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.
When reaching the end of this lofty essay about the ever-expanding nature of TV, there is one thing comes directly to mind. It’s not any of the brilliant points that Wallace has made over the many sections of thorough analysis. Instead it feels like a response to people who compare him to Mark Leyner. While the final pages aren’t the first time his name is brought up, it feels like everything comes front and center. Whereas the author has dedicated many pages to the works of Don DeLillo and Thomas Pynchon, Leyner has felt like a strange footnote. He was an example of more modern post-modernism, even if Wallace wasn’t entirely clear why he was fixated on a novel with a title as groan-inducing as “My Cousin, My Gastroenterologist.” I’m sure it's amusing to read once or twice, but given how often Wallace references it, you become annoyed at those seven syllables. It’s nowhere near as clever as the big words that Wallace has thrown into “E. Unibus Pluram” which, I am more than convinced, was motivated by his grievances of being compared to him.
Even looking at contemporary reviews of the book on Goodreads, Leyner’s novel can’t help but earn references to Wallace. The top review suggests “My Cousin, My Gastroenterologist” is “DFW meets William S. Burroughs.” Another took the route more familiar to me and suggested that Leyner was a figment of the author’s imagination to better discuss the downfall of contemporary writing.
Suddenly it becomes clear why Wallace opened the whole shebang with discussion of writers’ reliance on TV. Whereas it started as this broad overview, it slowly zoomed in until all that was left was Leyner and irony. For as much as I think this essay does a great job of showing the difficulty for TV to be an innovative resource, the ultimate response is still a wake-up call for writers who think they’re clever by merely referencing the medium and “satirizing” it with irony. Everything comes together in the penultimate section where it feels like the Wallace persona was born.
Before I ever read “Infinite Jest,” I was familiar with one thing about him. He detested irony. The aura hung over every analysis I ever read of him, and I don’t know that I fully understood it until reading “E. Unibus Pluram.” Sure, I understood he was an intellectual who knew how to speak to the masses. And yet I didn’t know where the grand thesis came from. Maybe it came from a Charlie Rose interview. Instead, it was his own words in the section labeled “Irony’s Aura.” Having developed a larger point about TV’s inability to properly reflect reality, he turned his focus to its greater status as a product.
Returning to the realm of post-modernism after World War II, he discussed how the idea of irony was originally a good thing. Authors like DeLillo and Pynchon used their satire to discuss problems in manners that sought to find solutions. By accentuating the problem, they were bringing attention to conflicts about the changing world. Whereas Wallace’s generation would become fonder and even codependent, the older sought solutions that were never met right as consumerism became crass. By the 80s, advertisers were appealing to Boomers with nostalgia for a time that never actually existed.
Wallace emphasizes a commercial that highlights how advertisers used irony to turn the problem-solution model into an advertising beacon. He focuses on how Pepsi created their own ecosystem by suggestion that their product was the “choice” of the people as hoards in the commercial run towards a van handing out drinks. This situation wasn’t real. In fact, there wasn’t really a choice between anything. Short of just not giving in, the people in the commercial were given something that was perceived as a saving grace. It’s not a tool new to marketing. In an age where brand loyalty has become more rampant, it’s hard to fully see the irony in the piece.
The early 90s were attempting to be subversive by appealing to consumers and their good feelings. There is an added irony in this when considering that these messages are often projected in the medium known for a larger conundrum. Marketing, like TV, is designed for individualist mentalities. There is a need to connect with the consumer on a very personal level. However, they also believe that their product/TV show will unify them with a greater culture. Everyone is isolated and the only way to be happy is to step inside the machine. Attempts to be pure have even reached to politics of the George H.W. Bush administration as family values are in contrast to need for corporate dollars.
The issue of irony from decades past and Wallace’s present was that they had all but lost their point by 1990. In fact, it had become the societal norm to embrace irony. His larger point argued that irony as a concept was basically pointing out that what one’s saying is meaningless. Whereas DeLillo and Pynchon could be said to be searching for solutions, Wallace was never sure what Generation X was doing. If anything, they were assimilating by embracing irony. TV was already commenting on its own meaninglessness. What did they need audiences taking up their work for?
