|Photo grabbed from Brain Pickings.|
David Foster Wallace died seven years ago. I was in Iowa when he died. I attended a memorial reading organized by writers. I wrote of the event:
"I just got back from a reading which should have been sponsored by Prozac or Remeron. It was so gloomy. A tribute for writer David Foster Wallace who committed suicide recently. It got me thinking. Shouldn't a tribute be a celebration of one's achievements? Foster flouted a lot of writing conventions. He inspired an army of young writers. He will be remembered for his rich contribution to contemporary literature.
I don't know if I should put the blame on the full moon but the reading turned out to be a convention on suicide. Romanticizing how to end one's life, mapping out the infinite possibilities of the afterlife, and in really practical terms, the different ways to kill oneself painlessly. The writers canonized Wallace the patron saint of 00's melancholia. Kurt Cobain had his glory days in the 1990's.
Honestly I was expecting a giant fishbowl of antidepressants to be passed around. But I left early. I just couldn't bear it. If they did pass around the blue and white capsules, I was just not there to get my share."