The best parts are when Strauss is not talking about artists because she tends to make the clichéd assumption that these suicidal so-called “artists” (for not all mentioned in the book are good) are therefore “visionaries” and “geniuses,” when this is not the case. For every Van Gogh or Sylvia Plath there are a thousand artsy wannabe poseurs without any talent at all. Strauss never bothers to question if maybe some of these depressed artists realized themselves they were hacks. When she speaks about David Foster Wallace’s hanging, she reuses the same clichés all the ass kissy New York Times critics said: “Some called him the best writer of his generation,” without offering any reason as to why this is the case. And maybe there was good reason for why Mark Rothko’s solid color paintings were rejected by the art world: perhaps the critics could actually see him as the fraud many today still argue him to be.
The fact that these points go unchallenged, only confirms how willingly the public receives one’s reputation when others have claimed something to be the case, and why, ultimately, societal laziness (and very often the real reasons into one’s greatness) goes overlooked in favor of the shallow status quo. (The New York Times calls so-and-so ‘The Best Writer of his Generation’ and therefore he must be). Instead, these suicidal artists are all lumped beside one another, some who are great and others who are not, with only pages dividing them, and no substantial commentary on their work is ever provided. The odd thing is that the publisher calls the book, “A private, provocative and personal tribute to these lost souls — a fond remembrance, a final goodbye.”
Well, how they can call this a “private” tribute I have no idea, since most these facts are well known and blasted all over the Internet. Also, the book isn’t really a “fond remembrance” because if it were, more attention would be given to these individuals’ moments of gladness and accomplishment, rather than their mediocrity and despair. Frankly, suicide and depression are boring. The reasons to love Judy Garland should be because of her stellar voice, not because she slit her throat and was a depressed alcoholic. Likewise, a Van Gogh painting is something that is distinct, you can see it in the way he draws his lines, uses his paint — that’s what makes him special, his work, not the fact that he was some drunk loser who cut off his ear and then decided to shoot himself in the chest.
Article comments
1 - Alix Strauss
Hi Jessica - Thanks for taking the time to read my book. I did want to share a few notable authors that found DEATH BECOMES THEM to be both fascinating and well-written:
"Alix Strauss' book is dark, grisly - and completely fascinating. I almost felt guilty for so thoroughly enjoying this look at history's most tormented souls." - A. J. Jacobs, author of The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible
"Every life is laid out with such humor, such style and heart, it's hard to imagine the dead themselves would not be thrilled to come back and read what the author had to say about them. Forget the bible - this is what I want to find in a hotel drawer at four in the morning. A truly unique, compelling and strangely life-affirming work of literary investigation. The perfect book to get you through the night."? -- Jerry Stahl, author of Permanent Midnight
"Strauss brilliantly exposes the devilry in the details and makes the profoundly moving, self-inflicted end-days of the greats a fascinating read." -- Michael Largo, author of Genius and Heroin