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3.93 AVERAGE
3.93 AVERAGE
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Ο David Foster Wallace είναι αναμφισβήτητα ένας από τους μεγαλύτερους Αμερικανούς συγγραφείς της γενιάς του. Σαν καλλιτέχνης που ήταν, ήταν και ευαίσθητη ψυχή, μία που φυτοζωούσε μέσα στην κατάθλιψη. Αυτή ήταν και η κατάσταση που τον οδήγησε να δώσει τέλος στη ζωή του και να αφήσει πίσω του το μεγάλο έργο που δούλευε τα τελευταία χρόνια. Μετά το θάνατό του, η γυναίκα του, έχοντας βρει κάπου διακόσιες σελίδες σε σειρά πάνω στο γραφείο του, επικοινώνησε με τον επιμελητή του και του ζήτησε να ολοκληρώσει το βιβλίο, ώστε να εκδοθεί και να διαβάσουν όλοι το δημιούργημά του. Ο επιμελητής δέχθηκε, αλλά η δουλειά του δεν ήταν καθόλου εύκολη.
Μαζί με τις ολοκληρωμένες σελίδες, υπήρχε άπειρο υλικό σελίδων και σημειώσεων που ο Wallace είχε δουλέψει για το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο. Δεν υπήρχε ορθή σειρά ή κάποιο προσχέδιο ώστε να καταλάβει κάποιος πως θα έπρεπε να είναι δομημένο το βιβλίο. Ο συγγραφέας είχε γράψει πολλά κεφάλαια που φαίνονταν ασύνδετα μεταξύ τους. Αυτή τη δύσκολη δουλειά ανέλαβε ο επιμελητής με τα αποτελέσματα που βλέπουμε στο τελικό κείμενο και με την υπενθύμιση ότι πρόκειται για ανολοκλήρωτο έργο.
Το τελικό αποτέλεσμα είναι ένα σύνολο 50 περίπου κεφαλαίων που μιλούν για τη γραφειοκρατεία στην Φορολογική Υπηρεσία των ΗΠΑ και το που μπορεί να οδηγηθούν οι υπάλληλοί της. Μιλά για την άπειρη γραφειοκρατεία, τις ατέρμονες σελίδες που γυρνούν η μία μετά την άλλη, τη βαρεμάρα και την ανία που μπορεί να νιώσει ο φορολογικός υπάλληλος σε σημείο που να έχει φαντασιώσεις ή οράματα. Ο ίδιος υποστηρίζει ότι έχει δουλέψει στη Φορολογική Υπηρεσία και ότι όλο αυτό δεν είναι ένα μυθιστόρημα παρά ένα χρονικό, όπου παρατίθενται συνεντεύξεις, εκμυστηρεύσεις και μαρτυρίες αληθινών υπαλλήλων. Όσων δηλαδή δέχθηκαν να τις παραχωρήσουν στο συγγραφέα. Φυσικά έχει αλλάξει ονόματα ώστε να μην εκτεθεί κανένας, όμως πως μπορεί κανείς να πιστέψει ότι το μεγάλο έργο του Wallace θα ήταν ένα χρονικό των όσων έζησε για λίγους μήνες σε μια δημόσια υπηρεσία;
Πιο πολύ μοιάζει σαν μια απεικόνιση του εαυτού του. Ούτε λίγο ούτε πολύ, θα έλεγε κανείς ότι η κατάθλιψη με την οποία πάλευε για χρόνια, πέρασε στην πένα του όπου είτε προσπάθησε να την πολεμήσει είτε απλά τον νίκησε. Ο Wallace γράφει για την πραγματικότητα στην οποία ζει μέσα από την πάθησή του. Είναι ανιαρά, βαρετά και χωρίς νόημα κι όμως έτσι πρέπει να είναι γιατί κάποιος άλλος το έχει αποφασίσει. Μήπως τελικά «Ο χλομός βασιλιάς» δεν είναι τίποτε άλλο από μια προσπάθεια του Wallace να μας μεταφέρει στον κόσμο στον οποίο ζούσε και ο ίδιος τα τελευταία χρόνια; Ανάμεσα σε απίστευτης διάρκειας μονολόγους που στο χαρτί πιάνουν πάνω από τριάντα σελίδες; Ή σε διαλόγους ανούσιους, χωρίς αρχή και τέλος. Ένας πραγματικά περίεργος και αχανής κόσμος…
Ο David Foster Wallace είναι αναμφισβήτητα ένας από τους μεγαλύτερους Αμερικανούς συγγραφείς της γενιάς του. Σαν καλλιτέχνης που ήταν, ήταν και ευαίσθητη ψυχή, μία που φυτοζωούσε μέσα στην κατάθλιψη. Αυτή ήταν και η κατάσταση που τον οδήγησε να δώσει τέλος στη ζωή του και να αφήσει πίσω του το μεγάλο έργο που δούλευε τα τελευταία χρόνια. Μετά το θάνατό του, η γυναίκα του, έχοντας βρει κάπου διακόσιες σελίδες σε σειρά πάνω στο γραφείο του, επικοινώνησε με τον επιμελητή του και του ζήτησε να ολοκληρώσει το βιβλίο, ώστε να εκδοθεί και να διαβάσουν όλοι το δημιούργημά του. Ο επιμελητής δέχθηκε, αλλά η δουλειά του δεν ήταν καθόλου εύκολη.
