I was kind of stunned to learn yesterday that David Foster Wallace committed suicide over the weekend. I guess it was especially surprising because he wrote with so much humor and wit that you just wouldn't expect him to do this. When Elliott Smith killed himself, I was saddened but not really that surprised; he'd been singing about suicide, sometimes literally, for years. But Wallace just never seemed like the type.
Anyway, I kind of grew to love Wallace's particular style, with the ten-dollar words, the endless and lengthy footnotes, and the wry humor. He had a keen eye and ear and a powerful descriptive voice. He'll be missed.
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