The book consists of a string of declarative sentences, nearly every one an “I” statement, as in, “I am inexhaustible on the subject of myself.” Or: “I feel apprehensive before conversations that have a fixed duration.” Or, most telling: “I don’t really listen to what other people are saying.” The effect is stark - it’s the textual equivalent of a photo portrait against a blank backdrop. Levè tenaciously avoids narratives: there are no pithy anecdotes, there is no character arc, there is only a first page and a last page. Levè bucks this mentality Autoportrait is a static portrait. Vincent Van Gogh comes to mind, before and after cutting off his ear. Looking at a given artist’s self-portraits over time, it’s impossible to focus on the changing image of a self, without wondering about the forces that changed that person. Self-portraiture is necessarily self-reflexive and reflective, but it can’t exist in a vacuum it’s beholden to context. auto-mobile, auto-focus, even auto-biography), and it underscores the entire work. Although in English “autoportrait” would have been “self-portrait,” translator Stein decided to maintain the original for its resonances the auto- prefix - from the Greek autos for self - comes with the connotation of self-reflexivity (e.g. Conversely, with Autoportrait you can expect just that. When you pick up Suicide, you know you’re reading a book about suicide. What are your thoughts on Suicide? Am I completely missing the point? Let me know in the comments below.Edouard Levè pulled no punches when titling his books: when you open one, you know what you’re getting into. Contrast to that, there’s not a great deal going on outside of the initially mentioned scenario. Its prosaic meandering does serve its purpose, and knowing the fate of the writer does (either rightly or wrongly) add weight to text. Closing ThoughtsĮven after writing this review, I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about this book. What would life be without us in it? The answer: terrible for those around us. We all have moments when we feel angry or upset, and this book can serve as a cathartic release of these emotions. The book only spans 144 pages, so it never drags on longer than necessary. I think most readers will be able to connect on some level with Levé’s downbeat narration. At what point should we separate the two? I spoke about this topic more in-depth concerning Louis-Ferdinand Céline. Whilst Suicide remains as fiction, it does raise a lot of questions regarding the power of an author and their work. It’s also much like the style presented by Nabokov in Pale Fire talking at you, rather than guiding you through the plot. However, the flow soon settles, and the rest of the plot plays out smoothly. This delivery, at first, can be a little jarring, given that reading the book requires the reader to be breathing. Mediating on the subject of suicide, the narrator continues to ponder the reasons as to why you have decided to end your life. You, the friend of the narrator that’s committed suicide some twenty years prior. We immediately think of his suicide, and not the life that led to that point.ĭelivered in a second-person narrative, Levé often refers to the reader as you. ‘ I’ve never heard a single person, since your death, tell your life’s story starting at the beginning.’ While they come to replicate each other, it’s interesting to also see how they can change each other due to certain actions or words. I think this is important to note when viewing Suicide as a piece of art that’s split down the middle.
In his lifetime, Levé was first known in France for his work as an abstract photographer. However, it’s more than a simple wink to the audience it’s the author ending their own life for reasons that might not even be mentioned in the plot. This got me thinking, does this act outside of fiction, therefor turn it into non-fiction?Įqually, this makes the work incredibly meta, which for some readers, can be a complete turn-off. Édouard Levé turned in the manuscript for Suicide just days before committing murder.
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