A tennis academy in Massachusetts, a halfway house for addicts, a wheelchair-bound Quebecois separatist cell, and a film cartridge so entertaining it kills anyone who watches it. Wallace spent years on this novel, and it sprawls across a thousand pages with another hundred pages of endnotes that contain their own stories. The prose is brilliant, exhausting, and frequently hilarious. The novel is about entertainment and addiction, about loneliness and the yearning for connection. Wallace hanged himself in 2008. The novel remains, asking questions about pleasure and attention that have only become more urgent.