SOURCE: "Mad Maximalism," in Time, Vol. 14, No. 8, February 19, 1996, pp. 70, 72.

In the following review, Sheppard demonstrates his approval of Infinite Jest by emulating its humor and irony.

A 1,079-page novel that concludes with 100 pages of annotation and calls itself Infinite Jest is doubly intimidating. First, there is its length, which promises an ordeal like driving across Texas without cruise control. Second, the title itself hints that the joke may be on the reader. By definition, infinite means no punch line.

Yet David Foster Wallace's marathon send-up of humanism at the end of its tether is worth the effort. There is generous intelligence and authentic passion on every page, even the overwritten ones in which the author seems to have had a fit of graphomania. Wallace is definitely out to show his stuff, a virtuoso display of styles and themes reminiscent of William Burroughs, Thomas Pynchon and William Gaddis. Like...