Maximalists: David Foster Wallace et al.

Have to say, 80 or so pages in, I'm liking David Foster Wallace's "The Pale King" more than I thought I would; I have actually liked a # of DFW stories as well as some of the essays I'd read early in his career - I particularly remember one about a visit to the Illinois State Fair - but for some reason have always balked at his novels - too big, too grand, too much, too little time - maybe I've been wrong and should give all of them a chance. For the most part, I have have always favored minimalism: thinking of Strunk & White and "omit needless words," and of course have just finished reading stories by the great Chekhov who identified simplicity as one of his guiding principles. But some writers are by their very nature maximalists - I'm sure they appreciate the need for brevity and concision in some contexts, but when it comes to literary expression they're all in: Sterne, (late) Joyce, Whitman, Pynchon, Barth, Ginsberg - and of course DFW, to name some who may have little else in common other than magnitude of style. The Pale King seems, in first 80 pages (before first extensive "author's note") to be a series of stories or sketches, some a page or two long, most about typical short story length, one - about an IRS auditor heading to a new assignment, quite lengthy and a tour de force or maybe tour de farce - connections and relations between these pieces (though there are 2 about the IRS guy) are completely unclear at this point - whether that's a result of Pale King's being composed from materials that DFW left behind at his untimely and sad death, or whether he had the design well plotted before he left this work behind, is unclear and to me, anyway. I find myself surprisingly captivated by the IRS guy and his arcane knowledge of systems (a Wallace theme) - which he discusses in the airport van with two other auditors - kind of like The Office meets Bonfire of the Vanities. Also very moved by short piece about a couple, sitting on a picnic table by the lakeside, and discussing her pregnancy, and how this short piece unfolds sorrowfully their whole lives together and apart; also saddened by story about a super-good, super-achieving kid whom everybody despises. The question, which will deepen as I read further, is whether DFW can sustain this novel; 80 pages of barely related segments is one thing, but 500+ pages could become just literary chaos. Will he build a plot, or will he just spin off thousands of beautiful, odd vignettes and apercus?