Μαζί με τις ολοκληρωμένες σελίδες, υπήρχε άπειρο υλικό σελίδων και σημειώσεων που ο Wallace είχε δουλέψει για το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο. Δεν υπήρχε ορθή σειρά ή κάποιο προσχέδιο ώστε να καταλάβει κάποιος πως θα έπρεπε να είναι δομημένο το βιβλίο. Ο συγγραφέας είχε γράψει πολλά κεφάλαια που φαίνονταν ασύνδετα μεταξύ τους. Αυτή τη δύσκολη δουλειά ανέλαβε ο επιμελητής με τα αποτελέσματα που βλέπουμε στο τελικό κείμενο και με την υπενθύμιση ότι πρόκειται για ανολοκλήρωτο έργο.
Το τελικό αποτέλεσμα είναι ένα σύνολο 50 περίπου κεφαλαίων που μιλούν για τη γραφειοκρατεία στην Φορολογική Υπηρεσία των ΗΠΑ και το που μπορεί να οδηγηθούν οι υπάλληλοί της. Μιλά για την άπειρη γραφειοκρατεία, τις ατέρμονες σελίδες που γυρνούν η μία μετά την άλλη, τη βαρεμάρα και την ανία που μπορεί να νιώσει ο φορολογικός υπάλληλος σε σημείο που να έχει φαντασιώσεις ή οράματα. Ο ίδιος υποστηρίζει ότι έχει δουλέψει στη Φορολογική Υπηρεσία και ότι όλο αυτό δεν είναι ένα μυθιστόρημα παρά ένα χρονικό, όπου παρατίθενται συνεντεύξεις, εκμυστηρεύσεις και μαρτυρίες αληθινών υπαλλήλων. Όσων δηλαδή δέχθηκαν να τις παραχωρήσουν στο συγγραφέα. Φυσικά έχει αλλάξει ονόματα ώστε να μην εκτεθεί κανένας, όμως πως μπορεί κανείς να πιστέψει ότι το μεγάλο έργο του Wallace θα ήταν ένα χρονικό των όσων έζησε για λίγους μήνες σε μια δημόσια υπηρεσία;
Πιο πολύ μοιάζει σαν μια απεικόνιση του εαυτού του. Ούτε λίγο ούτε πολύ, θα έλεγε κανείς ότι η κατάθλιψη με την οποία πάλευε για χρόνια, πέρασε στην πένα του όπου είτε προσπάθησε να την πολεμήσει είτε απλά τον νίκησε. Ο Wallace γράφει για την πραγματικότητα στην οποία ζει μέσα από την πάθησή του. Είναι ανιαρά, βαρετά και χωρίς νόημα κι όμως έτσι πρέπει να είναι γιατί κάποιος άλλος το έχει αποφασίσει. Μήπως τελικά «Ο χλομός βασιλιάς» δεν είναι τίποτε άλλο από μια προσπάθεια του Wallace να μας μεταφέρει στον κόσμο στον οποίο ζούσε και ο ίδιος τα τελευταία χρόνια; Ανάμεσα σε απίστευτης διάρκειας μονολόγους που στο χαρτί πιάνουν πάνω από τριάντα σελίδες; Ή σε διαλόγους ανούσιους, χωρίς αρχή και τέλος. Ένας πραγματικά περίεργος και αχανής κόσμος…
If you aren't keenly interested in Wallace's writing, I couldn't say this book is for you. He brings his attention to tedium and the prose sometimes assumes the theme instead of fleshing it out, as in the prose itself seems tedious to read. There is no cohesion here that could merit a sit-through through the 540 page main text in it. You must be satisfied by the microcosms presented if you want to read it. But then if you do read through it all 540 page, extremely detail oriented-ofttimes confusing and unnecessary (the fact that he makes meta reference to this needlessness doesn't make it any less tedious to sit through)-main text, don't be put off with the extra 30 pages of Notes and Errata left. Funnily enough, the book takes a breakneck speed in the notes. To even read Wallace's unvarnished ambition and exploration is a rewarding experience. I really wished there were few more notes in it because that's the closest you can get to reading the complete novel, even if it's in its infantile form.
