Read a full book yesterday. It was called "I Have the Right to Destroy Myself" and the author is South Korean, from Seoul. I believe his name is Kim Young-Ha.
The book was only about 120 pages and when I finished it, I felt sick. It's not that the book of gory or gruesome, but man, but was it ever hopeless. The final sentence vaguely summarizes the idea of the book. It went something like this...
'I have traveled such a great distance but still everything is unchanged.'
I don't have the book with me now so I can't quote it exactly.
The unnamed narrator is in the business of helping people commit suicide. He works at his own suicide help line, but instead of helping the callers, he helps them find a graceful way to kill themselves. The book focuses more on his "clients" (only 3-4) than himself, although the narrator is present throughout.
It's impossible to describe how this book made me feel. I've never felt anything similar before. My dream that night was even loosely formed around this book and it's characters.
Here is what one review said about the book:
"Such is the real horror of the novel: that planning a tidy death could trump living a messy life."
Well, going to see Nine Inch Nails tonight.