Re-Examining David Foster Wallace’s Passing

David Foster Wallace was one of the most critically acclaimed writers of his generation. His eye for detail and command of the English language were unparalleled. Some of his passages are so finely crafted that you want to put down the book and mutter, “I’ll never write anything this good in my life.”

That he never forced his worldview onto the reader was admirable. He simply conveyed his findings about the bizarre, profound human experience. He looked at the world with an objective lens and examined the pathologies, triumphs, recurring themes, and tragedies of those around him.

He committed suicide in 2008. Because of his brilliance, it’s hard for me to accept that he killed himself simply because “he was depressed.” This isn’t to dismiss those with depression and mental illness. But from what has come out about DFW since his death, it’s not all that clear he was a victim. What if he simply crumbled under the weight of life, weight that we all have to deal with and figure out a way to handle? Is it out of line to think DFW threw in the towel too early?

“[David] was violent…it’s common knowledge among women who’ve dated him that he was violent.”

Even Wallace’s close friends were skeptical of the “he was simply depressed” explanation for his passing. In a New Yorker piece, Jonathan Franzen describes DFW as pathologically self-involved and “a prisoner on the island of himself.” Mary Karr, acclaimed memoirist and David’s former girlfriend, stated in an NPR interview that “[David] was violent…it’s common knowledge among women who’ve dated him that he was violent.”

My intention isn’t to slander him. Who hasn’t done things they’re regretful of? I just feel an examination of his suicide reveals a lot about present-day society and raises difficult questions which are rarely addressed in our culture.

Infinite Jest, Wallace’s magnum opus, captured the feeling of being an observant, reflective American in the millennial age. In interviews, Wallace described himself and friends as being “successful, obscenely well-educated, yet sort of adrift.” They were motivated by status, worked in high-powered professions, but couldn’t stave off their feelings of emptiness and dissatisfaction. America’s highly corporatized, entertainment-driven landscape offered few avenues for them to understand, let alone resolve, their feelings of hollowness. How does one go about finding inner tranquility while deluged in a culture where hedonism, ruthless ambition, and conspicuous consumption are vaunted? How does one not feel corny or isolated while doing so?

In the years following the book, America became even more drug-fueled, militaristic, and exploitative. The problems DFW felt Americans were failing to address —addictions, past traumas, finding meaning in an increasingly vapid culture, distracting oneself by behaving recklessly —were becoming worse. In a 2007 Atlantic piece, DFW fumed with anger at America’s refusal to cease its imperialistic barbarism. Despite these problems being symptomatic of a civilization in its terminal phase, Wallace chose not to expand his thoughts on the matter. He didn’t even offer solutions.

D.T Max, Wallace’s biographer, attributed David’s suicide to his inability to finish The Pale King, a novel he was struggling with. The book primarily centered around boredom and monotony. Wallace devoted his energies to a subject that seems inconsequential to the pressing issues of the time.

This brings me to my thesis on David’s suicide. I’m sure there were many factors in play, but in my opinion, one of the major ones is this: an honest probe into the human condition leads one to make very unflattering conclusions about our species. Even if the conclusions are factual, they evoke such ire when mentioned in public that one is scorned for even having these thoughts. I could see how fears of being vilified sapped David’s willingness to be forthright about his views. I could see how he felt fraudulent for having to tailor his work and censor himself to appease a paying audience. Inauthenticity is a recurring theme in his works. David’s publisher was a corporate heavyweight, so he was always concerned about the viability of his brand.

The larger question this raises is, how often do we say what we honestly think? How often are our day-to-day activities enlivening us? How do we reach a point where being upfront about our thoughts and lifestyle doesn’t ruin us professionally and personally?

People all around me are livid about having to hold their tongues when certain subjects are brought up. They constantly eat shit from employers they loathe. They feel the sacrifices they’re making in their lives are amounting to zilch. They’re enraged over how little control they have over their time. Possessing a respectable level of freedom over their lives seems like an impossibility.

It isn’t surprising that, in America, we’re seeing increasing rates of opiate overdoses, mass shootings, and mental illness. People’s lives are mightily constrained by financial and social pressures, and they’re limited in their ability to manage and communicate their plight.

Even though I censor myself at times, I know if I’m smart with my money and put in the necessary work, I can reach a point in life where I’m free to do and say as I please. Envisioning myself being financially secure, doing immensely valuable work, and experiencing the fullness of the world with friends keeps me motivated.

Tell me if any of these complaints sound original to you:

“I’m misunderstood!”

“I’m a sensitive soul trapped on a malicious, unconscionable planet!”

“My sacrifices and talents are going unnoticed!”

“I’m a despicable monster! I don’t deserve to be loved!

Many suicidal people delude themselves into believing their misery is unique. Yet there are people who, despite having dealt with unspeakable horrors that most of us (including David Foster Wallace) will never experience, still live incredibly gratifying lives. You’ll come across these people if you get out and experience the world. If they still manage to laugh and contribute value to others, then I can’t be faulted for thinking that David Foster Wallace, an upper-middle class writer with substantial financial means and a devout following, quit his battle against depression too early.

Wallace’s suicide is unfortunate, but there can be positive takeaways from it. His death can serve as an impetus for us to decide, if we haven’t already, how to create a life for ourselves that’s legitimately worth fighting for.