Suicide cannot be read as simply another novel--it is, in a sense, the author's own oblique, public suicide note, a unique meditation on this most extreme of refusals.
Presenting itself as an investigation into the suicide of a close friend--perhaps real, perhaps fictional--more than twenty years earlier, Levé gives us, little by little, a striking portrait of a man, with all his talents and flaws, who chose to reject his life, and all the people who loved him, in favor of oblivion. Gradually, through Levé's casually obsessive, pointillist, beautiful ruminations, we come to know a stoic, sensible, thoughtful man who bears more than a slight psychological resemblance to Levé himself. But Suicide is more than just a compendium of memories of an old friend; it is a near-exhaustive catalog of the ramifications and effects of the act of suicide, and a unique and melancholy farewell to life.
Alina Stefanescu is a poet and book reviewer.
The way Edouard Leve ends “Suicide” is not my favorite. Perhaps there is something missing in my soul—or maybe I need to read this part in the original French. I don’t know. I keep coming back to it. https://t.co/RKCIS6LNFx
Sarah Rose Etter is an author.
@TJ_Neer a few other favorites: the book of words by jenny erpenbeck the copenhagen trilogy by tove ditlevsen fight night by miriam toews suicide by edouard leve (TW: suicide) our spoons came from woolworths by barbara comyns drive your plow over the bones of the dead - olga t.
"A book that will never disappear, a book too provocative ever to be forgotten." --Jacques Morice
"An astonishing novel." --Zadie Smith, author of White Teeth