After a second reading, my feelings haven't much changed. I'm adding half a star for those sections that do have really good writing, but all in all the novel feels too "patchwork" to really land for me. It's like one of those pointillist paintings in reverse: when zoomed in on the small individual sections look great, but zoomed out and looked at as a whole they don't complement each other as well as perhaps might have been intended.
3.5 stars
FIRST READ-THROUGH REVIEW:
Reading the introduction to The Pale King I was struck by two thoughts of equal intensity: with elation, "This sounds just like Infinite Jest!" and with disappointment, "This sounds just like Infinite Jest!" IJ is an exceptionally important novel to me, perhaps my favorite and certainly the single title that has occupied the most of my time in reading, re-reading, pondering, and re-examining. And so I was both eager and skeptical to read The Pale King as an extension of or a successor to DFW's masterwork. In the same way IJ explored addiction and recovery, isolation and community, editor Michael Pietsch assured me The Pale King would explore boredom and sadness. DFW had already proven himself, in my estimation, acutely insightful and capable of expressing to a T my own thoughts and experiences on the whole of contemporary adult American experience. But would this novel serve to heighten my opinion of him or would it instead lower it, perhaps by planting the worrying seed of doubt that the man was a one trick pony?
The discovery of how I might feel had me practically frothing at the mouth with anticipation. I will maintain fervently that reading David Foster Wallace's works is an Experience in a way that other authors' just isn't. Reading DFW is a lot like hearing my own thoughts articulated, refined, expounded and expanded upon in a way that both confirms and surprises at once.
So, what's my verdict? It is a lot like Infinite Jest -- the most casual and dismissive review would probably be "Substitute tennis with taxes and AA with the IRS and you know what to expect." And that's (thinly) true; if you did not enjoy Infinite Jest you're not likely to enjoy this book, for probably a lot of the same reasons. Though less fragmented, the point of view shifts frequently between characters who are often not clearly named right away. There is technical jargon and terms from a largely obscure arena. There is a sudden introduction of supernatural elements in the form of ghosts and levitation. People's inner monologues are highlighted while action is minimal (in one case, DFW writes a 100 page long chapter in which an IRS agent goes on and on about his father and his formative years--even I, a rabid fan, found that excessive--plus the whole thing is almost immediately undercut by a footnote declaring it, in essence, irrelevant and a waste of time.). And, yes, there are footnotes but they're limited in this instance to a handful of chapters rather than the full work and they appear on the same page as true footnotes rather than the end of the book as endnotes.
Other similarities begin to crop up the further along this goes: some discussion of the various effects of various recreational drugs; an irritated depiction of the intake procedures of mental health facilities; a very pretty female character who expresses both the power and the prison that extreme prettiness creates.
