Infinite Jest
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Infinite Jest Month with Lauren and Roxana
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[Continued from previous post]Me: Similarly WTF?!-worthy, I would like to talk about page 60's isolated Year Of The Depend Adult Undergarment paragraph. Actually, that's not true. I don't want to talk about it; I'd like you to explain it to me, because I couldn't make any sense of it. There are a lot of weird things in this book, but most of them fit in the sort-of-silly-but-riddled-with-significance world that Wallace has created. Mostly they slip into the text and nestle among the plot threads, but this paragraph does not do that at all. For just this one paragraph, Wallace abandons any pretence of narrative structure and just starts listing things. Why? And why then? I just...I just don't understand. Help pls?
Roxana: You mean this paragraph? The one sporting a giant (by my standards of annotating, anyway) question mark of utter perplexity? Okay, I know what paragraph you mean, but I have zero ideas as to why it is there. I have no idea why some endnotes exist either, other than to make you pause reading, so maybe that?
Me: Haha, well the endnotes are more clear to me, but this bit seems elusive. Go figure.
Continuing on then, on a character note, I was wondering if you thought Steeply might have been in part inspired by the real life historical figure of J. Edgar Hoover? It's not an exact fit, so I obviously don't think he's supposed to represent Hoover, but maybe DFW might have modelled the character after him to a certain degree? Not being an American, I don't know if you know who that is, so maybe this is something you hadn't even thought of, but basically he was a super-crazy, super-conservative FBI director who hated John Lennon and also dressed up as a woman and was maybe gay. The latter part is just speculation, but he did dress up as a woman a lot. Some sources try to explain this (some even saying this was Hoover's own explanation) in saying that they were just disguises for undercover work, but others speculate that he enjoyed it and thus either he just did it as an expression of his own gender and/or sexuality or that otherwise he personally took on jobs that would make him wear those disguises specifically because he wanted to wear them. If you are familiar with J. Edgar Hoover, I hope I haven't just patronized the hell out of you. Similarly, I don't know if you know the words to the USA's national anthem or not, but just in case you didn't get it, Marathe sings the national anthem on page 108 but he gets the words wrong. I think the joke is supposed to be either that he got them wrong because he's Canadian and so doesn't give a shit about the USA's national anthem, or otherwise that he knew the correct words but sang them wrong anyway to fuck with Steeply.
Roxana: Nope, not patronizing at all. I've heard the name before (on TV or in a movie perhaps), but I didn't know a thing about him, so I never made that connection. From what you're telling me, it could be an interesting connection you've spotted. Thanks for sharing! I would also be lying if I said I ever paid attention to what it was sang past the "oh say, can you see", so that's interesting as well. It would seem that I've missed a lot of things so far thanks to an incredible lack of general knowledge :sigh:.
Me: I don't think it's a lack of general knowledge, though. I think it's a lack of grounding in the North American subculture that the book takes place in. That's why I thought to mention these things to you in the first place :)
Anyway, the last character thing has to do with Wardine's story, from pages 37-38. Do you think this subplot is racist or classist in its portrayal of life in the ghetto? I'm uncertain about this one, as I waver back and forth. On the one hand, the whole thing is very stereotypical, and the way in which that section is written could be seen as an offensive caricature (or even just unironic appropriative usage) of ebonics (is that capitalized?). So, that at first led me to think that the whole passage was super fucking racist. On the other hand, though, stereotypes are based on a fallacy of statistical normalcy: we know that African Americans have a higher rate of incarceration, thus we develop the idea that all black dudes are criminals. Despite this being a fallacy, though, the undeniable truth is that these stereotypes exists because those statistics exist, and while we can debate the reasons for those realities, this means that many people in real life actually do live in situations that might be considered "stereotypical," perhaps even offensively so if they were portrayed as such in fiction. So, is it then necessarily racist to write about such a character if they are not intended to represent any greater generalization about race or class? Furthermore, despite the undeniable racial coding in that section, the book never actually explicitly says (if I remember correctly, anyway) what ethnicity the characters are. So, they could just as easily be white or Asian, despite the verbal cues indicating an African-American or maybe I guess Hispanic background. Is that even a reasonable excuse? And class probably has just as much to do with it as race, too. The writing style could easily be seen as indicative of illiteracy, and obviously the idea that all poor people are abusive is a pretty common one in fiction. What's up with that? I guess I can kind of see it both ways, but I'm leaning towards saying it's a bit offensive. What did you think about that part?
