otrops elsewhere

And so it begins
I'm about crawl into bed and reacquaint myself with an old, erm, acquaintance.

Like hundreds (thousands, tens of thousands?) of others across the web, I'm taking part in Infinite Summer.

Over the next three months, I'll reread Infinite Jest.

The last time was over then years ago.

Let's be clear. Unlike many of the people participating in Infinite Summer, I don't list Infinite Jest among my favorite books. I could pretend that I do, but I have a feeling that someone would quickly point out that I was lying.

Nor is David Foster Wallace one of my favorite authors. I enjoy much of his work. Many of his essays are simply extraordinary, but I found Brief Interviews With Hideous Men almost unbearable. In fact, if the bookmark that's still in the book is anything to go by, I stopped reading it around page 217.

So why am I rereading Infinite Jest?

It wasn't because it simultaneously embraced and mocked the post modern theories and affectations that I was studying at the time.(1)

It wasn't because I identified with the characters.(2)

It wasn't because I loved the way David Foster Wallace wrote.(3)

The best answer I can come up with is that the fist time I read it, I experienced a shock of recognition.(4)

What the hell do I mean by that?

That's what I'm trying to figure out. That's why I'm rereading Infinite Jest.

(1) But I did find his overuse of footnotes pretty damn funny.
(2) Actually, I did, and with more than one.
(3) In fact, I've often unfairly lumped him in with a writing style that I privately refer to as American Pyrotechnic: verbal Wowie-goshus for the sake of it. Style over substance. Yes, it's an unfair criticism. There is substance there, though it is sometimes hard to see for the multi-chromatic verbiage ceaselessly exploding overhead. And I still prefer the plain-spoken style of the likes of Twain, Orwell and Vonnegut.
(4) And yes, that kind of contradicts my whole character identification argument (see footnote (2)).