![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rip david foster wallace
years ago, back in virginia, i was browsing in the arlington central library's new releases room and i picked up a book called _the girl with the curious hair._ i had curious hair myself, and, well....
the story shocked me. it was thrilling; the first thing i'd read that used the techniques of postmodernism to tell a story that i gave a shit about-- the language was thrilling, the twisted perspective, the bleak humor, the familiar cultural referents-- it was a revelation.
brief interviews with hideous men was equally thrilling. more, even-- explorations of the trickiness, and pitfalls of manhood that also recognize male privilege and the frequent hideousness of men-- in my time and place are dear to my heart. again, i was thrilled by the techniques, the emotion, and the subject matter.
i never read infinite jest, and i had to stop reading oblivion because it was bad for me-- i was job-hunting at the time i picked it up and i was just feeling too bleak and hopeless after the first story, i had to stop. since wallace, i've found other postmodernists who combine the impressive techniques with compelling characters and stories-- at the moment i'm very excited by aimee bender and junot diaz-- but wallace came first for me. the first writer to show me that postmodernism didn't have to be just narcissistic showing off, dick-sizing about your obscure academic prowess-- that it could be used to tell stories, that the techniques could be used in the service of stories, of explorations of relevant things that happen to actual people. wallace made me proud of my generation; wallace was one of the good ones.
rest in peace. i'll miss your art-- i hope the next time around is less painful for you then this last one was.
xoxo
nabil
the story shocked me. it was thrilling; the first thing i'd read that used the techniques of postmodernism to tell a story that i gave a shit about-- the language was thrilling, the twisted perspective, the bleak humor, the familiar cultural referents-- it was a revelation.
brief interviews with hideous men was equally thrilling. more, even-- explorations of the trickiness, and pitfalls of manhood that also recognize male privilege and the frequent hideousness of men-- in my time and place are dear to my heart. again, i was thrilled by the techniques, the emotion, and the subject matter.
i never read infinite jest, and i had to stop reading oblivion because it was bad for me-- i was job-hunting at the time i picked it up and i was just feeling too bleak and hopeless after the first story, i had to stop. since wallace, i've found other postmodernists who combine the impressive techniques with compelling characters and stories-- at the moment i'm very excited by aimee bender and junot diaz-- but wallace came first for me. the first writer to show me that postmodernism didn't have to be just narcissistic showing off, dick-sizing about your obscure academic prowess-- that it could be used to tell stories, that the techniques could be used in the service of stories, of explorations of relevant things that happen to actual people. wallace made me proud of my generation; wallace was one of the good ones.
rest in peace. i'll miss your art-- i hope the next time around is less painful for you then this last one was.
xoxo
nabil