Short Stop: #5. David Foster Wallace – “Getting Away from Already Being Pretty Much Away from It All”

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 following something as elaborate as “E. Unibus Pluram,” I was unsure whether or not I should consider doing multiple part essays for all of the longer stories. That is why reading “Getting Away from Already Being Pretty Much Away from It All” was more paradoxical. There isn’t clean delineation for me to shift focus, especially as every theme overlaps and builds this greater picture of what it means to attend The Illinois State Fair. What I’m ultimately doing here is choosing to explore the piece as a whole, including the impressive ways in which he manages to turn the fairgrounds into a map so vivid for the readers it feels like Dublin in “Ulysses.” I have never been to The State Fair. I wouldn’t be curious enough to peer into many of the worlds that Wallace explores in this. That is why I remain a bit conflicted about this greater essay.

From a personal perspective, I am not keen on fair culture. Like Wallace, I perceive myself more as a “coastal elite” type who finds amusement from other corners of the world. Unlike Wallace, I have recently attended the ballyhooed Los Angeles County Fair and was taken in by the small amusements. There is a novelty to it that I think works for those wanting something less urban. Even then, as you drive down the freeway and wait in line to enter, you do realize the façade of seeing fair culture in Los Angeles. It may have been there at one point, but it is novelty. It’s more like escapism for a person like me who could’ve taken a few more lefts and caught a Lakers game instead. It’s like city folk going to gawk at the bumpkins with their cattle and deep friend curios.

On that level, I relate to Wallace’s judgmental eye towards everything feeling a bit hollow. Because I don’t have a smalltown mentality, I am less likely to be amused by the same tapestries. I think the biggest difference is that Wallace is more “elite” than me in a sense, which is bizarre when you consider what has been known from this anthology so far. He is a resident of Illinois who romanticizes the geometric landscape of his hometown. There should be some affection there, and yet he has more spiritual connection to the transplanted homeland of the east coast. He has this dissonant quality in observation that he is from Illinois, but he’s not one with the Illinoisan. He paints them as simple-minded, likely to buy tacky t-shirts and take pictures in front of crass commercialism. Meanwhile, the carnies are chain-smoking perverts who make the whole operation sound a lot more unpleasant. 

Before I go further, I want to share my overall impression. It was only after about 20 or so pages that I began to appreciate the larger intent of the piece. There are large portions of this essay where it sounds less like commentary and more documentation. I get that it helps to build a greater picture, but without any clear narrative build, it does feel meandering. I’m not entirely sure why I should care why Wallace is obsessed with every small detail. He’s looking for meaning and stopping short of saying anything profound. 

That isn’t to say that this is lacking an amazing cultural anthropology element. Even with over 30 years removed from context, there is something that feels distinctly timeless and American about this experience of communal gatherings and cheap thrills. There are local politicians who are accused of being pinkos. Wallace ponders the neurological value of death defying rides before going to the expo hall to be sold products that are ultimately useless. For someone who lives in Illinois and is used to a sense of nothingness, this may be more appealing than Wallace’s city life where he’s bombarded with advertisements every waking second. 

Most of all, he seems disconnected from the joy that it is bringing everyone. Instead of letting his guard down and taking in every novelty, he has to comment on how odd he finds the whole operation. Even if the expo hall is where the products are sold, it does come across like everybody is selling something. There is a need for stimulation and spectacle at every turn. 

Some of it is very entertaining even in its absurdity. Midway through the essay, Wallace visits an event that involves children spinning batons. The coordination is a little off and soon the section turns into a chronicle of every projectile heading for the crowd. While Wallace is above easy jokes about bodily injury, his fascination suggests a confusion as to why anyone thought this was a good idea. While one person would be escorted from a facial collision, there’s no suggestion that anyone was hospitalized. If anything, it adds to the surrealism of the moment as he’s also concerned with how suggestively the dancers are dressed, believing that everything at the fair has been tarted up for an audience. Nothing exists as the simple life anymore. Everyone is just participating in a meaningless yet agreed-upon annual operation.

