My very long reader/book relationship with David Foster Wallace's thoroughly incredible and infuriating Infinite Jest is not quite over, but the end is very noticably near. I don't quite know what I'll do with myself afterwards, or what I'll do with the fact that the book is over; I feel like I've been at this a year now. Wallace was unlike anyone. Even when the book exhausts me, it exhausts me in a brand new way. The strange thing is that Infinite Jest will be only the second Wallace book I'll have read, but his style and brilliance and way of thinking have so burrowed into my skull that when I think of Wallace, I often first think of him as still being alive, before I remember that he is not. This is a book you live with. Forever, probably.
