The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Deborah Treisman Reads David Foster Wallace

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

Is the Love at the End of the Story a True Love or a Self Delusion?

LZ: Do you think the love at the end of the story is a true love, or a self delusion, or both? Is it more meaningful because lane deane is trying to feel it despite himself, or just sad? How do we know whether to believe lane's change of heart? LZ: I don't know if wallace invisioned that future for dean when he wrote this part. And i have another question from amy wilkinson, who asks, what do you think is going on with the older individual a dozen tables over? The stranger lane's gaze lands on again and again. This description strikes me as especially interesting. He looked more like a picture than a

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