In a near future in which some humans are chosen as "lifers," living 300 years or more if they meet high standards, one lifer is drawn into the mysterious world of the Suicide Club, a network of powerful individuals and rebels who reject society's pursuit of immortality, and instead chose to live and die on their own terms.
The author paints a disturbing picture of a government that values survival at any and all costs. It’s a creative premise, and it’s fascinating to read about Lea’s carefully crafted life unraveling before her. Heng’s confident prose makes this book an easy read, despite tackling difficult subjects such as suicide and the right to die.
Suicide Club stared up at me as if I'd let it down by not making more progress. But the book's insistence that I read it, even while grossly sick, is a testament to its power ... What really makes Suicide Club shine is that it explores big themes without ever getting bogged down under its own weight. It certainly made me ponder death and my own mortality more than I normally do, and I think that's the point. By painting a world on the cusp of human immortality as horribly grim, it also makes you appreciate what we have now even more.
As a portrait of desensitized consumers who find release in self-destructive violence, Suicide Club carries echoes of Fight Club ... The pursuit of longevity, meanwhile, is acerbically funny in Heng’s hands ... Heng faces the challenge of creating a meaningful narrative that’s premised on the inherent pointlessness of pursuing eternity for its own sake. For the most part, she succeeds. The pacing of Lea’s character development is jerky, at times feeling incomplete as she wavers between fascination, repulsion, and sympathy with the members of the Suicide Club ... For all her visceral descriptions of physical detail and sensation, Lea’s emotional vocabulary is limited.