Roxana: Racism did not cross my mind while reading that (then again, I needed all my attention to decipher what was being said - accents and dialects, as entertaining as they can be, are quite difficult to get used to in the beginning). To me, it was just another set of characters being introduced. The fact that you thought that might have to do with you living in a country that has a history of discriminating between black and white people? The way it was written and the names made me think of the characters as African-Americans, not the situation described. But then I guess the very fact that the way the characters spoke made me think of them as being African-Americans is a little bit wrong. However, DFW writes only about these few characters and does not make it sound like he's referring to the Ebonics population as a whole (I think it should be capitalized) so I still don't think he's being racist or anything.
Me: Oh, the way it was written and the names I think were the racial coding, not the situation. It's the combination of that racial coding with the situation that struck me as possibly racist. I definitely agree, though, that I probably do see this a lot differently because of my living in a country with a history of white-on-black racism (that's still prevalent today, as well). I guess that's another example of the way the book really is rooted in North America. It could be that he's not racist, though. If/when that plotline picks up again, I guess we'll see.
Finally, some style/formatting things to discuss. Firstly, can we just acknowledge how fucking ridiculous it is that this book has: 01. a footnote that directs you to another footnote, 02. both footnotes and in-story footnotes, 03. a footnote with footnotes, and 04. a footnote with two separate goddamn sets of footnotes! I said it on Goodreads and I'll say it again: David Foster Wallace is a parody of himself. I also have no fucking clue what was going on with the 1s everywhere or the overlapping words. I noticed them, too, and I kept looking everywhere for some kind of relevant sub-footnote 1 or something, but I couldn't find anything. Since we seem to have the same edition, I suppose it's possible that it's just a misprint, but in the context of this book in particular it does seem like it might be deliberate, which I guess is really a statement in itself, haha.
Roxana: You speak the truth, haha. I don't know, it could be an error, but it happens a lot, so I still think it might be connected to something later on.
Me: The other style/formatting thing had to do again with Schtitt's shtick on page 82. Throughout that speech, Wallace increasingly blurs the line between dialogue and narration in a way that makes it difficult to follow what Schtitt's saying. I didn't like this personally, but it made me think of something that I thought I'd ask your opinion on: do you think DFW is being intentionally or needlessly obtuse? This book is obviously both written and more generally constructed in such a way that makes it at times difficult to follow, but it clearly has some deep significance to it that is often hidden throughout. My thought, though, is about whether that significance really necessarily needs to be hidden. Wallace undeniably had some choices to make in writing this book, and the way he chose to tell the story affects how we read it and what we get out of it. This book is almost infamous for having a high barrier of entry (which was originally part of the allure for both of us, I think), and so I guess I'm wondering to what extent that was deliberate. In general, writers do what they need to do, and they use metaphors not to beautifully bewilder but to express things that they couldn't simply write out in plain words. A novel is supposed to be something that is by definition impossible to be encapsulated in a single synopsis (because otherwise the author would just have written the synopsis, duh), but I can't help but think that perhaps this story could have been told in a simpler or at least clearer way. To an extent, anyway. If so, a lot of the book's devices and complexity could be ascribed to the author's pretension. That said, of course I don't know if it would have been possible to write the same fundamental story (or rather communicate the same fundamental ideas) in any way that would be easier to engage with. It's highly possible that Wallace wrote the story the way he did because he couldn't write it any other way, and thus every jump in narrative chronology, every internally-referential footnote, and every bizarre formatting choice is made because it was necessary to the expression of what DFW wanted to get at. Which do you think is the case?
Roxana: I think I want to read the whole thing before giving an opinion on this. As you say, part of the appeal this book had for me was that I heard it was a book that made you think. Not in a that-was-interesting-hey-let's-think-about-it-a-little-more, but in a you-really-have-to-think-your-way-through-this-or-you-won't-have-a-clue-what's-going-on way. I think, if I get nothing else out of this book, it would have at least been a great way to exercise my memory and will, but that would be an awful thing to happen because I genuinely feel that the author cared about it and wrote it the only way he thought it would work (so I would say he does it intentionally - that doesn't exclude needlessly, though). Maybe it could have been written in a simpler manner. "Weird", "hilarious", "confusing", and "deeper meaning" can just as well come from a clear, straightforward narrative (I should know, I love Vonnegut), and I usually am one to prefer an author that can state something worthwhile clearly. But as hard to follow as some paragraphs are, I don't find his writing style patronizing or ridiculous, and those would be the two things I absolutely dislike about styles that pass as "pretentious".
Me: Oh, I don't think the book's patronizing. Ridiculous, maybe, but not patronizing. I also think it's reasonable to wait and see how many of these little threads come back later to see whether the book is unnecessarily obtuse. We can talk about that more when we near the end of the book. Anyway, until then, I guess we'll reconvene at the centipage marks. See you at page 200!
