As you may have guessed, I’m cutting my teeth on DFW’s essay anthology before I attempt the juggernaut that is Infinite Jest. I’m around halfway through, and I have, shall we say, *some thoughts.*
In truth, I’m not really enjoying it. Reading it feels like being stuck on a date with an insufferable snob with his head up his ass.
The first essay, Derivative Sport in Tornado Alley was, I’ll concede, interestingly written – but it felt like he had taken something from r/showerthoughts and just kept writing. Analyse the thought with a fine-tooth comb, inspect every single element and make sure to use as many polysyllabic words to really, really hammer home how smart he is – did he mention he was really pretty great at Tennis? He could’ve gone pro but he started getting into calculus and mathematics at that point. He didn’t sleep with the prom queen, but he definitely could’ve, if he wanted to – which he didn’t – but he definitely could’ve.
The second, Pluribus E Unum, honestly just became the text-equivalent of adults in a Peanuts cartoon. The culture of 90’s TV in America is at least four degrees separate from the culture I can relate to, and is so ingrained in and suffused with contextual nods and references that I struggled to grasp whatever points he was making. I legitimately cannot remember what the thrust of his argument or thesis statement was. I genuinely had to grit my teeth and force myself to wade through the textual vomit. My main take away is adequately summed up [thusly.](https://i.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/original/000/034/711/Screen_Shot_2020-07-24_at_11.33.38_AM.jpg)
Third up is Getting Away From Already Pretty Much Being Away From It All. This was the closest to being engaging and readable, with most of my enjoyment stemming from schadenfreude. DFW portrays himself as so acutely analytic that he is utterly incapable of acting like a human being. The entire essay reads like an incredibly high-strung autistic meltdown (like a parodic Sheldon Cooper) with a healthy dollop of classist snobbery, even towards his friend.
The fourth, Greatly Exaggerated is yet more textual grey goo. At this point I just let my eyes saccade across the page.
Maybe I’m stupid, or have too plebian a palate for DFW, but I just don’t want to read any more of this. It’s not enjoyable, and the whole thing has this air of snobbish intellectualism and mean-spirited, acerbic undertone that just makes me form a less than flattering opinion of the author.
by jaythejayjay