Rating: 
Summary: The book's only fault is that it is not infinite in length.
Review: This book rocks. Footnotes in fiction? Fascinating. By page 77 I was sad because I knew that someday much too soon I would finish it.
It is engaging, captivating, mesmerizing; and at 1000 pages, much too short.
Rating: 
Summary: A superbly crafted... what?
Review: The seemingly infinite length of this book makes it difficult for even the most patient of readers. However, a little work does indeed pay off. The depth of the characters is limitless, and the reader is treated to delightful romp through the minds of the author's subjects. Every thought, every action, every memory is captured in technicolor detail and gives the novel its phenomenal heft. Though this detail is oftentimes fruitful, it can grow tedious and discourage the less painstaking reader. I do not believe, however, that this is the book's greatest fault.
As a condemnation of the wastes of modern America, Infinite Jest makes its point extremely well. Every page is filled with the consumptive lust for pleasure today's America suffers. The characters destroy themselves, their environs, and their society with reckless disregard for anything besides a few moments of stimulation to the pleasure centers of the brain. In the post-modern setting of the novel, entertainment and pleasure are exaggerated to such frightful extremes they become deadly. Brilliantly, Mr. Wallace makes it clear that the problems of this hypothetical future exist today. Ironically, Infinite Jest becomes an object of its own scorn -- addictively compelling and entertaining, it forces the reader to enjoy it, no matter the cost.
Unfortunately, the main detriment to this novel is the plot, which, after 900 pages, seems poised to make a new leap into the meat of the story, but instead turns to a rapid conclusion. Issues raised throughout the book are never resolved, and the reader is left without any real fulfillment. The characters, each of which is immaculately crafted and endearing, are only presented with the conflict at the end of the novel; they run out of pages before they have the chance to respond. It is almost as if the author was under some pressure from the publisher to end the book, and, indeed, the book does not seem to end they way Mr. Wallace intended: two chapters are remanded to the endnotes, appearing only as numerals in the text; some of the voices seem artificial and modified; and the story in general is clipped and unremarkable. This is a great disappointment after 900 pages of a superior epic. I suspect, and almost wish, that the author is working on the rest of the novel as I type.
All in all, Infinite Jest is a masterpiece of literally epic proportions. Its critique of America is amazingly brilliant and scaldingly poignant. The characters and voices will remain with the reader long after he or she turns the final leaf. However, so will the sense of let down and "fizzleing" that the end of the tome invokes.
Rating:
Summary: As good as "Gravity's Rainbow?" Close. Very Close.
Review: I'm going to compare this with my favorite book, "Gravity's Rainbow" by Thomas Pynchon, because that's the closest comparison I can think of, and it also happens to be a comparison that's being tossed around in the media (that's why I read it). Without going into great detail, I would say that this book has about 75% the _depth_ of "GR" (which is pretty damn good), and it is about 5 times more entertaining to read. It's amazingly entertaining. It is so entertaining that it literally became a proble
Rating:
Summary: Infinite Jest: I've been waiting so long...
