You know, I don’t want to be offensive. But...

You know, I don’t want to be offensive. But Infinite Jest is just awful. It seems ridiculous to have to say it. He can’t think, he can’t write. There’s no discernible talent. … Stephen King is Cervantes compared with David Foster Wallace. We have no standards left. [Wallace] seems to have been a very sincere and troubled person, but that doesn’t mean I have to endure reading him. I even resented the use of the term from Shakespeare, when Hamlet calls the king’s jester Yorick, ‘a fellow of infinite jest.’

Harold Bloom, always up to something or other in his curmudgeonly way.

In my estimation, Bloom is a bitter, arrogant, pompous, catty asshole, and needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. The only three contemporary writers he seems to enjoy (based on what I’ve read from him) is Philip Roth, Gore Vidal, and himself. This might explain why he likes to hear/or read himself rant about why he thinks other writers are terrible—which is tantamount to verbal masturbation.