Last night, just before I decided to shut down the computer to disconnect myself from the outside world, I was struck by the urge to check on Michiko Kakutani at the New York Times – I had not read her sharp and dissecting literary review for quite a while. In doing so, I stumbled across news of the genuinely tragic loss of a very gifted American writer. David Foster Wallace was found dead in his home last Friday after committing suicide. I was completely nonplussed by the news as he is one of the very few writers whose work interests me. He wrote fiction and essays, including the colossal novel, Infinite Jest, which I have purchased, but have not yet had the opportunity to read. He will be greatly missed and his work will inspire a lot of readers. I pay him my respects. RIP.