Yet Another Example of the Porousness of Certain Borders (XI)
by David Foster Wallace
So - either I understand David Foster Wallace or he was so much smarter than me that I don't even know I'm not getting it. I had to put that out there.
This was a really really short story because I was supposed to post this yesterday. I have to get back on track! The story focused on the narrator who tells the reader about a dream he seems to have. In this dream, he seems to be blind which makes him cry. He describes how he wakes up crying which blurs his vision making him think he's still in his dream, blind. It's only until his girlfriend wakes him up where he realizes that he's just dreaming.
The author goes on to describe how the dream appears to sink into any and every part of his day. It gets so bad that he needs to leave work in order to go home and sleep - almost as if to recuperate what the dream took from him.
This was simply a strange story. Was it even a story? I guess. I felt like I was just taking a glimpse into someone's life. A photo still. Nothing wrong with that, just that Wallace seems to have done quite a bit of that. Interesting.
The main idea of the story, in my opinion, is the idea of awareness. The narrator gains a sense of awareness from his dream - as in, he becomes aware of how wonderful it is to see and how life could be if he couldn't see. However, at the same time, he isn't aware in a practical or helpful sense. This meaning that he is still unable to be empathetic toward the blind people he comes across and he chooses to go home and go to sleep instead of facing his day, head on.
Verdict
Just like the previous story of Wallace's I reviewed, Death is Not the End, it's for a particular reader. Other readers may get more from his writing than I have so far - some may not even want to give it a shot. I say, give it a shot, take it for what it is and allow yourself to analyze for a bit and then move on. Thinking too much about it won't be good for the soul - I don't know why, but that's my feeling.
Death is Not the End
by David Foster Wallace
(I am a day late omg but I swear to you, reader, I read this story yesterday, but I was too busy out and about and doing stuff and eating that I forgot to post this so please forgive me.)
I have not read any David Foster Wallace work. I wanted to start with Infinite Jest, that mammoth of a work, but I knew that Wallace had a plethora of short stories, so I thought - why not?
It takes awhile to get used to the author's writing. I will say that. But once I did (especially the footnotes - I haven't read those since my history classes), I could understand (kinda) where he was going (I think).
This is what reading David Foster Wallace did to me. Talking in parentheses.
Anyway, just like Kafka, I had to Google the meaning to this story - just in case I missed something? But it turns out that I didn't (I think). This story is about a writer who has done all the things - he's won awards, he's renowned and he can basically afford to hang around the house doing his thing. Which is exactly what he's doing during this story. And that's all he does. Wallace is basically letting the reader be a fly on the wall allowing us to watch this author be a person. I believe that the whole point of this story is showing us that although a person may have all these accolades, at the base of it - a person is just a person.
The tricky part is understanding the title. "Death is Not the End" - is it because he's a writer and what he writes will most likely survive after he "ends"? Is it because the author is a has-been and he technically "died" a long time ago? I'm not sure and I don't think Wallace cared to share the meaning. (if he did, please link down below)
Verdict
Wallace's writing is definitely not for everyone. I don't even know if it's for me, but it's intrigued me enough to keep reading until I'm completely turned off. So, try it if you're feeling adventurous and equal parts patient.
