Infinite Wrist

After two weeks of carrying Infinite Jest down avenues, holding it up the thousand page tome in the bath tub, propping the weight up with my hands, turning from Hal Incandenza to an endnote and back again, my wrist hurts.

I can’t help but think David Foster Wallace played a cruel trick on his female readers. As I get deeper and deeper into the admittedly boyish book, my wrist feels used and strained.

Whoever said reading was mental masturbation wasn’t too far off.

infinite jest book

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One response to “Infinite Wrist

  1. Pingback: Infinite Best « Subway Philosophy

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