And if anyone else has any opinions on these topics, please feel free to respond :)
No offense intended, and I love that you guys are doing it... but I think DFW would have had a good laugh reading this. I have read IJ 3 or 4 times, and I will read along with posting some thoughts here and there. I definitely agree with you that passivity is a major theme of the book. And I would venture (spoiler sortof) that those characters in the novel who take action or have some sort of agenda throughout this novel ultimately fail or get no rewards for their efforts. It is a highly cynical, but damned entertaining novel. I wouldnt get too hung up on the footnotes, particularly the ones that arent even one sentence long, but do read the James Incandenza film catalog, it is a timeline to understand (very slightly) what his mindset was and where it went to.
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Me: Ok, so one of the most confusing parts for me so far has been page 82. Schtitt gives this long speech about the game of tennis and infinities and limitations, but I'm not totally sure I understood all of it, I guess? Or rather, I understood what he was saying, but it seemed to me like he was just using fancy words and concepts he (Schtitt, not Wallace) didn't entirely understand to justify his weird philosophy about tennis. It seemed like there was supposed to be something to what he was saying, though, so I accept the possibility that this is actually a treatise on the psychology of competitive sports and I just didn't understand it. I was wondering what you thought about that.
Roxana: The highlights, for me, in that segment, were:
* Schtitt's description as a "dispenser of abstractions rather than discipline, a philosopher instead of a king"
* the changing of the motto to "THE MAN WHO KNOWS HIS LIMITATIONS HAS NONE"
* the conclusion "except the chance to play"
I sort of simplified the whole "tennis players, coaches, physicists that look for patterns, for basics, but Schtitt knows best" jumble of words to the idea that, in tennis, if you had the capacity to imagine every possible outcome of every move you and your opponent make and the skill to anticipate each scenario, there would be no point in playing. So the game consists of each of the players trying to find and exceed their limitations. But, as the motto says, as soon as you know your limitations, you get past them, and that is sort of the thing that drives you. Schtitt notices how ironic it is that the game encourages players to work past the very limitations that make tennis possible. I think at the end there is also the idea that maybe limitations also contain something, rather than just restrain, so that by destroying them, you are also destroying yourself, in which case tennis at least gives you that chance to play (and I'm not sure what to make of that; maybe because the game concentrates on specific limitations that you can work towards subverting so you don't destroy yourself all at once?). This is what I got from that, but yeah, it was confusing.
Me: I didn't really get that at first, but I like your interpretation of him saying limitations have value in themselves and so in playing tennis we destroy ourselves by overcoming our limitations. That's an unusual way of looking at it.
That's related to one of the things about footnote 304 I wanted to talk about: the weird Canadian cults' rituals and their relation to the book's ongoing idea of games as expressions of personal philosophy. They seem to echo implicitly a lot of what Schtitt says, and La Culte De Baiser Sans Fin specifically echoes a quote Hal said earlier (that I can't be arsed to find right now, but I remember liking a lot) about complete utilization of available resources leaving no evidence. I guess I don't really have a question there. It just seemed important.
On the subject of Canadian terrorism, I've been thinking a bit about why DFW might have chosen to portray it in the book. Canada certainly doesn't have a reputation associating it with terrorism (or extremism of any kind, really). It would have been much easier for him to use a pre-existing trope and make it about Afghanistan or Ireland, for instance, but he chose Canada. I find that fascinating, and I wonder why. One possibility, I think, is that he specifically wanted to avoid or rebut those implicitly racist cultural tropes about terrorism, and thus defy expectations by using a country often stereotyped as being too nice for its own good. Another possibility is that it's just an example of this humour that's supposed to be so prevalent here but that neither of us have found much of so far. Maybe he just finds the idea of Canadian terrorists inherently funny? Why do you think he did this?
Roxana: I don't know why he picked Canada, but I found it quite funny. Maybe because it's harder for us to associate the idea of terrorism with it, so we will pay better attention to both parts in the conflict? Maybe it's better suited for the nature of the conflict?
Me: A closely-related inversion of normality lies in the motivation of the terrorists' actions. Their rejection of the Great Concavity is an exact reversal of the usual motivation for violent conflict: whereas much of history is devoted to acquiring land and fighting over the right to keep it, the Canadians are trying to give back land and are fighting for the right to get rid of it. Once again, I think this is important, but I'm not sure whether DFW did this just because he thought it was funny or because he's trying to make a specific point (and if so, what point, I don't even know). If you have any theories, I'd love to hear them.
