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A review by andieboba
A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
For the longest time, I had such a hate/hate relationship with this book - it's taken me months to finish. Months to listen to the endless amounts of trauma one individual can go through, let alone the repercussions that has on a friend group, and the attending branches of said group.
But today I listened to the last 8 hours nearly without pausing, and I see now the truth of this story.
Yes, there is copious amounts of trauma, that to a point almost feel like - how could one even think this up to do to a character, let alone let them survive it?
But then it sits with you, and it sits with you, and it fucking sits with you. And it asks you so heavily to look between the scars and the apologies and the hospital visits for those brief flashes of happiness. The mundane, neatly domestic moments that truthfully most people ignore but in this case we're forced to look at harder all for the sake of searching for a light at the end of the tunnel.
The light is brief, flavored by lime and sun-tanned skin and summers spent outside and it BURNS. You sit there listening, reading, waiting for the inevitable reminder that life is brutal, and vicious, and has claws and before you know it the claws swipe at you, knock you off your feet, and have you sobbing as though you've been struck.
And the crazy thing is? It's worth it. All of the hurt and the pain and the "how is this possible?"
All for the happy parts. Because friendship and the bonds of it, or rather friendship and the remainders of it-whether lost to time or other painful things make life worth it, and so too does this book become worth it.
So read it and rip your heart out. Read it and weep, and weep and weep. But know that you'll come out of it looking for the mundane memories of your life. The Lispenard Streets of your youth. The art pieces of /your/ personal gallery. Read it, and learn what it means to be human despite the multifaceted way being human means to be flawed and loved because of it.
But today I listened to the last 8 hours nearly without pausing, and I see now the truth of this story.
Yes, there is copious amounts of trauma, that to a point almost feel like - how could one even think this up to do to a character, let alone let them survive it?
But then it sits with you, and it sits with you, and it fucking sits with you. And it asks you so heavily to look between the scars and the apologies and the hospital visits for those brief flashes of happiness. The mundane, neatly domestic moments that truthfully most people ignore but in this case we're forced to look at harder all for the sake of searching for a light at the end of the tunnel.
The light is brief, flavored by lime and sun-tanned skin and summers spent outside and it BURNS. You sit there listening, reading, waiting for the inevitable reminder that life is brutal, and vicious, and has claws and before you know it the claws swipe at you, knock you off your feet, and have you sobbing as though you've been struck.
And the crazy thing is? It's worth it. All of the hurt and the pain and the "how is this possible?"
All for the happy parts. Because friendship and the bonds of it, or rather friendship and the remainders of it-whether lost to time or other painful things make life worth it, and so too does this book become worth it.
So read it and rip your heart out. Read it and weep, and weep and weep. But know that you'll come out of it looking for the mundane memories of your life. The Lispenard Streets of your youth. The art pieces of /your/ personal gallery. Read it, and learn what it means to be human despite the multifaceted way being human means to be flawed and loved because of it.