Review: I've been waiting for a book to take me by the hair and drag me, like Gaddis but enthralling, like Pynchon but still unread. Wallace delivers genuis of our times (and times surely to come.) Every character, every scene (seemingly every thought that's gone through this guy's head for the last few years...) is here. Couldn't push it on enough of my friends -- I don't know what the naysayers could be talking about
Rating: 
Summary: only the patient need apply
Review: After all the hype surrounding this book I thought I'd give it a try. The premise of this novel is interesting, but it takes far too long to get to the meat of the matter. The author spends an enormous amount of time building-up characters before he lets us know how they relate to one another as well as how they relate to the basic story. This book should only be read by readers who are very patient and are willing to invest a great deal of time getting to the heart of the novel
Rating:
Summary: Yes You Are Ready
Review: Buy or borrow this book, don't read any reviews and ignore whatever I might say in this one (except, natch, the part about ignoring whatever I have said in this one). Read it and find out for yourself if you enjoy it or not. Sometimes expectations ruin an experience. It's always been in the back of my mind, but lately I've been thinking a lot about my whole role in whole book/film/art sheme of consumer-publicityb17ch-artistkreator. I'm pretty much certain anyone reading this review has faced the same ordeal... I read a book, I see a movie, I write a review, I get depressed because I'm always the consumer, never the creator, no matter how hard I try to break from the cycle, my disappointment in my abilities throws me into another round. Eventually I become so disaffected I completely lose faith and interest in all but the most banal of things (this is where we watch American Pie 2, Along Came Polly, and Mr. Deeds three times each, becoming more downtrodden at each viewing), my drawings are scribbles, my writings mere excremental traces of having read too much Burroughs. When I'm on the verge of the nervousbreakdownsuicide stage I somehow always manage to venture upon something that invigorates my hope and removes me a couple steps from utter isolation and depression. Clearly I'm trying to make the point that Infinite Jest is one of these things. In my endless repitition of this most vicious cycle, I have somehow stumbled upon the realization that sometimes it's just better to not know anything about whatever it is you're about to do than to begin forming expectations anticipating something greater than what could possibly be. The things that most touch me seem to be those that blindside me, turn me into a deer caught in headlights, flatten my heart, inflate my brain, blend them to one. Not two months ago I recieved the pleasant sensation of a sledgehammer to the heart after attending Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind in complete ignorance, having seen nary a review or advertisment (except a series of quarter-page ads in SF Guardian). Except for some mild expectations created by the blurbs on the cover (I imagine a great habit would be to black these out with a sharpie the moment you get a book (or post-its if you're borrowing)) and having heard some about IJ's reputation , I had no clue what I was getting into... and I think it works best this way. The BS out of the way, I can say that, yes, Infinite Jest runs a bit too long (and, aparently, an additional 600 pages were edited out) and sometimes a bit too dry quirkish, but it really sings when it hits the right notes. Reading the Salon interview I was a bit shocked to find out that Wallace is more of a mannered acadamian than the hard-science-major-kesey-loving-hippy-prodigy, which makes it a lot harder to maintain my image of him churning his guts to push this writing out of his heart... but, sometimes you can never tell...
Rating:
Summary: An infinite number of monkeys typing...
Review: ...on an infinite number of typewriters would eventually spell out...
By turns brilliant, exuberating, exhausting, thought-provoking, trying, and hysterical, IJ was for me, in the final analysis, an exercise in forebearance. I have nothing substantial to add to the numerous reviews on this page. It seems that most readers either love or hate this novel. I would only add that I too loved parts of it, that I relished Wallace's twisted perspective on even the most mundane subjects, admired his command of the language (and frequently extraordinary turns of phrase), and was -- how can you not be? -- pretty awed by the breadth of his learning. Was IJ really (as a reviewer notes below) his senior thesis in college? Pretty mind-blowing if so. Did it really (as another reviewer mentions) exceed 1700 pages in length before it was edited? What remained could have used some robust editing, too, to say the least.
Having just finished IJ last evening, I cannot speak to its lasting effect on me (as a reader, a thinker, etc.). In all of the ways that reviewers below say their patience was tried by IJ, mine was too. In many of the ways that reviewers say their imaginations were fired by IJ, mine was too.
In the final analysis, I'm glad I read IJ, if for no other reason than it taught me much about the writer's craft (for better and worse). However, my overwhelming feeling, the morning after, is one of relief. I'm done with it. In order to understand the novel's (non-)ending, I need -- so others suggest -- to reread the beginning, substantial parts, or the entirety of IJ again. I herein join the ranks of those who couldn't care less what the ending means.
As an extended creative writing exercise, I thought IJ was brilliant. As novel, I found it a bore.
Rating: 
Summary: Escapist literature that brings home truths
Review: If Joseph Heller went to see Joseph Campbell and they dropped acid with some of the Beat Poets, the documented conversation of the trip might have turned out to be something like "Infinite Jest."
I have read this book six times in as many years. With each reading, I find something that I didn't see before.
