Honestly, the first time you crack open The Broom of the System, it feels a bit like walking into a party where everyone is speaking a language that's almost English, but not quite. You’ve got a talking cockatiel named Vlad the Impaler who spouts Bible verses and TV catchphrases. There’s a giant man-made desert in Ohio. And then there's Lenore Beadsman, our protagonist, who is basically having a 24/7 existential crisis because she’s afraid she only exists as a character in someone else’s story.
It’s weird. It’s "puerile Pynchon," as some critics called it back in 1987. But man, it’s a trip.
If you’ve only ever known David Foster Wallace through the thousand-page mountain that is Infinite Jest, his debut novel is going to surprise you. It’s lighter. It’s funnier. It’s the sound of a twenty-four-year-old genius trying to figure out if he can use his philosophy degree to actually talk to people without sounding like a textbook.
The Broom of the System and the Wittgenstein Obsession
The whole book is basically a massive wrestling match with Ludwig Wittgenstein. Wallace didn't just read philosophy; he lived it in this really intense, almost painful way. At its core, The Broom of the System asks a terrifying question: If everything we know is made of words, do we even exist outside of language?
Lenore’s great-grandmother—who happened to be a student of Wittgenstein himself—disappears from a nursing home along with twenty-five other seniors. She leaves behind this lingering dread in Lenore. The "Broom" in the title comes from a story about a maid. One person sees the broom as a tool for cleaning (function), while another sees it as just a collection of bristles and a stick (atoms).
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Which one is "real"?
Wallace was obsessed with the idea of solipsism—the fear that you're the only mind that exists and everyone else is just a puppet. In The Broom of the System, this isn't just a classroom theory. It’s a plot point. Rick Vigorous, Lenore's boyfriend, is a neurotic publisher who uses stories to control her. He’s essentially trying to "word" her into existence. It's kinda gross, honestly, and Wallace captures that icky, manipulative dynamic with a precision that’s almost uncomfortable to read.
Why the Setting is Absolutely Insane
You can't talk about this book without talking about Ohio. But not the real Ohio. Wallace creates this surrealist version of the state where:
- The Great Ohio Desert (G.O.D.) is a massive, black-sand wasteland built by the government just because they felt the state needed more "sublimity."
- East Corinth is a suburb shaped exactly like the silhouette of Jayne Mansfield.
- The Switchboard Chaos: Lenore works as a receptionist where the phone lines are so tangled that people calling the "House of Cheese" end up talking to her about their deepest traumas.
This isn't just zany for the sake of being zany. It’s about the "system" mentioned in the title. Everything is interconnected, messy, and fundamentally broken. Wallace uses these absurd settings to show how modern life—even back in the late 80s—was already becoming this overwhelming noise of brand names and bad communication.
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The Trouble with Rick Vigorous
If Lenore is the heart of the book, Rick Vigorous is its most pathetic, fascinating villain. He’s much older than Lenore, deeply insecure about his... let's say "stature," and he expresses his love by reading her stories he's written.
These stories are peppered throughout the novel. They’re actually pretty good, which is the problem. He’s a talented guy using art as a cage. A lot of readers find the Rick/Lenore relationship the hardest part of the book to get through today. It’s supposed to be frustrating. You want to scream at Lenore to leave him, but she’s so paralyzed by her own linguistic crisis that she can’t find the "exit" from the narrative he’s built around her.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Ending
Let’s talk about that final line. Or rather, the half-line.
The book ends mid-sentence: "I'm a man of my"
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For years, people thought it was a printing error. It's not. It’s the ultimate Wittgensteinian joke. If the book ends, the world ends. By cutting off the word "word," Wallace is proving the point: the system is only complete if it’s closed, but a closed system is a trap.
Some people hate this. They want closure. They want to know if Gramma Lenore was found. But that’s missing the point of what Wallace was trying to do. He wanted the reader to feel the sudden absence of the "word." He wanted you to realize that you, the reader, are the one who has to finish the sentence in the real world.
How to Actually Read This Book Today
If you’re going to dive into The Broom of the System, don't treat it like a homework assignment.
- Skip the over-analysis: You don't need a PhD in philosophy to enjoy the talking bird or the weird corporate drama involving a company called Stonecipher Beadsman.
- Look for the "Easter Eggs": You can see the seeds of Infinite Jest everywhere—the obsession with drugs, the weirdly specific technical jargon, and the deep, aching loneliness that defines almost all of Wallace's characters.
- Read it aloud: Wallace’s dialogue is meant to be heard. The way characters like "Wang-Dang" Lang talk is pure rhythm. It’s funny, it’s fast, and it captures that specific American energy of the 80s perfectly.
Honestly, this novel is the most "human" Wallace ever got before he became the "Voice of a Generation." It's messy and occasionally "puerile," but it’s also incredibly alive. It reminds us that before he was a literary icon, he was just a kid in a dorm room wondering if the words he was typing were actually real.
Next Steps for the Wallace-Curious:
If you finished Broom and liked the vibe but found it a bit too "academic," your next move should be his essay collection A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again. It’s got all the humor and observation of his first novel but stays grounded in the real, messy, non-fictional world. It’s the best way to see how his brain worked when he wasn't hiding behind a talking bird.
Key Takeaways
- Language is the Protagonist: The book is less about a missing grandmother and more about whether language defines our reality.
- The Pynchon Influence: It’s heavily indebted to The Crying of Lot 49, so expect conspiracy, weird names, and a lot of paranoia.
- It’s a "Conversation": Wallace called it a debate between Wittgenstein (who thought language had limits) and Derrida (who thought language was unstable).
- The "Half-Sentence" Ending: It's not a mistake; it's the point. The "word" is the only thing keeping the system together.
If you’re looking for a gateway drug into the world of postmodern fiction, this is it. It’s shorter than his later stuff, funnier than most "literary" novels, and it’ll make you look at your own bathroom broom in a very different way.