Over the past few series, Short Stop has focused on stories that fall under the fiction umbrella. While some have been autobiographical, they present something more creative within the framework that is deserving of exploration. The chance to dive into what interests an author becomes a rewarding experience as I broke down themes and found interesting tidbits. While this will be the same for the upcoming series, the approach will be a little different. I’ve been a fan of David Foster Wallace ever since reading “Infinite Jest” years ago and have been curious to delve into his essays. In an effort to better understand his potential as a writer, I am going to be spending this column exploring the seven entries for “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again.” Will the mix of analysis and autobiography provide something rewarding, or will I never do a nonfiction column again? Join me and find out. The only caveat is that due to some of these being lengthier, there’s an off chance the entries will take longer to release. Keep that in mind and let’s delve into one of the most unique voices of the late 20th century.
I remain uncertain as to whether splitting this essay up into three parts was the smartest idea. When I started, the overbearing length mixed with the onslaught of ideas made me believe that there’d be enough to stretch out. Though part of me worries that the remaining two sections for the conclusion will make it feel like spinning wheels, I think there’s still enough meat on the bone to test the limits. Wallace is a writer who isn’t short on ideas and I think one of the few whose ability to overintellectualize something like our relationship with television is still an accessible and entertaining read. Part of me worried that the academia side would kick in at some point and I’d be struggling to keep up with him. Instead, “E. Unibus Pluram” has felt like a casual conversation that has slowly put the ideas together in a way that’s very clear.
For this entry, I will be emphasizing the sections labeled: “Guilty Fictions,” “I Do Have a Thesis,” and “Image Fiction.” While it’s the smallest amount that I will highlight in this run, I still think it features enough to make for some interesting points.
With a lot of my Part 1 essay exploring the interpersonal relationship that one has with the medium, “Guilty Fictions” begins to emphasize the technique. It has been established that there is a paradox in which young writers under 40 turn to TV for reality and in the process don’t experience it. There’s also a self-awareness in which TV series befriends viewers who pay close attention in part because it is considered a mass unification. For generations, it has been accepted that Hollywood “rewards” the audience by making them feel like they’re privy to behind the scenes activities. There’s even people who fake reality called actors who will be judged in a one-sided relationship with the audience. There’s a perversity to Wallace’s larger thesis as he ponders whether the medium is greater than its detractors.
Moving into this next section, the question turns to whether there is a separation between High and Low culture. There was a time when this was true, though media has slowly blurred the lines with artists commenting on their ubiquity. The earliest examples that Wallace comments on includes James Joyce’s “Ulysses” which featured moments so profane that it once had a rare obscenity trial. Given that Joyce emphasized every facet of the human condition (including defecation and public masturbation) while placing it in some of the most complicated prose put to paper, it makes sense to suggest he’s an early example of this trend. He’s an author whose obsession with detail makes his work painfully self-aware and often down to the second within his novel’s 24 hour time frame. While modernism as a literary movement wasn’t hailed as much for grossing out readers, it did lead to one that Wallace is more intrigued by.
When I was in school, I learned about the different literary movements with the two most recent being modernism and post-modernism. While there was dispute as to whether we’re still in the post-modernist age, one subject remained true across the board. As a movement, it doesn’t have a clear definition save for the idea that it’s searching for meaning in the absurd. It’s here that “E. Unibus Pluram” starts and for good reason. Post-modernism is a very self-aware genre to the point it will tear apart genres and the very format it’s written in. It’ll break the fourth wall and alter the structure of prose in favor of some greater, though not always clear, thesis.
The two authors that Wallace seems most interested in are Don DeLillo and Thomas Pynchon. This could be that they have taken post-modernism to some weird corners. In the case of Pynchon, he’s intrigued by how he uses pop culture references in “Gravity’s Rainbow” and “The Crying of Lot 49.” He’s also the author who most directly is responsible for mixing high and low art in such a way that one page can discuss colonization and the next features him doing vaudeville schtick with a Groucho Marx impersonation. It’s a journey into madness that shows how media started to inform the larger public discourse.
This could be because art was mixing with real world politics. Given that there was an established industry by the 1940s, it wasn’t surprising to see celebrities popping up to support the troops. They wrote songs and even established The Hollywood Canteen where they paid tribute to the men overseas. From there, media became part of the American identity as a way to share messaging and create vernacular that spoke to the public.
An interesting point that Wallace makes within the first section is the difference between writers of his generation and the previous. He discusses getting into an argument with a teacher regarding whether literature should be “timeless.” He then proceeded to reflect a very Generation X perspective that “timeless” is not achievable because at some point details will interfere. For example, to write a story without time would be to ignore things as simple as electricity and automobiles. The teacher then suggested that he was more referring to pop culture references. This is an interesting paradox because, as established, the arts had informed everyday life for decades by then.
