This morning at around ten o’clock, I was feeding Sean while we listened to National Public Radio, as is our custom. During one of their thirty-second news bulletins I heard the announcement that David Foster Wallace had been found dead in his home in California. He had hanged himself.
I was shocked. Danielle had to take over with Sean’s ‘breakfast’ and I just sat there, dumbstruck.
I almost don’t even know what to write about him. I loved his essays, and I loved Infinite Jest. His short fiction troubles me, and I haven’t read all of it. That’s one thing I’m almost glad for: there exists writing by DFW that I have not yet read. But I’m also saddened that I won’t see any new writing, any new novels. That’s selfish, I know, but I’m trying to be honest.
What must he have been going through? It saddens me to imagine the psychic pain that could drive someone to suicide. My heart goes out to his family, to his wife, who found him.
After reading Infinite Jest, I read just about everything I could find about him: interviews, profiles, etc. He maintained his privacy pretty well, except for when the New York Times came to call. The New York Times piece alluded to a previous suicide scare and time spent in a mental hospital:
But Wallace was tormented and miserable. Was he really brilliant, as some people told him? Or was he a fake, as he sometimes felt? By this point he was drinking heavily, taking drugs and sleeping around, self-destructive behavior that he figured was consistent with the life style that a cool, serious writer was supposed to have. Wallace is intentionally vague on this period of his life, and what he divulges sometimes contradicts the recollections of friends. He says he never formally entered a recovery program; Alice Turner says he did. He mentions a single suicide scare and subsequent stay in a psychiatric ward; friends allude to more than one.
Is it crass to make a reference to the above at a time like this? If it is, then I’m sorry. But it clears my head a little. It makes some sense out of this senseless act.
I’ll miss his presence in this world.
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