On September 12th, David Foster Wallace hanged himself.
Very strange and very unexpected.
Despite his meager output, in terms of quantity because The Infinite Jest is 900 pages with over 150 pages of endnotes and his collected works weigh as much as the average American male, I haven't really dug deep into his bibliography, having only read a few essays and Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, he was definitley an author I wanted to read more of.
He was one of the authors that people hold up of the best writers of "this" generation and played tennis when he was younger (actually charting).
He was only 46.
Here's some articles/net eulogies:
McSweeney's, under the header and above the typical archival links, is completley blank.
Obviously, this is very affecting; he was a really fantastic writer.
3 months ago