A biography on my favorite postmodern fiction writer, David Foster Wallace, who killed himself in 2008 at age 46 after struggling with depression. It delivered a decent, but not spectacular read. Similar to Steve Jobs, this one started out slow. Too much info on DFW’s early life and not enough leading up to and following his suicide. I was hoping for reactions from those close to him as well as description on how his book-in-progress The Pale King was created from the draft he left behind. The bio portrayed DFW as a drug user, alcoholic, womanizer and procrastinator – a fully flawed, yet uber-intelligent (too smart for his own good) human that simply could not “beat” his severe depression. Although DFW wasn’t the most likeable of characters, I found myself rooting for him as if the outcome of his career and life were yet to be determined. D.T. Max did a tremendous amount of homework, gleaning a significant chunk of content from the exorbitant letter writing DFW did to friends and colleagues. I was intrigued by DFW’s struggle with the creative writing process, the world of book publishing and the competitive sniping that exists between authors. I preferred Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself over this biography.