Actually, this book really IS a whole lot like Infinite Jest in retrospect... Honestly what I enjoyed most was reading the closing "Notes and Asides" section in which Wallace alludes to a larger, undeveloped thread about the IRS assembling an X-men-like team of superpowered agents capable of approaching routine and boredom with paranormal abilities. That story, had it been completed, would have definitely distinguished The Pale King from Infinite Jest
Yet despite a lot of thematic and stylistic similarity, there's a different je ne sais quois to segments of this which marks it as at least attempting to be non-derivative of IJ. It's tricky to pin down in words, so I'll just blurt it out: this book seems blunter than Infinite Jest. Its presentation is rougher and there is less of an obviously crafted structure. This is likely due to the fact that DFW's editor took the various pieces written and organized them using his best guess as to DFW's intent. But other than the style, the content is more bluntly judgmental and preachy; where IJ is all about tearing down irony and erecting honesty this one is more overtly didactic, or perhaps I should say "biased." And while Infinite Jest made its point by performing, by realizing the vision of a heartfelt attempt at cutting through bullshit and conveying the absolute need for and baffling difficulty of real, open, honest communication, The Pale King is just kind of overt in its statement of purpose and Wallace's main ideas. It's less clever that way. And I know that this is a criticism many have leveled against Infinite Jest as well, and I know Wallace isn't typically what you'd call subtle in his sometimes desperate-seeming attempts to get his point across in any of his canon. There's a very in-your-face message about being uncomfortably in your own head in this book which is a carryover from most of Wallace's works. In fact, he includes an author's note as a sort of handy key for reading the thematic symbolism throughout. And I'm the kind of reader who loves a good allegory, and this whole "IRS as a backdrop to analyze how the systems we create both reflect and consume the people who construct them" is a really interesting starting point. But it isn't the power punch I'd expected. The language, strikingly and obviously DFW's prose, is less poetic than IJ's (which is saying a lot, since IJ is mostly known for being systematically, laboriously, obfuscately clause-laden and hardly lyrical at all). So all these things combine to make it read like a logical follow-up to Infinite Jest, but one that lacks finesse.
3 stars out of 5. I suppose on principle I can never award "full credit" to an unfinished novel, and will have to wonder how close this publication comes to DFW's vision. It's good, but it often seems more like reading someone doing a very good Wallace impression rather than a wholly realized piece of his work. It often reads kind of like a short story collection more than a cohesive novel, particularly the first third. I feel like it needed to be better revised to really shine as distinct and perhaps could then have attained a higher level than it has.
3.5 stars
FIRST READ-THROUGH REVIEW:
Reading the introduction to The Pale King I was struck by two thoughts of equal intensity: with elation, "This sounds just like Infinite Jest!" and with disappointment, "This sounds just like Infinite Jest!" IJ is an exceptionally important novel to me, perhaps my favorite and certainly the single title that has occupied the most of my time in reading, re-reading, pondering, and re-examining. And so I was both eager and skeptical to read The Pale King as an extension of or a successor to DFW's masterwork. In the same way IJ explored addiction and recovery, isolation and community, editor Michael Pietsch assured me The Pale King would explore boredom and sadness. DFW had already proven himself, in my estimation, acutely insightful and capable of expressing to a T my own thoughts and experiences on the whole of contemporary adult American experience. But would this novel serve to heighten my opinion of him or would it instead lower it, perhaps by planting the worrying seed of doubt that the man was a one trick pony?
The discovery of how I might feel had me practically frothing at the mouth with anticipation. I will maintain fervently that reading David Foster Wallace's works is an Experience in a way that other authors' just isn't. Reading DFW is a lot like hearing my own thoughts articulated, refined, expounded and expanded upon in a way that both confirms and surprises at once.
