I’m a David Foster Wallace fan. I haven’t finished this one though, and maybe it’s time to do so:

With essays like “Big Red Son” and “Certainly the End of Something or Other, One Would Sort of Have to Think,” I ended up chuckling before I even got to page one. It was a book I started reading, then stopped every now and then because I just needed to mentally digest what I just read. I’ve made it to page 77, where I have a bookmark and skinny strip of graph paper tucked into to take any necessary notes.

There are so many books out there nowadays that are just so light. Too light. Too much fluff. Wallace’s books are the complete opposite and always give me food for thought.

It might be time to pick this one back up again.

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