"Scarily astute. . Published originally between 1988 and 2007, these essays demonstrate Wallace's interdisciplinary approach to both pop culture and abstruse academic discourse...For Wallace devotees, these essays are required reading."-- Booklist
"A collection spanning 20 years of Wallace's nonfiction writing on subjects as wide-ranging as math, Borges, democracy, the . Open, and the entire spectrum of human experience in between... Both Flesh and Not is excellent in its entirety and just as quietly, unflinchingly soul-stirring."--Maria Popova, Atlantic
"At their best these essays remind us of Wallace's arsenal of talents: his restless, heat-seeking reportorial eye; his ability to convey the physical or emotional truth of things with a couple of flicks of the wrist; his capacity to make leaps, from the mundane to the metaphysical, with breathtaking velocity and ardor."--Michiko Kakutani, New York Times
"David Foster Wallace left the essay form in a different state than it was in before he wrote. He wrote of Federer that he had 'exposed the limits, and possibilities, of' his sport. Wallace himself, with mystery and metaphysics galore, did no less for the essay."--Michael Robbins, Chicago Tribune Printers Row
"If you like essays, vocabulary lists (blepharitis! gastine!), footnotes (so many footnotes), and/or DFW, you need this."--Largehearted Boy
"One of the best writers of our time....If you've never read David Foster Wallace before, his masterful study of Roger Federer, included in this anthology, is an ideal place to start."--Steph Opitz, Marie Claire
"Like previous collections of David Foster Wallace's essays, Both Flesh and Not displays the late author's vast intellectual curiosity....showcase[s] Wallace's ever-evolving, intimate, and often humorous relationship with language."--The New Yorker Page-Turner
"David Foster Wallace's essays show a man struggling to figure out the complexities of discernment and judgment....It isn't merely wonderful writing. It is a model of adult citizenship....In Both Flesh and Not , he is at the top of his game."--David Masciotra, The Daily Beast
"The best passages are those that celebrate words and the author's relationship with them....It is a treasure trove for those who love the complexities of language."--Josh Davis, Time Out
"I doubt there's a single person reading this paper who needs me to explain why they should be excited about a new collection of previously uncollected David Foster Wallace essays. His nonfiction is born out of the sort of bitingly perceptive but deeply compassionate humanity our world needs more of, and we should savor every last bit of it he left us."--Rian Johnson, writer and director of "Brick" and "Looper"
"Every one of these pieces, even the tiniest introduction to a collection of prose poems, hums with Wallace's contrary energy....They show a mind at work, and it was one of the best this country has seen."-John Freeman, Boston Sunday Globe --This text refers to the Vorbespielter Audioplayer edition.
Like the tennis champs who fascinate him, novelist Wallace (Infinite Jest; The Broom of the System) makes what he does look effortless and yet inspired. His instinct for the colloquial puts his masters Pynchon and DeLillo to shame, and the humane sobriety that he brings to his subjects-fictional or factual-should serve as a model to anyone writing cultural comment, whether it takes the form of stories or of essays like these. Readers of Wallace's fiction will take special interest in this collection: critics have already mined "Derivative Sport in Tornado Alley" (Wallace's memoir of his tennis-playing days) for the biographical sources of Infinite Jest. The witty, insightful essays on David Lynch and TV are a reminder of how thoroughly Wallace has internalized the writing-and thinking-habits of Stanley Cavell, the plain-language philosopher at Harvard, Wallace's alma mater. The reportage (on the Illinois State Fair, the Canadian Open and a Caribbean Cruise) is perhaps best described as post-gonzo: funny, slight and self-conscious without Norman Mailer's or Hunter Thompson's braggadocio. Only in the more academic essays, on Dostoyevski and the scholar . Hix, does Wallace's gee-whiz modesty get in the way of his arguments. Still, even these have their moments: at the end of the Dostoyevski essay, Wallace blurts out that he wants "passionately serious ideological contemporary fiction [that is] also ingenious and radiantly transcendent fiction." From most writers, that would be hot air; from one as honest, subtle and ambitious as Wallace, it has the sound of a promise.
Copyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
It's 1:30 . Joyce has broken Brakus's serve once and is up 3-1 in the first set and is receiving. Brakus is in the multi-brand clothes of somebody without an endorsement contract. He's well over six feet tall, and, as with many large male college stars, his game is built around his serve  . With the score at 0-15, his first serve is flat and 118 miles per hour and way out of Joyce's backhand, which is a two-hander and hard to lunge effectively with, but Joyce lunges plenty effectively and sends the ball back down the line to the Canadian's forehand, deep in the court and with such flat pace that Brakus has to stutter-step a little and backpedal to get set up–clearly, he's used to playing guys for whom 118 mumps out wide would be an outright ace or at least produce such a weak return that he could move up easily and put the ball away–and Brakus now sends the ball back up the line, high over the net, loopy with topspin–not all that bad a shot, considering the fierceness of the return, and a topspin shot that'd back most of the tennis players up and put them on the defensive, but Michael Joyce, whose level of tennis is such that he moves in on balls hit with topspin and hits them on the rise  moves in and takes the ball on the rise and hits a backhand cross so tightly angled that nobody alive could get to it. This is kind of a typical Joyce-Brakus point. The match is carnage of a particularly high-level sort: It's like watching an extremely large and powerful predator get torn to pieces by an even larger and more powerful predator. Brakus looks pissed off after Joyce's winner and makes some berating-himself-type noises, but the anger seems kind of pro forma–it's not like there's anything Brakus could have done much better, not given what he and the seventy-ninth-best player in the world have in their respective arsenals.