So, what's my verdict? It is a lot like Infinite Jest -- the most casual and dismissive review would probably be "Substitute tennis with taxes and AA with the IRS and you know what to expect." And that's (thinly) true; if you did not enjoy Infinite Jest you're not likely to enjoy this book, for probably a lot of the same reasons. Though less fragmented, the point of view shifts frequently between characters who are often not clearly named right away. There is technical jargon and terms from a largely obscure arena. There is a sudden introduction of supernatural elements in the form of ghosts and levitation. People's inner monologues are highlighted while action is minimal (in one case, DFW writes a 100 page long chapter in which an IRS agent goes on and on about his father and his formative years--even I, a rabid fan, found that excessive--plus the whole thing is almost immediately undercut by a footnote declaring it, in essence, irrelevant and a waste of time.). And, yes, there are footnotes but they're limited in this instance to a handful of chapters rather than the full work and they appear on the same page as true footnotes rather than the end of the book as endnotes.
Other similarities begin to crop up the further along this goes: some discussion of the various effects of various recreational drugs; an irritated depiction of the intake procedures of mental health facilities; a very pretty female character who expresses both the power and the prison that extreme prettiness creates.
Actually, this book really IS a whole lot like Infinite Jest in retrospect... Honestly what I enjoyed most was reading the closing "Notes and Asides" section in which Wallace alludes to a larger, undeveloped thread about the IRS assembling an X-men-like team of superpowered agents capable of approaching routine and boredom with paranormal abilities. That story, had it been completed, would have definitely distinguished The Pale King from Infinite Jest
Yet despite a lot of thematic and stylistic similarity, there's a different je ne sais quois to segments of this which marks it as at least attempting to be non-derivative of IJ. It's tricky to pin down in words, so I'll just blurt it out: this book seems blunter than Infinite Jest. Its presentation is rougher and there is less of an obviously crafted structure. This is likely due to the fact that DFW's editor took the various pieces written and organized them using his best guess as to DFW's intent. But other than the style, the content is more bluntly judgmental and preachy; where IJ is all about tearing down irony and erecting honesty this one is more overtly didactic, or perhaps I should say "biased." And while Infinite Jest made its point by performing, by realizing the vision of a heartfelt attempt at cutting through bullshit and conveying the absolute need for and baffling difficulty of real, open, honest communication, The Pale King is just kind of overt in its statement of purpose and Wallace's main ideas. It's less clever that way. And I know that this is a criticism many have leveled against Infinite Jest as well, and I know Wallace isn't typically what you'd call subtle in his sometimes desperate-seeming attempts to get his point across in any of his canon. There's a very in-your-face message about being uncomfortably in your own head in this book which is a carryover from most of Wallace's works. In fact, he includes an author's note as a sort of handy key for reading the thematic symbolism throughout. And I'm the kind of reader who loves a good allegory, and this whole "IRS as a backdrop to analyze how the systems we create both reflect and consume the people who construct them" is a really interesting starting point. But it isn't the power punch I'd expected. The language, strikingly and obviously DFW's prose, is less poetic than IJ's (which is saying a lot, since IJ is mostly known for being systematically, laboriously, obfuscately clause-laden and hardly lyrical at all). So all these things combine to make it read like a logical follow-up to Infinite Jest, but one that lacks finesse.
3 stars out of 5. I suppose on principle I can never award "full credit" to an unfinished novel, and will have to wonder how close this publication comes to DFW's vision. It's good, but it often seems more like reading someone doing a very good Wallace impression rather than a wholly realized piece of his work. It often reads kind of like a short story collection more than a cohesive novel, particularly the first third. I feel like it needed to be better revised to really shine as distinct and perhaps could then have attained a higher level than it has.
My review, also published on Amazon UK.
How do you review a book that was never meant to be read in its current form? Where do you start? How do you know? “The Pale King” was left as a neat pile of papers as a final gift by DFW to his wife Karen; a kind legacy, a bitter suicide ‘gift’. The manuscript was by no means a coherent, complete piece of work and as we learn from the introduction to “The Pale King”, Michael Pietsch, DFW’s editor, had to sift through the debris in an attempt to join the dots. So this is what we have: “The Pale King: A Book that DFW, Maybe”.
Revolving around the world of the IRS - the US tax office - “The Pale King” is fundamentally a book about boredom. For over 500 pages, this novel deals with the endless tedium of the modern worker; the alienation, the total absence of meaning. Even the luckiest among us will have, at some point, have experienced the soul-crushing effects of being trapped into the time-reversing vortex of boring work. For some of you, it might now only be the distant memory of a summer job; for others, and I sadly belong to the latter category, the above is a description of pretty much our entire working life.
