I didn't want to say it, because a number of people have complained that the deaths of celebrities (read: people we don't actually know) aren't really that important in the grand scheme of things, compared to people who might be having good or bad years based on events in their own lives. You know, something to that effect, from various commenters. But... yeah. If you separate out the category of celebrity deaths... it's been bad.
I'll be honest, I haven't read any of his work (maybe an essay, I can't remember), but he was (from what I've heard) a brilliant writer, a very important figure on the modern literary scene, a MacArthur genius grant recipient, and so on. I'm trying to think of a comparable name from an earlier generation of writers and I'm not sure what comparison to make, but... it's shocking.
I think you'd really enjoy the essay collection "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again." It's a decent primer to his writing style. Here's the first chapter: http://www.nytimes.com/books/first/w/wallace-fun.html.
Yeah, someone else recommended that to me--I think I'll have to get it. I just hate that this is the reason I'm actually going to read it now, you know? It's so sad.
Oh shit. I LOVED his nonfiction. And bizarre as it sounds, I was literally thinking of him for the past two days and hoping he'd do some more kickass essays.
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