Infinite Jest

The flaws of David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest are so numerous and apparent that they should be fatal. It is too long (both the book and its sentences). Its extensive footnotes are at first entertaining but are stretched to the point they become wearisome. And more than anything the book is self-indulgent, as there is a constant sense that Wallace is showing off for his own benefit with excessive jargon, nicknames, and obscure references. But under all of that is a compassionate and big-hearted book about the search for authenticity and meaning in a consumer-oriented world. The narrative is also extremely funny and sometimes deeply profound; I read it ten years ago and large sections have moments of such exhilaration and transcendence that even today they remain fresh in my mind. The result is a book that for all of its flaws has rightfully earned its lofty place in modern American literature. (By the way, ignore anyone who says Infinite Jest is a difficult read. That is true perhaps of the first 125 pages, but then it takes off and becomes one of the most readable of books.)