This morning my office mate Chuck gave me a doorstop masquerading as a holiday gift: a physical copy of David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest.
This 1996 novel taking place in a junior tennis academy and an addict’s halfway house has been called “a gargantuan, mind-altering comedy about the pursuit of happiness in America.” Whether or not finishing this book will get you laid is still a mystery.
I have a copy of the book on my iPad but I actually never got around to going beyond the first few pages. I realized I’m a traditional book reader and I still prefer a physical book I can touch and smell, though admittedly reading in the dark is a lot more convenient with e-books. But you cannot smell e-books. You can’t.
The book is a whopping monstrosity that can double as a lethal weapon.
The thickest book I’ve read so far was Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire at 734 pages. This one is 1,079-paged baby. And there are actual books dedicated to encouraging fools to finish it. And then there’s this. I’ve since graduated from my obsession with Harry Potter and I’m hoping I now have the mental stamina to take on more “grownup stuff.” This may require going home straight from work, cutting time off the Internet or severing ties with my friends.
I’m not promising I’ll finish it, but I want to.