What’s amazing about reading “E. Unibus Pluram” in 2024 is how many of these ideas are still rampant almost 35 years later. While I wouldn’t call him a science fiction writer by any stretch, he does touch on aspects of media that were probably in their infancy at the time. They probably seemed impractical. There is a point where he discusses TV becoming so personalized that everybody gets their own screens to talk to people like Kim Basinger. He also talks about the even later on phenomenon of being able to watch sports from various vantage points, including overhead and from the bleachers. Even his stance on HDTV reminds me of how I felt when Blu-Ray was first announced, especially now that it’s a medium that some see as inferior to even higher definition clarity discs.
It's here that Wallace also ties in something he addressed in his St. Elsewhere example. TV has become a self-flagellating reward system. It’s less a form of escapism now than a place to connect your own dots. If you’re not following the plot of how TV is made or what is trending, then it becomes indecipherable. There is a need to engage even if one is disinterested. It may be an individualist medium, but it insists that everyone needs it to feel part of the water cooler discussion. Given that Generation X were more likely to have grown up with it as opposed to parallel, it’s hard for them to know a culture without it.
This all leads to the bigger point about Leyner. Whereas Wallace is capable of breaking down “White Noise” for paragraphs on end, he’s unable to find the substance of “My Cousin, My Gastroenterologist.” As the reader looks at examples from the text, it’s hard to know what’s even being said. In one of the greatest jabs Wallace takes in the piece, he compares its uselessness to “The Fountainhead” as a form of empty rhetoric that doesn’t have a greater purpose. It’s short and to the point. Maybe it’s one of his references that needs further clarity to understand on its own, but it reflects how thorough he is about everything else. You understand his thoughts on “The Fountainhead” just by his phrasing.
To be honest, I have no strong opinions on Leyner. I didn’t know of him before this essay. The fact that he was compared to Wallace is baffling to me because he reads like Mad Libs by comparison. If anything, I assumed the big rivalry was between Wallace and Brett Easton Ellis… though that may be because Ellis has been picking a fight with a dead man for nearly two decades. With that said, I’d argue Ellis has more substance than Leyner if just because he’s commenting on something more organic than the absurdity of pop culture.
I don’t honestly know if I would enjoy Leyner. I’m sure if I was much, much younger I’d be quick to speak his praise. He seems to revel in humor, though Wallace suggests that it’s very disposable. If you’re more into academia and questioning the logic of everything, there’s a good chance that the emptiness of Leyner’s irony would be bothersome. Given that it’s framed as a cyclical and toxic pattern in larger American history, it makes the criticism sting all the worse.
That may be why Wallace’s greatest point is to not be ironic. Using it as a form of rebellion is so old hat that it’s now conformity. Nobody’s able to say anything meaningful as a byproduct of its use. Instead, he suggests that moving towards earnestness will be where radical acts can be found. There is a need to risk being laughed at or even cringe. He was a man of his word as he proved this with “Infinite Jest."
What started as a commentary on what was wrong with TV ended up being a larger call to action. There is a need for writers to not regurgitate ideas. While I’m more prone to irony than Wallace is, I’m still keen on believing that following trends will only make them useless. There is a need for authenticity. That’s where earnestness comes in. While I don’t know that Wallace would ever have adapted anything into a TV series based on his worldview, he still had a way of diagnosing the problem and creating a point that was more optimistic. Even if the Leyner takedown is so brutal that I think it’s the only way younger audiences know who he is, the rest of his point holds so much truth that I can’t refute. This is a masterpiece of criticism with so many moments that stick with you. Suddenly I’m less bothered that the next entry is just as lofty in size. I’m hoping it's just as enjoyable.
Coming Up Next: “Getting Away From Already Being Pretty Much Away From It All”
Comments
Post a Comment