It’s twenty years old now, so perhaps it’s bound to remind me of a lot of other American writing.
Like Thomas Pynchon, surely the grand-daddy of this follow-me-if-you-can style, you just can’t pin Wallace down.īut am I liking it? Mostly, yes. Wallace takes a swipe at a culture that is completely certain of its own entitlement while demonstrating the swaggering confidence it satirises. That’s nothing-in the near future of the novel we don’t even know the order of different years, given brand-names owned by their sponsors. Its chronology never goes in a straight line, and Wallace keeps introducing new characters, some of whose names we don’t even know yet. Inevitably, it has been labelled post-modernist. It’s in-your-face clever, look-at-me highbrow-and deliberately confusing.
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