. . . I Was Walking Far From Home

I have been commissioned by my Critical Theory professor to read Infinite Jest by David Forster Wallace. This is the everest of novels. Not only is it formidable in length but it is also incredibly dense. The thing most interesting to me upon picking it up was finding out that this book is fairly contemporary (having been written in 1996). You don’t find anyone these days having the, excuse my french, “balls” to write something so turn-offish. I mean, really, who willing picks up a 1000 page novel? Even those who consider themselves an appreciator of the arts (as I do) can find many leaner, less challenging pieces to delve into. Thus, I am reading it only at the behest (great word) of Professor Kevin Griffith. I will be reading it at a pace of around 30 pages a day to have it done in roughly six and a half weeks. 

I opened the cover and find to my dismay, that, there is a foreword. So like anyone else, I preconceived that I would not be reading it. However then I saw that it was written by non other than Dave Eggers, of whom which I’m a fan. So out of respect for him I read it and was very glad I did. Not only did it serve as pre-reading pep talk, but it was also entertaining as hell. It also carried with it a reaffirmation that there is indeed people trying to preserve the integrity of the word “literature” and that I am not simply pretentious or out of touch in my worship of the classics, and my demand of substance out of what I read, not just readability. 

Then I read the first page. To be frank, I found it to be so rich that I stopped only a third down the page. Then the deadline drifted into my head much in the same way that headlights drift into a deer. I pressed on. What I found was entertainment. Not cheap, easy entertainment but rather something I liken to the way a runner feels as the are running (however, I am most definitely not a runner so maybe this is a false analogy): a combination of work, play, and upon finishing each page, a sense of pride. As I was reading I found it incredibly difficult and interestingly addicting. 

That was the experience of reading it. This is what I thought of the material after reading thirty-two pages: 

In this span of the novel we meet two very different characters. Hal, is a brilliant tennis player with a debilitating communication disorder (ergo, someone who is helplessly misunderstood by others) And a drug addicted who seems to understand himself just as much as he misunderstands himself. I mean this in that he is aware of his addiction, albeit not inherently calling it by that name. This, I assume, comes from having been in rehab previously. Although as I don’t know (possibly yet) whether or not he checked himself into said rehabilitation clinic or whether it was by someone else (this seems unlikely as he seems to associate with people only briefly).Wallace paints a very disturbingly comical picture of what drug addiction is like. Comical in the sense that Erdedy (I think that’s his name) obsessively crafts his own drug binge. His ritualistic manner of preparations shows how much his addiction is in control of him. It is in control of him to the point that it has convinced him that he is control of it. 

Now for Hal. He, when put into uncomfortable positions, seems to suffer delusions  that everyone around him is being combative. That they are, egging him on, pushing him to his limits, that they are prying too deep. He reacts with outbursts of anger followed by a period of sedation. He believes his is speaking rather harshly to these people, but in fact is screaming and yelling unintelligibly. Wallace shows the readers a curious memory that Hal has during this meeting at the university. One that is presumably the trigger for his outburst. Its of him his brother and his mother one day where he has eaten a fungus that grows in the basement of their home. His mother proceeds to get quite “hysterical” and runs around the yard. To be honest, I plan on rereading this section because I’m not quite sure at the moment what the author’s intent is yet. 

That’s basically all the conclusions I’m able to come to given the small amount I’ve read today, but as this puzzle begins to drift more in to place I hope I will discover more profound things to comment on. 

This post, I have decided, is to inform anyone who may actually read this that this “blog” is now going to take on the visage of a book blog. I say visage not only to be pretentious, but to dissuade anyone who may actually read this “blog”  from being surprised if there are any other media posted here. So yes, on the surface it will look like a book blog and, much as someone’s face tells a lot about what they truly are, actually be a book blog. But don’t be upset if I stray from this as I often stray from myself on a whole. This blog shall be no exception. 

Like trying to delineate,

The opalescence of a pearl, 

I dip my quill in the ink. 

A snapshot of life burned into my mind,

But in a twisted game of telephone, 

My hand fails the translation. 

