Review by pbraue13 - A Little Life

pbraue13 's review for:

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

3.5

challenging dark emotional sad tense slow-paced

Plot or Character Driven: Character

Strong character development: Yes

Loveable characters: Yes

Diverse cast of characters: Yes

Flaws of characters a main focus: Complicated

“You won’t understand this now, but some memories never fade.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

I first read A Little Life during my freshman year of college. A friend handed me her well-worn copy and told me, in no uncertain terms, that it was her favorite book. It wasn’t long before it became one of mine too. I remember finishing the last page, walking straight to her dorm room, and breaking down in tears. It felt like I had been cracked open by something enormous, something devastating and beautiful.

Nearly a decade later, I picked it up again for Pride Month, curious to see how it would read with older eyes—eyes that had seen more, read more, and questioned more. Unfortunately, that second reading was not the catharsis I remembered. I’m sad to say that I’m not looking at this 800-page tome with the same tender reverence I once did.

Let me be clear: A Little Life is not a bad book. In fact, in many technical ways, it’s extraordinary. Yanagihara’s prose is lush, often arresting in its detail. There are moments where the writing is so immersive I felt like I was in the room with these characters, observing their conversations and silences like an invisible guest. The cast—Willem, JB, Malcolm, and Jude—are thoughtfully drawn, complex, and emotionally real. Their yearning for love, for safety, for family that chooses you, is deeply resonant. Matt Bomer’s audiobook narration is equally impressive—tender and intimate in all the right moments.

But even all that can’t soften the blow of this book’s overwhelming bleakness. Please, if you are considering reading A Little Life, check the trigger warnings first. They are extensive and unflinching: child abuse, self-harm, suicide, sexual assault, trauma. They are not passing references—they are central, constant, and inescapable. At times, the book feels less like a narrative and more like an endurance test.

On this reread, the treatment of Jude struck me as not just tragic, but gratuitous. As Andrea Long Chu once wrote, it often feels “that Yanagihara is somewhere high above with a magnifying glass, burning her beautiful boys like ants.” And that cruelty—stylized though it may be—becomes difficult to justify. Especially when the novel seems to reject the idea that healing is possible. Yanagihara has said she doesn’t believe therapy works, and that belief echoes through the novel like a warning bell. The implication that some people are broken beyond repair, that death might be the most merciful option, is a chilling and deeply troubling message.

So no, I can’t recommend this book. Not because it lacks literary merit, but because of what it chooses to say—and how it chooses to say it. I finished my second read feeling more disturbed than moved. Maybe in another 10 years, if I’m feeling particularly masochistic, I’ll try again to see if it really is as harsh as I remember.

Until then, I’ll remember that first reading for what it was: an emotional time capsule of early adulthood, shared tears, and stories that felt bigger than life itself. But I’ll also keep my distance, aware now of the harm such beauty can hold.

Content Warnings