The dizzying, elliptical plotlines converge, finally, at the end of the book. I didn't get a handle on them until my third reading.
The most riveting, most entertaining, and most savage imagery, first to last, has been my mind's eye view of the Statue of Liberty decorated with a Depends Undergarment. The concept of subsidized time just riveted me. The more I think about how we in the U.S. "sell the invisible" and relentlessly market the consumption habit, splitting hairs to disguise commodity items as unique, the funnier this gets. I fully expect to find that Wallace has achieved what many science fiction authors achieve: a reasonable forecast of the future. He's pulled this off, not in the science and technology realm, but in the much more complex sociology domain, and I am in awe of the result.
The unsentimental, but not unsympathetic, portrayal of alcoholics and mentally or emotionally disturbed people (rich and poor) succeeded at making me see the characters as people, not conditions.
I believed I could recognize Poor Tony. I know I've known Hal Incandenza and Madame Psychosis...and so, probably, have you. Addicts to fame, narcotics, alcohol, political ideologies, and instant gratification of all kinds meet their fates, or cause others to do so, and if there's a message in the book, it may simply be this: we will all die. We can choose how to live; choices have consequences; and, ultimately, our redemption lies in 3 things: in our willingness to 1) hear each other's stories, 2) bear each other's pain, and 3) forgive each other our sins, in whatever form our personal faiths take.
Rating:
Summary: a review of that book "infinite jest"
Review: So, yeah, this book isn't for everybody, but it is for some. i recommend it to those w/ a penchant for the weirdly funny and weirdly scary and sad. DFW is a spectacularly funny writer, while mixing that humor w/ intense cerebrations, high-falutent and arcane vocabularly and low grungy vernacular. "infinte jest" is a story principally about damage. every character in the novel is damaged/malformed in some way, be it orin incandenza's elephatine kicking leg or serious problems w/ females, gately's garganutan bulk and addiction, the physical beauty (which itself damages) then hideousness of madame psychosis, feral hamsters, the nation itself (suffering from serious damage to its upper northeast portion which has been ceded to canada), and so many many other characters damaged all over the place. DFW is examining damage through the scope of entertainment and addiction, either our addiction to entertainment and the damage entertainment does to us (people), or our addiction to entertainment and how addiction damages us. the characters are deftly presented and developed, especially gately and hal incandenza, the near-future US of A in which IJ takes place is well wrought and imagined, and yes, the footnotes are necessary and great. it's a monstrosity of book whose job is to be just that, and entertain.
READ It!
Rating:
Summary: An infinite number of monkeys typing...
Review: ...on an infinite number of typewriters would eventually spell out...
By turns brilliant, exuberating, exhausting, thought-provoking, trying, and hysterical, IJ was for me, in the final analysis, an exercise in forebearance. I have nothing substantial to add to the numerous reviews on this page. It seems that most readers either love or hate this novel. I would only add that I too loved parts of it, that I relished Wallace's twisted perspective on even the most mundane subjects, admired his command of the language (and frequently extraordinary turns of phrase), and was -- how can you not be? -- pretty awed by the breadth of his learning. Was IJ really (as a reviewer notes below) his senior thesis in college? Pretty mind-blowing if so. Did it really (as another reviewer mentions) exceed 1700 pages in length before it was edited? What remained could have used some robust editing, too, to say the least.
Having just finished IJ last evening, I cannot speak to its lasting effect on me (as a reader, a thinker, etc.). In all of the ways that reviewers below say their patience was tried by IJ, mine was too. In many of the ways that reviewers say their imaginations were fired by IJ, mine was too.
In the final analysis, I'm glad I read IJ, if for no other reason than it taught me much about the writer's craft (for better and worse). However, my overwhelming feeling, the morning after, is one of relief. I'm done with it. In order to understand the novel's (non-)ending, I need -- so others suggest -- to reread the beginning, substantial parts, or the entirety of IJ again. I herein join the ranks of those who couldn't care less what the ending means.
As an extended creative writing exercise, I thought IJ was brilliant. As novel, I found it a bore.
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