A sigh escapes as I stare at the page,

Knowing the depth of what I felt,

At that moment. 

This caricature I have created,

With its poorly elongated intensity, 

And its impatiently punctuated silence, 

Mocks my heart. 

Though, 

As I turn my radio up, 

I am ineffably content, 

Because, 

“I am worst at what I do best, 

And for this gift, 

I feel blessed.” 

People shouting,

Crying out;

“We are the champions!”

Flags wave, 

At home, 

Parents attempting to explain, 

Why it’s such a big deal, 

To children, 

“You’ll always remember where you were.”

A bad-man is dead, 

His face in video-clips all over the screen, 

The child watches, 

Confused, 

People cheer, 

An old man is dead. 

Religion is the method by which humans are able to elevate ourselves from a state of being to a state of Being; from a state of merely existing to a state of complete living. In this state we become undeniably aware of our interconnectedness with the rest of the world around us. It is here also that we allow ourselves to delve deep into what being human truly means. Thus, religion must also be questioning. However, beyond the scope of these questions, is humanity’s ability to love. Through our interconnection and  capacity for love religion calls us also to serve each other. No matter which religion an individual ascribes to these three qualities resound true above all differences. 

My imaginary friend, 

Has lost His purpose,

For I am no longer lonely,

I feel guilty, 

And am looking hard,

For somewhere I can keep Him included, 

I love Him so, 

But now he has taken to flicking, 

My ear, 

When I have my back turned, 

Searching, 

But, 

It shouldn’t cause me any real pain, 

After all,

He is imaginary.

Right? 

Harrison could feel his heart slamming against his chest as he closed the novel. He hadn’t wanted to stop. It was the bell’s doing; signaling the end of study-hall. He filed out of the library behind the rest of his fellow sixth-graders. 

As he took his seat in his next class, he could not get the book out of his head. Sitting there, he imagined countless possible endings from “happily-ever-after”, to the tragic demise of every single character (this he rationalized as being the product of nuclear fallout). No matter what conclusion he dreamt up he knew that it would pale in comparison to what the other had done. His teacher was not helping. She droned on and on from one bell to the next. To keep himself occupied, Harrison drew scenes from the novel. By no means accurate, they did continue to fuel his desire to know how his story would conclude. Not enough to keep him from falling asleep, however. 

Harrison was awoken by the bell and peeled his face from his desk. Next class: computer lab. He sat at his favorite computer, away from the teacher, but not so far away as to arouse suspicion. It was a research day for their presentations on Monday, but it was Wednesday; far too early to start that. Harrison took out his book and began too read. Ms. Nerpak walked past and cleared her throat. Harrison was too engrossed to notice. By the third pass, Ms. Nerpak was angry. She reached over Harrison’s shoulder and grabbed the book. Harrison didn’t protest. He knew that he screwed up, but he couldn’t help it. He was so enthralled that the real world faded away––replaced by a better one that had come crashing down. 

“You can have this back at the end of class.”

That wasn’t soon enough. Harrison couldn’t be expected to wait that long. His hero teetered on the very brink of life and death. He resolved to take his mind off of it. That would help pass the time, right? He switched on the computer in front of him, typed in his school ID and password, followed with the URL of the teacher’s suggested search-engine. Harrison began to work. 

After five minutes, he was about to give up. He leaned over to Janie Perkins next to him, “Nothing that I’m trying to find comes up when I use this website.”

She let her glasses slide down the brim of her nose and gave him that Janie-Perkins-look and sighed, “Just ‘google’ it.”

“‘google’ it?”

She sighed again, “Uh, yeah, google dot com.” 

So, Harrison typed in the address of this mysterious website. The homepage was misleadingly simplistic. However, when prompted by it to “search,” he complied. The technological epiphany that ensued was even more than anything Harrison could have hope for. He found himself literally drowning in information (literal drowning in the sense that he struggled for breath in his amazement). Guiltily he strayed from the material he needed for his paper and began to search anything he could think of. When he finally worked up the courage to search “poop,” hoping to get a good laugh from Alex Martins on his left, he made a quick glance around the room. Ms. Nerpak was seated at her desk, to his delight, but then his eye settled on something else: his book at the edge of her desk. 

