Okay, I'm up to about page 380 now, so if you haven't gotten to there (or at least to the Eschaton section) there's some spoilers in here probably. Here are some thoughts
Mind and Body. Starting around page 120 and continuing pervasively throughout is a real Mind And Body dichotomy theme in the book. I'm reminded of DFW's essay about Federer in which he writes:
Beauty is not the goal of competitive sports, but high-level sports are a prime venue for the expression of human beauty. The relation is roughly that of courage to war.
The human beauty we’re talking about here is beauty of a particular type; it might be called kinetic beauty. Its power and appeal are universal. It has nothing to do with sex or cultural norms. What it seems to have to do with, really, is human beings’ reconciliation with the fact of having a body.
There’s a great deal that’s bad about having a body. If this is not so obviously true that no one needs examples, we can just quickly mention pain, sores, odors, nausea, aging, gravity, sepsis, clumsiness, illness, limits — every last schism between our physical wills and our actual capacities. Can anyone doubt we need help being reconciled? Crave it? It’s your body that dies, after all.
There are wonderful things about having a body, too, obviously — it’s just that these things are much harder to feel and appreciate in real time. Rather like certain kinds of rare, peak-type sensuous epiphanies (“I’m so glad I have eyes to see this sunrise!” etc.), great athletes seem to catalyze our awareness of how glorious it is to touch and perceive, move through space, interact with matter. Granted, what great athletes can do with their bodies are things that the rest of us can only dream of. But these dreams are important — they make up for a lot.
So some things to think about along this theme. Don Gately is an exaggeration of David Foster Wallace's large, ungainly body in much the way that Hal Incandenza is a an exaggeration of David Foster Wallace's incandescent mind. In Tennis, we are told, one must in a way transcend both the Mind and the Body, you must suspend your thinking in a way that gets you to a kind of zen trance in order to overcome the limits of your body. Keep in mind Schtitt's theory that in Tennis the opponent is your self, the guy on the other side of the net is merely the vehicle to self-transcendence.
Also, drugs. Drugs are basically the anti-Tennis, in a way. They suspend the mind to destroy the body. Think about The Disease (which is also called The Spider) i.e. addiction. Addiction is a disease of both mind and body. AA, as described by DFW, focuses basically not at all on the physical aspects of the disease. The way your body literally craves, is dependent on substances. It focuses instead solely on your mind and your soul, and it engages them to, in a way, transcend your physical need for the substance.
Which brings up what is probably my favorite whole section in the entire book, the list of things one learns while in rehab. Which also transitions into a long discussion of addiction tattoos, a way The Spider leaves its mark on its victims bodies.
Some of the Best And Worst Writing of the Book. I'd count the What you Learn in Rehab, Eschaton and James Incandenza senior's long drunken monologue as some of the best writing thus far in the book. I remembered the first two, but not the last one which really is like an independent short story that detonates in the novel. Its fucking brilliant. The way DFW captures drunken argot, the way the monologue moves from emotion to emotion, the downright Faulknerian language. Great stuff.
I've also come across a part that I might as well say is kind of unreadable garbage, namely Madame Psychosis' broadcast at MIT. I understand what DFW was going for in this section-- talking about hideous disfigurements while also reveling in the beauty of the words... but it just comes across as a kind of masturbatory Don DeLillo homage. I was grateful when it was over and didn't feel like it enriched my experience of the book at all. At the same time, a book of this length and diversity is going to have its ups and downs.
The Hardest Parts to Read of the book are the not the most difficult necessarily, but the most emotionally strenuous. I mean, did anyone else think while reading the Poor Tony section "oh god, please, just make it stop, I can't bear this anymore"? I sure as hell did. But that's part of the genius of it. DFW does not shy away from what Hitting Bottom looks like, and as a result we as the reader deal with some of the most intense but also enriching depictions of drug addiction I've ever read. There's something about the lack of moralism in DFW's prose, the way he just describes what is going on in technical detail that makes it horrible but also humanizes it. You feel for Poor Tony, and its quite a feat that DFW is able to make you do that while also not shying away from Poor Tony's more repulsive traits.
Another one: Joelle's overdose at the party. Oy vey.
At some point in the book, DFW makes the point that all addiction stories are fundamentally the same, but that's kind of beside the point. And sure enough, he's already filled the book with story after story of addiction and Bottom and they all are on some level the same. Erdeddy, Joelle, Poor Tony. Their stories are remarkably similar. But no less compelling.
Who is narrating this f*ing book? I don't know if anyone else noticed this, but in the Eschaton section Michael Pemulis breaks in to dictate on of the endnotes. Okay, so far so funny, but he mentions that Hal Incandenza is pretentiously narrating the section in third person. But this is the thing... the narrator's voice hasn't changed for that section, in fact, the third person narrator's voice pretty much never changes. Is Hal the narrator of the book? Is Hal writing the thing? Do such questions even matter? This is one of many issues that I'm pretty sure will go unresolved by page 1000.
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