If the thought of reading about Tax Assessors is already filling you with terror, I would call it a justified reaction. There are parts of this novel that are undeniably boring - making “The Pale King” a sort of ‘meta-novel’ that bores the reader into understanding boredom. Characters describe long and abstruse administrative procedures; a handful of pages are devoted to explaining the intricate, arcane mechanisms of taxation.
Other parts - starting with the opening Section 1- are of pure, undiluted lyrical beauty. Others, still, are seemingly self-contained stories about characters who, had Wallace lived to complete the novel, might have played a big role within the narrative. Even in their embryonic state, characters like Leonard Stecyk, ‘Irrelevant’ Chris Fogle and Shane ‘Mr X.’ Drinion, the levitating Utility Examiner, will probably be etched in my memory forever.
It must be relatively easy, for any half-decent writer, to entertain a reader with stories of wizards, lost symbols, love triangles and unsolved mysteries. Instead, Wallace chose the tax examiner as his unsung hero; the dragon-slaying weapon of choice is a mindful state, the sense of being present in the moment to pay close attention to the ‘now’.
Mindfulness, as it gradually emerges as one progresses through the book, is the antithesis to boredom; a state of awareness, we are shown, is the only way to transcend the tedium of modern working life. This is clearly the ‘big’ message that TPK would have carried, had it been completed. In one of the notes left with the manuscript - published as the “Notes and Asides” of the book, Wallace wrote:
“Pay close attention to the most tedious thing you can find (tax returns, televised golf), and, in waves, a boredom like you’ve never known will wash over you and just about kill you. Ride these out, and it’s like stepping from black and white into color. Like water after days in the desert. Constant bliss in every atom’.
So this is it; there is no resolution, no plot line that really develops. The ‘tornadic’ nature of the novel was only beginning to take shape by the time I turned page 538 - “Section 50”, the final chapter; as a result, I felt as if the story was only just beginning. If “Infinite Jest” was 1079 pages long, who knows how many pages would have been filled to contain a full, completed (albeit in relative, DFW terms for ‘completed’) “Pale King”?
Giving this novel a ‘star’ rating feels inappropriate, somehow; it was at the same time a great read, a dull read, a sad read, a funny read. At times, it had me want to shout ‘that’s it! that’s it!’. At others, I struggled to keep my attention focused on the page, all the time knowing that Wallace was testing me, putting me in the shoes of the IRS Examiners. When I got to the end, as if struck by momentary amnesia about the fact that I had been reading an unfinished piece of work, I felt the disappointment of realising that nothing was going to even remotely be given the chance evolve, let alone be resolved.
And yet, nothing I have ever read has ever felt so hard-hitting and relevant to my life. Am I, too, one of the modern life’s unsung heros? Will I, too, be able to ‘step from black and white into color’? Can a mindful state save me, will I, too, metaphorically levitate above the humdrum of 9-to-5 living and find bliss?
Maybe. Despite the inevitable sadness associated to its posthumous form, this is a book of hope. For this, I thank you, and rest in peace, David Foster Wallace.
How do you review a book that was never meant to be read in its current form? Where do you start? How do you know? “The Pale King” was left as a neat pile of papers as a final gift by DFW to his wife Karen; a kind legacy, a bitter suicide ‘gift’. The manuscript was by no means a coherent, complete piece of work and as we learn from the introduction to “The Pale King”, Michael Pietsch, DFW’s editor, had to sift through the debris in an attempt to join the dots. So this is what we have: “The Pale King: A Book that DFW, Maybe”.
Revolving around the world of the IRS - the US tax office - “The Pale King” is fundamentally a book about boredom. For over 500 pages, this novel deals with the endless tedium of the modern worker; the alienation, the total absence of meaning. Even the luckiest among us will have, at some point, have experienced the soul-crushing effects of being trapped into the time-reversing vortex of boring work. For some of you, it might now only be the distant memory of a summer job; for others, and I sadly belong to the latter category, the above is a description of pretty much our entire working life.
