minds find suicide the only answer. One can only wonder why?

My deepest condolences to his wife, family, and friends. DFW, you were too beautiful for this world. Thank you for your words. Rest in peace.

I discovered David Foster Wallace when I was suffering through my own deep depression. "A Supposedly Fun Thing . . . " was the first book I'd read in months that made me laugh out loud. I still haven't made my way through "Infinite Jest," but I've read his essays and articles again and again, to see how he does it, to laugh, to nod my head in agreement, and to be for a few hours with a person who lives in MY world, funny and absurd and tragic and ironic as it is. He made me feel less alone.

I was fortunate to have attended one of David Foster Wallace's readings and was touched by his humility and his humanity. My deepest sympathy to his family and friends.

Sharon