I have heard many great things about David Foster Wallace, especially in regards to Infinite Jest, and I picked this up, because I’m a sucker for the short story. But these were abysmal. When Wallace isn’t aping real life people as characters in what feels like sanctioned, literary fan-fiction, he’s writing stories about punks that only really serve to remind me how little I like the idea of that scene. Wallace sometimes shocked me, but he just as often bored me, and this all just left a bad taste in my mouth.
1/5
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