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Showing reviews 1-5 of 28
 Just Not What I'm Looking For June 23, 2009
Jon Peters (Michigan, USA)
1 out of 1 found this review helpful
True to form, D F W offers some very "literary" story, some po-mo fireworks, and caps it off with a silly sitcom feel. But I kept asking myself through the read, "Is this worth it?" Some stories, like "Little Expressionless Animals" yes, others like "John Billy" one has to ask, what's the point?
I agree with the earlier reviewers, Pynchon infiltrates this text, making these stories about rock stars, tv celebrities, and politicians seem less, well, unique. And while Pynchon steps back on the narrative and sort of accepts the absurdity of his premises (like in Vineland), Wallace also wants this sort of authenticity, this emotional punch, which at times seems contrived.
So, he is essentially writing for two (or three, including himself) audiences, the lit critics and the fans, and unfortunately he cannot hit both, so he settles on m.o.r. fare that's vaguely insulting to his characters. I mean, his characters, like Boyd in "Lyndon" come off as caricatures, silly stand-ins for the BIG POINT he wants to get across to the grad school audience.
I think D F W was talented and had a great deal to say, but I also think that he is best simply telling a story, instead of having to add literary value, because let's face it, there's only so much to the joke of a bunch of conservative "punkrockers" in "Girl with the Curious Hair."
My recommendation, pick this up, but do not feel beholden to finishing any one story.
 another great fusion of ideas despite some of DFW's oddities December 23, 2008
Todd B. Kashdan
DFW is obviously brilliant. The last story had me in rapture, the story about David Letterman was perfectly written, and the first story left long lasting traces on me. That being said, DFW has no idea how to end a story and often, doesn't know when to stop writing. But his characters are memorable and he knows how to change voices with the best of them. Damn shame to lose a great writer.
 Terrible writer and book September 14, 2008
Cosmoetica (New York, USA)
5 out of 24 found this review helpful
David Foster Wallace is one of those really bad writers who decided, long ago, that he would hide his lack of talent, acumen, and skill behind a blizzard of words, then laugh at anyone unwilling to engage them as not understanding his genius. This is a symptom of what is known as Postmodernism. The fact is, though, that PoMo has been passé for nearly twenty years. It was in its last throes when he first got going, in the late 1980s. It's always bizarre to read -ismic devotees who are waiting at railyards that no longer are served, and this is what DFW is, in spades. Basically, if you want to be PoMo you must lack humor, love clichés, be rapt by stilted conversations and stereotyped caricatures, and be able to type on a word processor as quickly as you can for as long as you can and then hope someone with an even more horrid life than yours will sort through your genius. In 1996, this method resulted in a reputed three thousand plus piece of lard first draft that DFW turned into an editor, as he was apparently oblivious to what was good or bad within, which was eventually trimmed to about two thousand in a penultimate draft, which was then cut to about twelve hundred pages, and this became his infamous novel, Infinite Jest- a work that has already made the lists of some of the worst books ever published, even as others decry it, what else?, genius. That book, however, is not the subject of this review.
The tale Luckily The Account Representative Knew CPR is a tale with potential to be passable, due to a few nice descriptions, and shows that at least DFW possessed some potential, unlike Dave Eggers. But, then self-conscious posing does it in....Here is the excerpt:
That night Gimlet and Tit fellated me, and Boltpin did as well. Gimlet and Tit made me happy but Boltpin did not, therefore I am not a bisexual. Gimlet allowed me to burn her slightly and I felt that she was an outstanding person. Big acquired a puppy from the alley behind their house in east Los Angeles and he soaked it with gasoline and they allowed me to set it on fire in the basement studio of their rented home, and we all stood back to give it room as it ran around the house several time.
While this is immature self-conscious writing, it also gives no insight to its cartoonish speaker and comments in no way on the action. And this sort of masturbation is the sum of the story times a hundred. It is just masturbation, pure and simple. And so go the rest of the tales in the book, and the last one- a novella called Westward The Course Of Empire Takes Its Way, combines all the flaws of the prior tales into one ridiculous piece whose self-consciousness doesn't even succeed in self-parody, with such subtitles as Foreground That Intrudes But's Really Too Tiny To Even See: Propositions About A Lover. I won't even get into the supposed narrative of the tale since that's not the point of the writing- it's really a comment on non-narrative cast as narrative about nothing- got it? Its only real points are to seem cool, and woo gullible coeds. DFW rocks, dude!
Please, do not even think of trying the old dodge of claiming I've quoted DFW's crap out of context, because PoMo negates context! And when I say what something's about, in his work, I really mean that in a vague sense, as PoMo is never really `about' a thing. Thus, his work lacks connections to the outer world, despite the name dropping, and is suffused with detailed minutiae that serves no purpose, and is so ill-written, that even were there a sense of purpose under the lard, no one would care to extract it. In short, self-indulgent writing is merely self-indulgent writing, not daring, much less innovative, and to even call this writing trash is to demean the hardy biosphere of vermin. Fluff is the heart of his work, and solipsistic nihility its soul. DFW is, at best, `potentially mediocre', and that might be attained in twenty or thirty years, if he gets cracking now. Of course, history shows that in about fifty or so years this sort of crap will be openly seen as the long practical joke it is. Good, and especially great, writing forces connections upon a reader by bringing things up from the depths to the pellicle of its engagement, and allowing the reader to pop the bubbles or not. PoMo and DFW have no such aspiration, and therefore no bubbles surface in their anaerobic cesspool. Now, breathe out, slowly....
 "John Billy" levitates ! May 4, 2008
Terry Barham (Brevard ( near heaven ) NC)
0 out of 1 found this review helpful
Worth buying the book for this story alone . " John Billy " deserves to be read aloud in the streets by performers dressed in character , and or but at least read aloud . The hallucinatory "okie" language Wallace has invented is daring , maybe a little challenging , but he pulls it off . Part of my love of his best work is due to the way he , like Pynchon , demands something from the reader . ( comparisons , btw stop there ) . Mindful ( open ) readers with a bit of patience will find themselves inclined to discourse in "john Billy" long after finishing the story. Nearly as addictive as the " infinite jest " . A roller coaster drop into the surreal . Like Tom Robbins turned up to 11 . Just let go, and but hold on !
Brilliant, funny, disturbing January 29, 2008
Robert (New York, NY)
1 out of 2 found this review helpful
This collection of short stories is, sadly, much stronger than the more recent batch released in Oblivion. D.F. Wallace still seems stymied by the mammoth success he generated with Infinite Jest; it's been 12 years and still no new novel. If Oblivion is any indication, maybe he used up most of his brilliance with I.J.
The good news is that this book contains some real gems of short fiction. The title story is one of the most frightening, deeply disturbing pieces I've ever read. Nothing supernatural happens, but its depiction of dementia spawned by the horrific child abuse in the narrator's past really gets under your skin. Other strong entries are "Little Expressionless Animals" and "My Appearance." The final story, though cited as a precursor of sorts to Infinite Jest, didn't do much for me.
All in all, this is a stunning piece of work that goes far beyond the boundaries often associated with the short story format.
Showing reviews 1-5 of 28
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