An astonishingly wonderful writer, lost too soon:
A versatile writer of seemingly bottomless energy, Mr. Wallace was a maximalist, exhibiting in his work a huge, even manic curiosity — about the physical world, about the much larger universe of human feelings and about the complexity of living in America at the end of the 20th century. …
“David Foster Wallace can do practically anything if he puts his mind to it,” Michiko Kakutani, chief book critic of The New York Times, who was not a consistent praiser of Mr. Wallace’s work, wrote in 2006. “He can do sad, funny, silly, heartbreaking and absurd with equal ease; he can even do them all at once.”
(Bruce Sterling remarks of his suicide, “This is a kind of occupational hazard for guys like him.”)
McSweeney’s is collecting remembrances, and obits from many publications are linked at Howling Fantods.
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