The mental floodgates he had closed off subsequently burst. The novel was back on his mind. He begged and pleaded with the clock to speed up, to no avail. He turned back to the computer screen. He once again drifted into fantasies of what was going to happen in the book. Then, it hit him. It had happened. The author had already written, people had already read it. Thus, someone had to know the ending. He stared at the Google homepage. The intellectual vault of the world was right there, it’s very vastness at his command. He began to type. It took five minutes to find a summary, ignore the spoiler alerts and deduce the ending. 

And so, with the discovery of Google, Harrison never read another novel again. He would simply “google” them. 

The Breakfast Club, an 80’s classic and personal favorite. I can no longer count the number of times I have watched it. However, this past weekend when I finished a question, previously asked at during the movie, lingered:

What happens on Monday? 

The movie seemingly answers the question. Each individual involved provides their hypothesis and then they emotionally come to a conclusion. That conclusion being the ideal one. We would be failing as viewers if we took this to be truth. We never get to see that happens on Monday. Not to say that it didn’t actually work out the ideal way, but we must be aware that there are numerous other possibilities. This is where the movie succeeds; the ending is yours to choose. 

Two camps will inevitably form. Those who want/need a happy ending. Then those haters/realists. Can the gap be bridged. I say: maybe. 

I’m going to tell you up front that nobody talks to Brian on Monday. They may nod, or say “Hi.” in the halls, but the won’t be “friends” come Monday. This will be enough for Brian I think. He will remember the honesty that they shared and be content knowing that they remember it too. He clearly doesn’t ask for much. 

The romance between Allison and Andrew will end quickly. As he will want to continue it privately and eventually be so ashamed that he ends it. I say this because of all the characters he is most influenced by people around him and has no sense of rebellion. All the others did. Claire is forced to defy one parent because of the other, Brian defies God in his suicide attempt, John’s creed is that of defiance and Allison as well shows her defiance in her lies. Andrew has shown none of this. Even in detention he does everything as a follower. His change will not be immediate, as the others, but it is a step in the right direction. 

Allison will inevitably become more introverted as a result. However, I do also see the potential for her to be benefitted by the entire situation as hopefully she has gained an important sense of self-worth and confidence. 

John and Claire: This is an interesting case. Even so I find the answer simple in my own experience. They will stay together. Claire’s reputation cannot suffer for dating the bad boy, even in the 80’s popular girls do it all the time. Her home-life will also benefit. As John says, he would be great for pissing off her parents. She will finally be able to stand up to them on her own, without the backing of the other. 

My vision for John is a very Grease-esque transformation, albeit not dramatic. With Claire he will finally have something that he can be proud of. Something of which he lacks entirely. This is the cause of his nihilism. With a sense of pride, he no longer has a reason to act destructively just to act. With her he will gain meaning. 

They have changed. I say for the better but, it’s not peaches and gravy. They won’t all be buddies. They will see each other and exchange pleasantries silently knowing that the same thing. However, they the bloodletting that happened that day in detention (that they had all needed so desperately) had left scabs that are best not reopened. 

Bottom Line: They will all still hate Vernon on the Monday after. 

A vision too perfect to be seen, 

Laying in the sun; you and me, 

A dominance of blue and green, 

The sterile breeze leaving us clean, 

Breathing slow; Finding clarity, 

A vision too perfect to be seen, 

Only the grass beneath our jeans, 

Nothing matters but you and me, 

 A dominance of blue and green, 

Counting the few clouds in between, 

Everything we wish life to be, 

A vision too perfect to be seen, 

No more information to glean,

Defining content; you and me, 

A dominance of blue and green, 

Breaking from life’s endless routine, 

No hindsight; nothing to foresee, 

A vision too perfect to be seen,

A dominance of blue and green,