Abstract

When someone we know ends his or her life we are banished to the silence of the outside; uncomprehending is too weak a word for this extrusion. Among the matters of lifedeath, suicide is perhaps one of the most compelling, if not one of the most avidly discussed. I will touch on the debate surrounding “assisted suicide,” although this is not my theme. My theme is the radical exteriority and the silence to which we others are abandoned in virtually every instance of suicide. The outside and the silence have something to do with writing.

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