An American Tragedy

I was told earlier today by a fellow American foreign teacher in Tsinghua's Department of Foreign Languages that American literature has suffered a tremendous setback. David Foster Wallace, the author of Infinite Jest as well as other novels, essays, and short stories, was found dead after apparently hanging himself to death in his home in Claremont, California on Saturday. He was 46.

Wallace was noted by many critics as one of the best, if not the best, living American writers. He has (had?) some stiff competition in this category--Philip Roth, Cormac McCarthy, Don DeLillo, Thomas Pynchon--but he is right up there with the very best of our time. A piece of fiction from a 2007 edition of the New Yorker, called "Good People," was recommended to me by the same colleague that told me about the tragedy. It's quite short, but rife with the brilliance that has given Wallace his reputation in the world of American (and global) letters. Please give it a Google and check it out if you have a few minutes to spare.