Yes: a metaphor within a metaphor, a spin spinning within a spin, a commentary on the empty inevitability of selling out in the context of late capitalist postmodernism. But Ambrose’s ultimate decision, to construct the funhouse as neither discotheque, nor symbol, nor gesture, but rather as merely a house, amounts to sort of complex vindication of the ethical project of Wallace’s fiction. As a shelter for “the in-need-of-shelter,” Ambrose’s funhouse is maybe just a place to keep warm and safe from the buffeting Midwestern wind and rain. A place to convene. To acknowledge, to each other, that we are all alone. To wish to try to share each other’s pain.

It’s just there. Waiting for guests to arrive. Still to the West. Still out of reach.

But only barely so.