I've never been a huge David Foster Wallace fan, so I'm not sure why I find his suicide so achingly sad. But I do. There's something deeply unsettling about the reminder that talent, success, brilliance, marriage, companionship, wealth, fame, and all the other agreed-upon markers of "the good life" aren't always enough to quiet our personal demons If you want to spend some time remembering him today, you could do worse than this 1996 Frank Bruni profile, which mentions his history of suicide attempts. And of course, read his wonderful commencement speech to Kenyon University. But for the truest representation of Wallace's hyper-literate, spiraling style, read his April 2005 Atlantic cover on right-wing talk radio, complete with marginalia and footnotes. It's arguably the best article ever written on the subject, and it's one only Wallace could have penned.
