The Thousands

Davis Foster Wallace died last year. He had battled clinical depression and he hung himself. Amongst other works, he left behind Infinite Jest, a postmodern backbreaker of 1000+ pages including endnotes. Endnotes that have their own footnotes. That have their own endnotes.

As an English major, I found Infinite Jest to be the type of book that was whispered about in corridors. Those who read it were entitled to wax lyrical about its "sprawling yet focused prose". Those who’d failed would merely hold their palms skyward in defeat. Glory aside, I needed a compulsive reason to push past page 50, and that’s where Infinite Summer steps in.**Think of it like a Bookclub 2.0. – the site encourages readers to tweet, blog and discuss their IJ progress in the forums, where the raw emotion and literary sucker punches of this master contemporary work will play out. Grab a glass of red, boot up the computer and let loose about your hatred for Wallace’s gratuitous endnotes with people who are feeling your pain.