A Look at James Incandenza from Infinite Jest Esteban Meneses Rollins College, [email protected]

Rollins College Rollins Scholarship Online Master of Liberal Studies Theses Spring 2018 The aM n who Put his Head in a Microwave Oven: A Look at James Incandenza from Infinite Jest Esteban Meneses Rollins College, [email protected] Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarship.rollins.edu/mls Part of the Literature in English, North America Commons Recommended Citation Meneses, Esteban, "The aM n who Put his Head in a Microwave Oven: A Look at James Incandenza from Infinite Jest" (2018). Master of Liberal Studies Theses. 83. https://scholarship.rollins.edu/mls/83 This Open Access is brought to you for free and open access by Rollins Scholarship Online. It has been accepted for inclusion in Master of Liberal Studies Theses by an authorized administrator of Rollins Scholarship Online. For more information, please contact [email protected]. The Man who Put his Head in a Microwave Oven: A look at James Incandenza from Infinite Jest A Project Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Master of Liberal Studies by Esteban Meneses May 2018 Mentor: Dr. Paul Reich Reader: Dr. Emily Russell Rollins College Hamilton Holt School Master of Liberal Studies Winter Park, Florida 2 Table of Contents Introduction ..................................................................................................................................... 3 PART I — The conversation: a review of the secondary literature ................................................ 8 PART II — Wallace’s ethical considerations on fiction .............................................................. 18 PART III — James Incandenza: optician and filmmaker ............................................................. 31 PART IV — “I felt the religion of the physical that day”: Incandenza and his father ................. 51 PART V — “The Awakening of My Interest in Annular Systems”: the death of Incandenza Sr. and the birth of annulation ................................................................................... 64 PART VI — The Entertainment a) “The thinly veiled cries of a man at the very terminus of his existential tether”: the plot ....................................................................................................................................... 74 PART VI — The Entertainment b) The return of the Death-Mother: Wagner, Lacan, and ‘Infinite Jest’ ................................... 91 “Unhip earnestness”: Conclusion ................................................................................................. 97 Endnotes ...................................................................................................................................... 102 Works cited ................................................................................................................................. 110 Illustration by David C. Jensen 3 Introduction On April 1 of the Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment (YDAU), a Saudi- Canadian medical attaché opens a suspiciously alluring envelope with a mordant smiley face on it. Instead of a return address there is an anachronistic “HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!” message: the attaché’s wedding anniversary is not April 1; a sarcastic April Fool’s joke, perhaps? The cryptic padded mailer contains a “standard black entertainment cartridge” (Infinite Jest 36), not unlike the VHS-format cassette tapes piled next to the TV set of the average household of the mid-1990s, the decade that saw the publication of Infinite Jest. The novel satirizes the addictions and infantilism of the entertainment-obsessed postindustrial generation that lived through the rise of multiple-channel cable TV, the escapism toward the shopping-mall multiplex, and the omnipresence of information technology and data. Like the film-within-the-novel that propels and interconnects the complex layers of the storyline, the new mass behaviors of millennial America were a weapon of self-destruction waiting to be deployed—death by vacuous entertainment. Snug in his Boston home, the medical attaché starts watching the cartridge. It is 19:27h. * * * The fact that author David Foster Wallace failed to predict the transition from “cartridges” to digital playback is of no consequence compared to the novel’s prescience about the way in which a technology-driven society fractured the previous generations’ once-sacred interpersonal relations that provided a sense of belongingness and purpose. Infinite Jest is at once a self-consciously postmodern sci-fi parody that reflects on its own obsessively-crafted literary status, a dysfunctional-family drama, and a genuine coming- 4 of-age story about how to deal with those uncomfortable things we don’t like to talk about, even if they form the basis of what it means to be human. It is this last part that perhaps most closely reflects the direction that Wallace’s career-long project aimed to take—the attempt to overcome the double-entendre irony and cynicism of postmodern fiction that, despite its literary and aesthetic merits, seemed to distance the reader from whatever the author was trying to say. Even if Wallace’s own writing got mired in recursive self-references, it formed a clearly-defined blueprint for what he saw as the next step in fiction: a type of storytelling that transcended the cynicism and pessimism of postmodern fiction; or perhaps a return to 19th century Realism, or to grand Victorian narratives in which human hopes and fears (sentimental and almost naïve preoccupations, yet real) were portrayed with earnestness. The myriad plot turns and tonal shifts of Infinite Jest, revolving around its main storylines set in Boston-area Enfield Tennis Academy (E.T.A.) and Ennet House for recovering addicts, are interlinked by a comically absurd search for the eponymous film and a parallel conversation on an Arizona outcropping about the philosophical and sociopolitical implications of the weapon-like deployment of it. So entertaining that once a viewer starts watching it he simply cannot stop, ‘Infinite Jest’1—throughout the novel it is usually simply referred to as the ‘Entertainment’—serves both as a device that drives the plot and as satirical symbol of Wallace’s pronouncement on all he thought was wrong with modern American society, and where it was headed. The absurdity of a movie that kills its viewers, and the largely unexplained plot details of it, are conspicuously strategic. According to Hal Incandenza (the novel’s co-hero and the youngest of the Incandenzas), the academic film community had described his father James as 5 “technically gifted but narratively dull and plotless and static and not entertaining enough” (911). Apparently one of Wallace’s self-deprecating meta-references, this appraisal is at odds with the supposed irresistibility of the Entertainment’s fun factor. The fact that there is something hopelessly addictive about the movie works as a narrative platform from which Wallace launches on a psychological and political exploration of the “inner infant” at the core of humanity, underscored by the advent of the 21st century in all its fragmentary, divisive, and chaotic messiness. This brings me back to Wallace’s concern with sincerity of human representation in fiction. For all its pyrotechnics and eruditeness, a signature style of Wallace’s literature (cumbersomely tagged as ‘post-postmodern’), is self-aware sincerity. Like that required of the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings in the novel, irony-free sincerity is the underlying motive of a big portion of IJ. But Wallace comes at it in an analytical and self-reflexive roundabout way: he employs irony self-consciously in order to finally subvert it. Along the way, he interweaves a type of self-analysis between ever-expanding narrative strands that spiral out and partially converge around the Entertainment—the brainchild of James Incandenza. Part of the grandeur of the novel is its ingenious, plot-driven meta-commentary on what the novel itself is attempting to do, which is both a postmodern move and a step beyond it; it is Wallace’s self-conscious this-is-me-being-aware-of-my-own-turn-against- postmodern-irony authorial comment. An emphasis on this overarching position will be the concern of this essay. Although Incandenza commits suicide on April 1 of the Year of the Trial-Size Dove Bar (2004), five years before the time when most of the present-day narrative takes 6 place, his presence looms intensely over the whole novel: not only does he make the movie that constitutes the central cohesive source of IJ, unifying what might otherwise seem disparate plotlines; he also represents both the performative process and the impetus of Wallace’s post-ironic literary project that engendered the novel. The sum of everything that establishes James Incandenza as a character and a literary driving force in IJ represents Wallace’s own design for the novel itself. It illustrates his self-consciously analytical turn away from irony and cynicism and into a more charitable mimetic representation of authentic human emotion—people being people, slowly overcoming their own defense mechanisms that distance them from others. These include irony, intentional equivocations, and innuendos, which became fashionable tropes in post-WWII fiction and in society in general. This analysis will emphasize the relationship between specific plot elements of the novel and Wallace’s motivation for writing it; that relationship constitutes the aspects of IJ that enact the author’s ethical considerations about fiction. The plot dramatizes

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