i was saddened today to learn about the apparent suicide of david foster wallace. death has not yet been something that i've had to deal with in any serious way, so the recent double-blow of extremely smart people whom i respect (alex farrell, preeminent energy researcher, passed away in mid-april), both by suicide, is quite shocking.
i was only turned on to dfw's writing a couple of years ago, but i immediately ripped through all of his nonfiction. when approaching his fiction, up until this point, i've stumbled. infinite jest was put back on the shelf after a measly hundred-or-so pages. it may be time to pick it back up.
cheers, to david foster wallace.
