Was Infinite Jest Right About Everything?
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Welcome back to The Daily’s Sunday culture edition, in which one Atlantic writer or editor reveals what’s keeping them entertained. Today’s special guest is our Daily writer Will Gottsegen, who has written about the last device you’ll ever need, a new “weapon of mass destruction,” and the cattle ranchers taking on the White House.
Will is a newfound Infinite Jest convert and a longtime Hyperion reader. He recommends watching Sans Soleil, any movie with Ethan Hawke, and the animated series Pantheon—an overlooked show that “should be mandatory viewing for sci-fi fans.”
— Stephanie Bai, associate editor
Best novel I’ve recently read: I’m way late to Infinite Jest, but—Infinite Jest. It was right about everything. “The Entertainment” is real, and it’s called Instagram Reels. Conventional wisdom, as the character Don Gately comes to understand, is true, and we would do well to heed it. I think what surprised me most about the book is how readable it is. Even during the moments when Wallace is truly testing your patience, he always gives you a way out. And his earnestness is inspiring.
The upcoming entertainment event I’m most looking forward to: Bradley Cooper, whose movies I haven’t always loved, is supposedly producing an adaptation of Hyperion, by Dan Simmons, an incredible work of sci-fi that deserves the sort of grand reimagining Denis Villeneuve gave Dune. There are plenty of reasons it might not pan out: Cooper first joined the project more than a decade ago, when it was supposed to be a TV show. Then it was going to be a movie—Tom Spezialy, who executive-produced the very good HBO version of Watchmen, was at one point said to be writing the screenplay—but there have been no updates since 2021. And the book itself has real literary pretensions, which some have described as “unfilmable.” But Cloud Atlas was once thought to be “unfilmable” too, and that movie rocks. Bradley, I’m rooting for you!
An author I will read anything by: Ben Lerner, a phenomenal poet and possibly an even better novelist. Leaving the Atocha Station and 10:04 are new classics. And don’t miss The Hatred of Poetry.
My favorite blockbuster and favorite art movie: The real paradox of Interstellar doesn’t have to do with black holes or time loops. It’s the fact that, although parts of the screenplay are genuinely bad, it is nonetheless a perfect movie. My stock answer to the latter question has always been La Jetée, by Chris Marker, but I’m going to switch it up and say: Sans Soleil, by Chris Marker, which is a really amazing sort of video collage with moments of narration that I will cherish forever.
The last thing that made me cry: I had somehow never seen It’s A Wonderful Life until this past Christmas, and it’s as good as I always thought it might be. The film really earned my tears, too; there are movies that manipulate adults into crying, and there are ones that make you cry because they breach some essential truth. Obviously, It’s A Wonderful Life is in the latter category.
An actor I would watch in anything: I have always loved Ethan Hawke, but lately I’ve become convinced that he possesses bodhisattva-level real-world wisdom. He is utterly resistant to selling out, and he seems empathetic and receptive to the stories of others—the ultimate guy you’d like to have a drink with. Also, come on: the Before Trilogy? Boyhood? First Reformed? Gattaca? I haven’t seen Black Phone 2, but I probably will, just to see why he thought it was worth his time. Is this what a parasocial relationship is?
Something I recently rewatched: There’s an animated TV show called Pantheon that I find myself constantly revisiting. It has somehow been mostly overlooked—I missed it when it first came out—but it should be mandatory viewing for sci-fi fans.
My favorite way of wasting time on my phone: When NYT Games launched Strands, it wasn’t my thing. But Pips? Amazing.
A quiet song that I love, and a loud song that I love: Two quiet songs I love are the A and B sides of Robert Ashley’s Private Parts, which is basically an abstract spoken-word poem. You will hear a lot of words, and you won’t necessarily know what’s going on. Both sides contain stories without plots, character studies without coherent meaning. I think that’s part of why it’s always struck me as deeply healing music: In the world of this album, it’s okay to make no sense. The music underneath it all is limpid and watery, almost puddle-like. On the other end of the spectrum, there’s “LV Sandals,” by EsDeeKid, fakemink, and Rico Ace—a deep-fried chunk of Liverpudlian rap music that I’ve had on repeat for many months now. You will not be healed, but if you are at all interested in what’s going on with contemporary hip-hop (do we still call it that?), you should listen to it.
A musical artist who means a lot to me: Mark Kozelek makes better sad guitar music than almost anyone else alive.
A poem, or line of poetry, that I return to: “Elegy,” by W. S. Merwin.
The last museum or gallery show that I loved: The newly renovated Michael C. Rockefeller Wing at the Met is exhilarating. I went to the Man Ray show last weekend and spent time in the wing’s Oceanic section afterwards; it’s the kind of museum experience that really can and should take multiple afternoons. If you breeze past any of the pieces (and there are more than 1,700 of them), you almost feel like you’ve done something wrong. Then you remember you can always come back.
The Week Ahead
- Mercy, a sci-fi thriller starring Chris Pratt about a detective racing to prove his innocence to an AI judge (out Friday in theaters)
- All the Little Houses, a thriller book by May Cobb about feuding families and the murder that binds them (out Tuesday)
- Steal, a new heist show starring Sophie Turner (out Wednesday on Prime)
Essay
Julian Barnes Says Goodbye to the Novel
By Adam Begley
“Yes—oh, dear, yes—the novel tells a story,” E. M. Forster wrote. “I wish that it was not so.” Julian Barnes has confessed that as a young man reading Aspects of the Novel, he found this sentiment “feeble” and responded impatiently, “If you aren’t up to telling a story, why write a novel?” Barnes, who turned 80 in January, now sings a different tune, and anyway, Forster’s wish was long ago granted. The literary novel of today is quite free from conventional storytelling, and ironically (irony is one of his specialties), Barnes got busy loosening the bonds early in his career. He’s still at it: His brief new novel, Departure(s), offers only a sketchy storyline, mixed with memoir and thoughts on memory. An extended farewell, an author’s valedictory flourish, the whole package is a culmination of sorts, shimmering with his silky, erudite prose; beneath the suave surface is an earnest investigation into the mysterious ways of the human heart.
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Catch Up on The Atlantic
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Photo Album
In recent days, residents in Minneapolis and St. Paul have been facing masked federal immigration agents in the streets as state officials fight the Trump administration in court.
Rafaela Jinich contributed to this newsletter.
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