Complaints could probably be owed to the blurring of High and Low culture. He emphasizes ideas like how Andy Warhol’s pop-art style or Elvis Presley’s music were considered disposable entertainment for the masses. Should those things be celebrated? If writing is meant to reflect the real world, shouldn’t there be an emphasis on what appeals to the greater populus? The fear is that the content will become dated and unintelligible. He cites authors whose only details of characters regards clothing and how it doesn’t make sense to anyone outside of a certain demographic. The fragmented nature of reality is the greater fear: a fun irony given that people criticize TV for being a perverse unification.
My favorite reference from this section comes from DeLillo’s beloved satire “White Noise.” In the excerpt, he focuses on a scene where the protagonist Jack is taking his friend out to see the most photographed barn in America. They drive out to see it. On the surface, it’s anticlimactic and pointless. DeLillo’s greater point is a comic discussion of how life becomes an inactivity of observing the world. At a certain point, it changes into a snake eating its own tail. Nothing significant happens in the “White Noise” passage, and yet it speaks perfectly to Wallace’s fear of modern media. Is the blurring of High and Low art actually saying anything, or is the expectation that it’s there to be observed without any greater meaning?
Jumping forward to “Image Fiction,” I think Wallace is very aware of this issue for writers. Whereas the previous generation grew up alongside the evolution of TV, Generation X were born into a world that projected these images and are less noticing of the artifice that surrounds them. There is affection for every strange detail to the point that they proceed to deconstruct everything in a way called “image fiction.” There is a need to look beyond the artifice and find something organic within it. Ironically, this feels like the metatextual layer of Wallace’s larger essay as he’s done nothing but analyze the skeleton.
While Pynchon and DeLillo are authors who feel more keen on reflecting the parallel relationship, image fiction is more emphasized with overintellectualizing the greater purpose. There is a need to scratch the surface and really dig into the mechanics with the hope of finding an understanding how the machine works. There’s a level of self-awareness that feels post-post-modern without really saying much of anything. There is a point where everything does make sense, but it can slowly spiral into self-parody. Does anyone really want to dig into why panty shield packaging has certain colors or why NFL advertising is so vulgar?
From there the question is whether it qualifies as meaningful art or commentary. If the larger point is to discuss the hollowness, is it simply contributing to the problem? One could use their powers to create something meaningful, and yet a generation has grown up finding affection for mass-produced Low art. Because Wallace is clearly in the circles of academia, he’s also keen to High art that actually stimulates deeper thought. Even then, image fiction can only achieve so much before it becomes futile.
For those who have followed “E. Unibus Pluram” from the beginning, there’s a good chance that the St. Elsewhere example comes to mind. Wallace discusses how there’s a handful of self-congratulatory references to The Mary Tyler Moore Show in an episode that only helps to make the audience feel rewarded for reference awareness. While it lacks the commentary of image fiction, it’s the root of a greater self-awareness. Media tends to follow trends and when a lot of art came about mixing High and Low with commentary, they had no choice but to follow. They always knew that we were watching, and now they know that we know its secrets, so it needs to play into it like it’s our best friend. Suddenly image fiction becomes useless because any further commentary would be like staring into the void.
The efforts to have the medium “rescue” viewers from the vapidness are doomed to fail. While TV criticism has become more scholarly in the 21st century, at the time of Wallace’s essay, it wasn’t a helpful tool so much as a trendsetter. Newspapers weren’t keen on breaking things down into complicated jargon. Instead, it was a yay/nay system because TV wasn’t exactly saying something meaningful. It was mindless entertainment. Does that mean that intellectualizing the mindlessness would create something new? At that point, the whole industry feels like people staring at a barn.
I’m curious to see how these threads connect because there are a lot of interesting ideas throughout these 40ish pages so far. It’s clear he’s interested in how the writer relates to the larger medium and I think he’s doing an excellent job of finding those small connections. In a lot of ways, he’s demystifying art in a way that is making it all feel “supposedly fun.” If the purpose is simply to acknowledge its existence, why is it the tool of unification? Everything feels lacking greater purpose. I recognize that using this commentary to comment on a commentary is just as redundant as the examples Wallace used, but I genuinely enjoy digging into his words. In fairness, I did bring a lot of personal outside research to this particular entry, but I like to think it enhances the larger point. Otherwise, I’m curious to see where he lands on the grand finale. Does he have a complicated relationship with TV? I’d have to assume he does after writing an essay this brilliant.
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