Roxana: Maybe he thought it was funny. Maybe he thought we'd think it was funny. I just like it when authors play with your expectations and give you something to look forward to. If there's a point he wants to make, I'm sure we'll figure it out eventually.
Me: One of the other things that stuck out to me was a quote on page 54: "Like most North Americans of his generation, Hal tends to know way less about why he feels certain ways about the objects and pursuits he's devoted to than he does about the objects and pursuits themselves. It's hard to say for sure whether this is even exceptionally bad, this tendency." I really liked this quote, but I definitely don't think that phenomenon is specific to either North Americans or people of Hal's generation (whichever generation that's even supposed to be). Of course, I AM an American of a young generation, so I don't have an alternative perspective on that point. You do (at least on the geographical part), so what do you think?
Roxana: So that would mean that if you were asked "Why do you like -----?" you would reply by pointing out all the awesome stuff about -----, instead of why you find all those awesome stuff awesome? See, if you were to ask me that, that would be the way I would answer, but if I asked myself that, I would try to figure out exactly what draws me to it and why. However, in order to relate to someone it's enough (and wise) to simply establish that you like the same things so you can go on and talk about them. Facts are easier to share and often more stimulating than any reason the other person might have to like the things being shared. But I'm pretty sure everyone knows well enough why he/she likes a certain something, even though it might seem a lot less compared to what he/she knows about the object in question. It might be something to do with our culture, though. Sometimes, there are things so weird, so awful, so pointless that I can't find any good reason for liking them, but I do. However, sometimes I feel the other way around.
Me: I kind of disagree. I think even if I were to ask myself "why do I like -----?" I would probably not have a very good answer for a lot of things, and for most of the things for which I would be able to articulate a reason, that reasoning would be filling in the gaps after-the-facts. I don't think we do know as much about why we like the things we do as we think we do. Maybe you're right, though. Or maybe it is a geographical/cultural thing, as DFW said.
Roxana: I still fail to see the bigger picture, so these things are confusing, as well as the feral stuff ("feral" has been used A LOT so far). You say it's a seemingly random interruption, so maybe you already have an explanation for it?
Me: I don't really have an explanation for the two feral creature interruptions, no. I just know that critically-acclaimed professional authors rarely write something for no apparent reason. I honestly thought they might just be intended as irrelevant humour, but then you're right that the word "feral" and its various related ideas have been used repeatedly so far. With that in mind, I have some theories (more hypotheses, really, but I digress). One idea has to do with the book's discussion of entertainment. The two main feral herds mentioned so far have been hamsters and babies. Both of these things are cute, but obviously feral herds of anything are not cute. Since the book is in large part a discussion of what we do to amuse ourselves, maybe it's an (actually serious) expression of something like Hank's Cute-ocalpyse, wherein the cuteness destroys us. Then again, that might be too absurd even for DFW. The other idea is that since both babies and hamsters are things that are part of human society, but they've escaped and become not just wild but feral (with its connotations of rabies and general instability), it's an expression of how things in our society (possibly culture, specifically) have escaped out from under our control and now live in the world, influencing us outside any intended constraints. Do either of those ideas make sense to you, or am I reading too much into some goddamn feral babies? Possibly related to that latter theory (or not, I don't know), there does seem to be an ongoing pattern of pests as a major story concern. If they have something to do with that, Orin's cockroach obsession could be put in the same narrative box as the two feral herd interruptions. I'm not sure what that would be saying, though, or why. Maybe you have a notion?
Roxana: Interesting ideas. To me, the feral herds of whatever seemed like an odd attempt at humour, so they'd better be making a point. I would go with the latter, but it does seem a little outstretched, for now (but if the pattern keeps repeating itself, I think that would be a good interpretation). I'm more intrigued by the fact that they are considered "passive icons of the Experialist gestalt" [I had no idea what "Experialist" meant, so I found this - "Experialism could be construed as just being the opposite of imperialism, in that it involves forcing other countries to take your land"]. You wouldn't think of a baby as being passive, so what does that phrase mean? And why didn't people react to them? Similarly, Orin doesn't really react when he tries to deal with the cockroaches. I would get out, call the exterminators, but he just puts glasses over them and waits. People get out of the way of the feral herds, build fences. Why this passive behaviour towards pests? It does seem that they are a recurring motif and I would say that pests consume the thoughts of the people in the book, but they inspire no action. Maybe that's the metaphor?
Me: I hadn't thought of it that way at all. Now that you mention it, though, there does seem to be a lot of passivity in this book. I'll keep an eye out for that as I keep reading. (Also, I sort of figured that "experialist" was just supposed to be an inversion of "imperialist." Hence the root words).
[Alright, so I've run out of space. I'll continue this in the next post, I think.]