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A review by meoreyn
A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara
5.0
The only thing I could think of after finishing this book, or even while reading it, is how can a person write this kind of book, this book in particular, and simply go on with their life? Or maybe the question is how can someone live with this story inside of them, without collapsing under its weight? But maybe what I really wanted was for someone to take my hand and lead me through the rest of my life, with this story now permanently embedded in me.
I picked it up on a whim, trying to use it to cure a hangover left by another fantastical read, and boy did I knew then what I got myself into. But don’t let yourself be tricked by my vague use of language into thinking that this was a long time ago. I read this book in exactly a week, which also came with 8+ hour work shifts, unskippable social duties and a need to sleep so I can perform at least adequately in the two aforementioned activities. But I just couldn’t put it down: I skipped (cooking myself) meals so I can read, I took it with me to the bathroom at work so I can squeeze in a few more pages, I stayed up way too late -knowingly- without being able to put it down. It’s a decision I stand by, even remembering the times I wanted to throw it against a wall -and impulse which I am glad I resisted, seeing how I was reading it as an ebook on my phone-, the times I was so hurt by it that I wanted not only to stop but to erase my memory of even starting or the times towards the end when I couldn’t physically continue because I was crying so hard that is was either hard to see or nearly impossible to hold the phone without shaking. But I am glad I read it in such a short time period, because it somehow felt the exact right pace for me. If I took longer, I feel I would have lost touch with its core. If it took less time, I would have not had the time to also digest not just internalize some of the things that were happening. But that is a personal preference and even if you wish to heed it, please don’t skip eating for it. They wouldn’t want you too. You’ll know who I am talking about.
Which brings me to the content itself. This is not a realistic novel, not in the true sense of the word. It’s statistically impossible to have that much of a bad luck, again and again as Jude had in his first 15 years of life. Sadly for the hippie in me, it’s also statistically impossible to find that many people, so devoted to you and your well being, for such a long time, without ever asking anything in return. But somehow, in this story, it works. I think it is because Yanagihara dialed to the max both sides of this equation, left them balancing each other out as if she used realistic measures of trauma and friendship, but let them deliver their heightened message. The story follows almost thirty years of its characters lives, drawn together by chance (university assigned roommates, being someones friend of a friend of a friend who gets introduced to the main characters, teaching the right class at the right time for the right student), but kept together by their bond with the main character. It’s a story about love, in all its forms. It’s a story of destiny and fate and the questions which plague us all: is it real, is it escapable, or it's what we make of it? But it’s also a story about sadness, fear, an utter disbelief in the fact that you deserve what you have and how you still have to wake up every morning and live a life, your life, despite these feelings. Or do you? Is living because others want you alive still considered living or is just a slow and excruciating pulling off of a band aid that you in your soul know will eventually still be taken off? It’s a story about trauma and about getting better and about the idea that some people just can’t, or they don’t want to, or they simply never thought it a choice. It’s a story about a lot of things, most of them not fit here because they are either spoilery or will make you question my sanity or Yanahigara’s ability to pull it off.
After finishing the book I found the need to ask myself so many questions that I still haven't got around to answering all of them and maybe I never will. This book pushed buttons I never knew I had or thought long lost, and this both terrifies and elates me. This book will haunt me for a long time, of that I am sure, even though I have the feeling that it will creep up in the most inadequate moments. One can only hope they will not come to resent something that they find really meaningful.
If you think of going into it be aware of all the trigger warnings that you can find throughout here -I am in no means capable of compiling an accurate list- because this book deals with a lot of major issues and I am sure that there are people out there for whom reading some of them will not be just uncomfortable. I say this from experience.
As a closing paragraph, I can only thank the author. But not for everything that I’ve been saying all this time. No. I want to thank her for the simple fact that by giving her main characters, at least the main four, such unusual names, I will be spared, indefinitely I hope, from the pain of associating other characters, from other stories, with the ones in her book. Because I don't think I am physically capable of doing that yet.
"Are you happy?" he once asked Jude.
"I don’t think happiness is for me."
I picked it up on a whim, trying to use it to cure a hangover left by another fantastical read, and boy did I knew then what I got myself into. But don’t let yourself be tricked by my vague use of language into thinking that this was a long time ago. I read this book in exactly a week, which also came with 8+ hour work shifts, unskippable social duties and a need to sleep so I can perform at least adequately in the two aforementioned activities. But I just couldn’t put it down: I skipped (cooking myself) meals so I can read, I took it with me to the bathroom at work so I can squeeze in a few more pages, I stayed up way too late -knowingly- without being able to put it down. It’s a decision I stand by, even remembering the times I wanted to throw it against a wall -and impulse which I am glad I resisted, seeing how I was reading it as an ebook on my phone-, the times I was so hurt by it that I wanted not only to stop but to erase my memory of even starting or the times towards the end when I couldn’t physically continue because I was crying so hard that is was either hard to see or nearly impossible to hold the phone without shaking. But I am glad I read it in such a short time period, because it somehow felt the exact right pace for me. If I took longer, I feel I would have lost touch with its core. If it took less time, I would have not had the time to also digest not just internalize some of the things that were happening. But that is a personal preference and even if you wish to heed it, please don’t skip eating for it. They wouldn’t want you too. You’ll know who I am talking about.
Which brings me to the content itself. This is not a realistic novel, not in the true sense of the word. It’s statistically impossible to have that much of a bad luck, again and again as Jude had in his first 15 years of life. Sadly for the hippie in me, it’s also statistically impossible to find that many people, so devoted to you and your well being, for such a long time, without ever asking anything in return. But somehow, in this story, it works. I think it is because Yanagihara dialed to the max both sides of this equation, left them balancing each other out as if she used realistic measures of trauma and friendship, but let them deliver their heightened message. The story follows almost thirty years of its characters lives, drawn together by chance (university assigned roommates, being someones friend of a friend of a friend who gets introduced to the main characters, teaching the right class at the right time for the right student), but kept together by their bond with the main character. It’s a story about love, in all its forms. It’s a story of destiny and fate and the questions which plague us all: is it real, is it escapable, or it's what we make of it? But it’s also a story about sadness, fear, an utter disbelief in the fact that you deserve what you have and how you still have to wake up every morning and live a life, your life, despite these feelings. Or do you? Is living because others want you alive still considered living or is just a slow and excruciating pulling off of a band aid that you in your soul know will eventually still be taken off? It’s a story about trauma and about getting better and about the idea that some people just can’t, or they don’t want to, or they simply never thought it a choice. It’s a story about a lot of things, most of them not fit here because they are either spoilery or will make you question my sanity or Yanahigara’s ability to pull it off.
After finishing the book I found the need to ask myself so many questions that I still haven't got around to answering all of them and maybe I never will. This book pushed buttons I never knew I had or thought long lost, and this both terrifies and elates me. This book will haunt me for a long time, of that I am sure, even though I have the feeling that it will creep up in the most inadequate moments. One can only hope they will not come to resent something that they find really meaningful.
If you think of going into it be aware of all the trigger warnings that you can find throughout here -I am in no means capable of compiling an accurate list- because this book deals with a lot of major issues and I am sure that there are people out there for whom reading some of them will not be just uncomfortable. I say this from experience.
As a closing paragraph, I can only thank the author. But not for everything that I’ve been saying all this time. No. I want to thank her for the simple fact that by giving her main characters, at least the main four, such unusual names, I will be spared, indefinitely I hope, from the pain of associating other characters, from other stories, with the ones in her book. Because I don't think I am physically capable of doing that yet.
"Are you happy?" he once asked Jude.
"I don’t think happiness is for me."