If the thought of reading about Tax Assessors is already filling you with terror, I would call it a justified reaction. There are parts of this novel that are undeniably boring - making “The Pale King” a sort of ‘meta-novel’ that bores the reader into understanding boredom. Characters describe long and abstruse administrative procedures; a handful of pages are devoted to explaining the intricate, arcane mechanisms of taxation.
Other parts - starting with the opening Section 1- are of pure, undiluted lyrical beauty. Others, still, are seemingly self-contained stories about characters who, had Wallace lived to complete the novel, might have played a big role within the narrative. Even in their embryonic state, characters like Leonard Stecyk, ‘Irrelevant’ Chris Fogle and Shane ‘Mr X.’ Drinion, the levitating Utility Examiner, will probably be etched in my memory forever.
It must be relatively easy, for any half-decent writer, to entertain a reader with stories of wizards, lost symbols, love triangles and unsolved mysteries. Instead, Wallace chose the tax examiner as his unsung hero; the dragon-slaying weapon of choice is a mindful state, the sense of being present in the moment to pay close attention to the ‘now’.
Mindfulness, as it gradually emerges as one progresses through the book, is the antithesis to boredom; a state of awareness, we are shown, is the only way to transcend the tedium of modern working life. This is clearly the ‘big’ message that TPK would have carried, had it been completed. In one of the notes left with the manuscript - published as the “Notes and Asides” of the book, Wallace wrote:
“Pay close attention to the most tedious thing you can find (tax returns, televised golf), and, in waves, a boredom like you’ve never known will wash over you and just about kill you. Ride these out, and it’s like stepping from black and white into color. Like water after days in the desert. Constant bliss in every atom’.
So this is it; there is no resolution, no plot line that really develops. The ‘tornadic’ nature of the novel was only beginning to take shape by the time I turned page 538 - “Section 50”, the final chapter; as a result, I felt as if the story was only just beginning. If “Infinite Jest” was 1079 pages long, who knows how many pages would have been filled to contain a full, completed (albeit in relative, DFW terms for ‘completed’) “Pale King”?
Giving this novel a ‘star’ rating feels inappropriate, somehow; it was at the same time a great read, a dull read, a sad read, a funny read. At times, it had me want to shout ‘that’s it! that’s it!’. At others, I struggled to keep my attention focused on the page, all the time knowing that Wallace was testing me, putting me in the shoes of the IRS Examiners. When I got to the end, as if struck by momentary amnesia about the fact that I had been reading an unfinished piece of work, I felt the disappointment of realising that nothing was going to even remotely be given the chance evolve, let alone be resolved.
And yet, nothing I have ever read has ever felt so hard-hitting and relevant to my life. Am I, too, one of the modern life’s unsung heros? Will I, too, be able to ‘step from black and white into color’? Can a mindful state save me, will I, too, metaphorically levitate above the humdrum of 9-to-5 living and find bliss?
Maybe. Despite the inevitable sadness associated to its posthumous form, this is a book of hope. For this, I thank you, and rest in peace, David Foster Wallace.
I can see why people love this book. I can also see why people hate this book. It is incredibly long, boring and tedious. Yet, it is also complex, necessary and fascinating. It was a labor of love to finish the book, for sure. Most people don't read to be bored because we get that every day. But reading this novel was still a necessity. I don't necessarily have the adequate words to explain why, you just have to dive in, and remain committed.
What to say of this unfinished work? Lots of tedium, no doubt intentional. A fair bit of crazy shit I didn't really get, maybe intentional too. And just when I'm about to give up a series of virtuosic passages that show me why people talk about David Foster Wallace in the way they do. Possibly the book with the most really long sentences - spanning pages and pages - I've ever read.
inspiring
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
N/A
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Taking this for what it was (a VERY unfinished manuscript) there’s a lot of value in the oftentimes incoherent sections, but a lot of it also is flat. In particular though, the sections focusing on the boredom, the elevator conversation with Glendenning, and the conversation between Rand and Drinion towards the end has some of my favorite writing ever