For me, the section that felt most in line with fair culture was the visit to the livestock tents. Given that I live in a city environment, these tents are usually where everything feels “removed” from anything familiar. There’s bales of hay for benches. Every animal is fenced off. Given that it’s indoors, there tends to be sometimes a suffocating quality when too many people enter. Even getting to see farm animals has a novelty that amuses many. It’s like a traveling zoo where we get to see what life must be like in The Midwest. 

A big difference between me and Wallace is that he’s more used to farm life. He’s not exactly romantic, but his clinical detail makes me think he sees everything less as entertainment and more a study of the animal’s well-being. His fixation on the various smells of excrement seem random save for the fact that it’s probably an overwhelming smell within the tents. I like to think he was also building some weird personal contest of whose smelled the most tolerable. Even if there wasn’t a full connection, his emphasis that a lot of animals were standing in it also suggests a dehumanization that doubles as an allegory for the fairground patrons. They’re just wandering around in their own mess, amused by the disposable. 

He's also keen on discussing how the handlers treat the animals as well as what their lives must be like outside of this event. There’s the cognitive dissonance that even if the audience loves them, the owners probably see them more as a commodity that is easy to cut off for food at any given notice. It removes the emotion and leaves a lot of bitter truths that feel indicative of growing up in an environment where Wallace knew farmers. Everything loses its allure when knowing that there’s a lot of miserable people behind the scenes who don’t project joy into their lives. While he seems more intent on painting carnies as irritable, there’s a sense that those touring with the program are trying to make it through the day and collect a paycheck. Nothing feels as thrilling as the advertisements. How could they when it’s 100° and 80° in the shade? Wallace even talks about running through t-shirts with frequency.

To this anthology’s credit, the three entries so far have been presented through different lenses. The first was autobiographical while the second was more academic. This is somewhere in between the two. I don’t think Wallace successfully understands The Illinois State Fair by the end of this essay. There’s no clarity moment on par with “E. Unibus Pluram” understanding the pitfalls of postmodernism. If anything, the excessive language and search for meaning reveal a sense of emptiness that is more drawn from his biology. 

He’s introverted and seems a bit too entitled to be there. It’s the part of the essay that I enjoy the least. Even if this benefits from the first person perspective, there are points where I felt like telling Wallace to lighten up and not take everything so seriously. Then again, I don’t know what Harper’s was asking him to do (I just know it’s not Harper’s Bazaar). Maybe there is a need to feel above it all to the point that he seems a bit rude and annoying. Even as I connect with the existentialism of being in an environment where I don’t want to be, I can’t fully get on board with all of the asides that give us a sense of how uncomfortable Wallace is. There are points where his inner monologue suggests he’s wanting to take action and fix problems. To his credit, a lot of them come from a place of good intentions. The desire to protect his friend from the sexual oglers on a carnival ride feels like an idea many decades ahead of the discourse. However, I think the choice to end the scene by having the party whose underwear had just been forcefully flashed say, “Lighten up!” in more words reflects the flaw in the armor. Wallace will never lighten up. Not when he’s so aware of how many people are falling over sick as rickety rides lead to endless episodes of vomiting.

I understand that Wallace is writing this more as a travelogue and it’s very successful. More than anything, I think the commentary on feeling disconnected from your home state is a promising angle that is given great emphasis in the back half. I like how it starts with confidence and something familiar in the farm life only to end with him uncomfortably trying to assimilate to a world he’s not a part of. There’s a sense of isolation that comes with navigating those fairways and not feeling the least bit excitement. He’s not even buying a t-shirt because the slogans are painfully shallow. There’s nothing worth taking away from this trip except the press credentials. This essay may as well be the next best thing.

Overall, this is a bit overlong and not always the most entertaining read. Even if I came to relate to Wallace’s outsider status in fair culture, I think this is a piece that is more about ideas than execution. The cohesion takes a long time to appear though, when it does, it really amps up the greater purpose. It’s a study of Midwest life that feels less romantic than his days playing tennis. Instead, it feels like his homeland has been commodified and lost its identity. A State Fair should be this grand celebration of community and instead it was a reminder of how he wasn’t part of it. I don’t know how Wallace could’ve improved upon the sections that are dry and too straightforward, but it does rank as one of my lesser favorites so far. Even then, he makes you feel like you’ve been to Illinois by the end. You’ll be happy to be out of there by the final word.

Coming Up Next: “Greatly Exaggerated”