Wallace's self-image was fragile and complex, but he was consistent on these points, from then onward. His later work enters into many, many kinds of minds, many points of view, with unvarying respect and an uncanny degree of understanding. Every kind of person was of interest to him.
The love his admirers bear this author has a peculiarly intimate and personal character. This is because Wallace gave voice to the inner workings of ordinary human beings in a manner so winning and so truthful and forgiving as to make him seem a friend.
Frank: On a similar note, you might also be interested in this lengthy profile of Karen Green, DFW's widow. I was struck by her remembering DFW saying, "I remembered to put the hot water on for your tea when I knew you were coming home," and feeling that DFW -- a writer who I revere most heavily -- a pathetic person for bragging about something as basic as that -- even if he was a depressed person. Does this mean that Karen Green did all the cooking and cleaning? How regressive.
ReplyDeleteMaria Bustillos's piece is certainly commendable and exhaustive and leaves you coming away feeling a sense of sadness. But at what point does the cult of personality stop? I honestly cannot read THE PALE KING right now because of all the hype. I have to wait for the damn book to be forgotten in order to have the silence to appreciate it. At what point do we realize that all this is hagiography and that our efforts are best set on understanding the work rather than the person? Does any of this contribute to our understanding of THE PALE KING? Should it? I mean, even the Lipsky book was decent enough to subtly own up to the fact that what he was putting out was little more than an interesting snapshot.
Here's the link to the Green profile I meant to include in that last comment:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/apr/10/karen-green-david-foster-wallace-interview
i am confounded by writers who commit suicide, especially those who deal in what may broadly be called stream of consciousness writing. where does art stop and life begin? i am thinking if you hyper-analyse everything, it is bound to make you depressed and crazy. i wonder if the kind of mindset that produces a Mrs Dalloway or any of DFW's books is worth it. How much can the writer control it? Also, i think to live happily from day to day requires a kind of shallowness, respectable shallowness, that lets us go on. you cannot be overly artistic about your life. also, i dont think DFW was being shallow when he mentioned that thing to his wife. just that the person he was, it must have been an act of willful generosity to contemplate that. the question is if it is worth all this to achieve artistic greatness.
ReplyDeleteI'm with you, Vikram. I think that bit about on the tea water is heartbreaking. It's the sort of thing I can imagine being my last words to Debbie. I also can understand, Ed, why you can't yet read The Pale King, though I sure look forward to what you will have to say about it.
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