As is the way with premature deaths, the cruelly early passing of David Foster Wallace will no doubt bring him the wide attention and acclaim he didn't really enjoy while he was alive, except for the brief hysteria over Infinite Jest.
There will be new editions before long, and fresh collections of his journalism, but for now there are already some touching tributes (a particularly sweet one, mixing eulogies from big and ordinary names is in McSweeney's), some republished (and rather uncharacteristically plainly spoken) fiction and a good chunk of his peerless Harper's Magazine journalism to be going on with.
