It is impossible to shop for books now by David Foster Wallace as we once used to. We'd always "keep an eye out". He was one of the handful of authors whose name was always keyed into the search matrix as it scrolled from one side of the shelf to the next, snaking its way down or back up from the last row. He was one of those writers that it was worthwhile to hunker down in search of (I'm 6'4", so its a long way to the floor), but I was always willing to be crouched uncomfortably on the balls of my feet and packed like an accordian. You might see one of his books in every third trip to the used book store, and you always strongly considered getting whatever was there, even if you already had a copy.
It's not possible to that anymore, and for the first time ever, Infinite Jest has made the Time's Bestseller list. His books are selling for over $300 for the hardcover first edition on half.com. I'm guessing new editions of all the books are in the works, replete with fresh introductions, but all of this is just moonlight. It is a reflection without the warmth.
It is strange to me that this one light is so engaging now in its absense, strange and very sad.
“Threading North and South” by Matthew Murrey
3 hours ago