the world according to wallace

I haven't written anything about the death of David Foster Wallace mostly because I've been too embarrassed to admit I've never read any of his writing.  Not from lack of interest, and he's definitely been on my list, I just didn't have a sense of urgency about tackling the likes of Infinite Jest.  The news of his suicide hit like a bomb both among many of my close friends and in the literary world at large, and after reading several of the tributes to Wallace published in the last week I understand why.  My favorite piece is novelist Joshua Ferris's recollection of having interviewed Wallace when Ferris was but a young starstruck reporter for the Daily Iowan:

Wallace was 33 at the time, he knew that he possessed talent and that his new book was likely to make a big impact, and he was more adept than the vast majority of thinkers and writers to spot a fraud. Yet he treated me, the nervous imposter, with graciousness and seriousness. His conversation was animated, thoughtful, witty and generous. He was full of qualifications as he attempted to excavate deeper layers of meaning from his words and better formulations of his thinking. He didn't care about the absence of a tape recorder or, for that matter, the absence of a decent journalist. He was concerned about being understood. He was in it for an honest exchange.

Yeah it's high time I read one of his books.  It's just a shame that I could have appreciated him in his lifetime instead of after he's too soon gone.