Wednesday morning over cereal I was staring at my bookcase and thinking, "Can't wait for David Foster Wallace's next novel." The last one was
Infinite Jest, the best novel of the 21st century that was published in the 20th century. I love that book unconditionally. It is mind-blowing. Reading it makes you smarter and better. But it's been a pretty long time since
Infinite Jest (13 years now), and his other novel,
The Broom of the System, is not so good. I've contented myself with his essays (awesome) and short stories (very good, occasionally extraordinary). His is a voice that makes an intense direct connection to me and people like me.
Or I should say, "His
was a voice...," because David Foster Wallace killed himself yesterday. He was 46.
