As mentioned in the intro, many think DFW is a genius. And at a few moments during the novel, he does seem rather prescient:
The Libertarians chew their hands in envy as the Dems and G.O.P.s stood on either side watching dumbly, like doubles partners who each think the other’s surely got it; the two established mainstream parties split open along tired philosophical lines in a dark time when all landfills got full and all grapes were raisins and sometimes in some places the falling rain clunked instead of splatted, and also, recall, a post-Soviet and –Jihad era when – somehow even worse – there was no real Foreign Menace of any real unified potency to hate and fear, and the U.S. sort of turned on itself and its own philosophical fatigue and hideous redolent wastes with a spasm of panicked rage that in retrospect seems possible only in a time of geopolitical supremacy and consequent silence, the loss of any external Menace to hate and fear.
Magazines (already endangered by HD-video equivalents) got so full of those infuriating little fall-out cards that Fourth-Class postal rates ballooned, making the e-mail of their video-equivalents that much more attractive in another vicious spiral.
A hidden bird twittered.
We can be thankful, however, that he was not right about everything:
Do I have trouble recalling certain intervals in the Kemp and Limbaugh administrations? No contest.