While claiming that this book will expand the language to speak about suicide, the author himself seems to not have all the words talking about this topic.

While there are some bits of his ideas scattered around this book, this book doesn't say much. Every notion or argument about suicide, he managed to quote the reference and then move to the next argument way too fast. He laid out all these suicide notes and works to build a question, but doesn't really answer them. "Perhaps," "maybe," "it could be," occurred as an answer a lot in this book.

I was hoping to find more depth and complexity, but so little that I get. There's also a kind of exasperation that I felt towards the end where he suddenly takes his stand to say things like, why not calm down and enjoy the world's melancholy that spreads out so capaciously and delightfully before us? I kid you not, I rolled my eyes so hard at this. I don't come here for this. Even if I were, at least it should be delivered with a careful manner that aligns with the whole argument.

All in all, though Simon Critchley couldn't make up his mind on the topic of suicide in this book, perhaps he finds peace having writing this.