Some weekends I can be tempted out by the promise of beer-soaked carpets and loud 20-year-olds expressing their drunken joy directly into my ear, but tonight I've got an airtight excuse to stay in. I just bought The Pale King, David Foster Wallace's finally published, unfinished novel about boredom, which he tidied up as much as possible before committing suicide in 2008, seemingly in the knowledge that people would want to read it even though it was incomplete. I've read other unfinished novels before, and there is always something a little disappointing about the way they just fizzle out, or whole sections are skipped over. But still, I've been hotly anticipating this one since I found out about its existence right after DFW's death. I'm not expecting his best work, but it's writing of his that I haven't read before, so it'll be kind of like he's still be alive for a little while in my mind.
I'm not sure whether it's technically available for purchase in Canada yet. I tried to buy it first from Diesel, but they said I was outside the area of distribution. Then Google found it for me on a Borders website, so I went there, thinking it probably wouldn't work. For some reason, the site thought I was from Australia, and for some other reason I had to enter a delivery address, even though I was just going to be downloading it, if successful, from the internet. So I entered my actual address, chose Queensland as my "Suburb," and that actually worked! I got the epub file, put it on my Kobo, and am looking at it right now.
Never in my life have I been so excited by the prospect of boredom. I feel like Bert must just before "Pigeons in the News" comes on! My new companion is 540 pages long, so you might not hear from me for awhile...
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That "might not be hearing from me in a while" didn't last long...was the book no good? Or was your reading interrupted by the Liberal candidate at your door?
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