A Little Life

4.75

wow. The ending did not make me cry. But I was sobbing so hard for like 200 pages. this book is told in such graphic detail, that it’s almost too much for me to bear. Also I’m 15. And everybody’s like don’t read this unless you’re 18 and up. I agree, this was a very hard book to stomach, I think that the author can go into too much detail on certain things (self harm).

I want to read this again in the future, I also knew the ending going into it which is probably why didn’t make me cry. But it was worth the journey because of how beautifully tragic this writing is.

maybe in time this book will bump up to a five star. But I think it would have to take a second read. And I’m just not in the mental state to do that right now after finishing this book.

A Little Life felt less like a novel and more like an endless parade of misery. The story drags on for hundreds of pages, repeating the same trauma so often it stops being emotional and just becomes exhausting. The characters don’t grow, the friendships feel artificial, and the whole book seems designed to hurt the reader rather than say anything meaningful. By the end, I wasn’t moved, I was just relieved it was finally over.

DNF

I've decided against writing anything on this work in the past, as I felt I would not be able to approach any degree of objective criticism, with my opinions nurtured by my subjective experience with the moral reasonings this book proffers. Yet, I now wish to alleviate those sitting on the fence from having the possibility of being mislead or dangerously misinformed in the confusing intentions of the artificially-curated, and morally bankrupt mess that is this book. Of course, that is a holier-than-thou sentiment with an egoism I do not wish to foster, as truthfully, I just need to put to rest my misgivings and attempt to forget whatever meaning I initially extracted.

I have purposefully avoided reading any endorsing or critical reviews, for I don't want to have my view skewed disingenuously, particularly by the latter. That being said, I don't suppose any remark i'll make will be revelatory, or singularly meaningful, far from it in fact.

The book begins by promising (buoyed by the blurb) a found-family narrative of individuals actualising with their respective ideals of success, all the while grappling with the residual trauma, or lack thereof, which form the basis of the identity they wish to hold. At least, that was the impression I had going in, and reading the initial third. As the story progresses however, it becomes apparent this is not the case, and the time invested in the cast was only to inform how they were to be relative to Jude. This is by no means a necessarily negative thing, neither is it fraudulent to expectation, as of course that is subjective. however, now knowing the direction the story took, I feel it was not planned that way, and instead came about from the author's voice taking a stalwart role in the construction of the following events, or if it was, it was done out of a desire for forced longevity, which will be touched on later. As such, two of the four have their stories either completely under-baked, or not expounded upon to the degree deserved. This would not be an issue to me, if the superseded interest was worth the expenditure, and is it stands, I can't help but feel a little let down. JB's story specifically was the most directly intriguing to me, and I find it to be a shame that it is sorely forgotten by the end of the book, and instead feels like fat that should have been cut by the time of editing. The structure, as a result, suffers in my eyes from this lack of cohesion, and looking retrospectively at the sections I did enjoy, especially many earlier on, that enjoyment turns to hostility for not having amounted to anything.

As mentioned, this pivot could have been worthwhile, even tactfully subversive, but the emotional crux, upon which every person's enjoyment of the book relies on, absolutely and irredeemably failed to provide me anything of substance. This is, of course, Jude, his tribulations, and the horror that he has been broken by. Most of my issues with this book is either bolstered by my experience reading through the torture so thoroughly and unreservedly propounded and or the right of Yanighara in doing so. To start with the former, and removing all authorial intent from the picture, the descriptions of self-loathing was near unbearable for me read through. To write about such themes is not, and should not be discrete, though the presentation of them here is particularly heartbreaking, and emotive. I'm wary to wholly praise the prose of the author for this, as eliciting a response of this nature can be done through manipulative and insincere language, though i'm sure some credit does need to be given for conveying the brutality of it all, at least in terms of the literal writing. That same, very slight commendation, does not reflect at all with how child sexual abuse is portrayed, or the incessant and endless self-harming, which are both so incredibly distasteful that i can't but harbour genuine hatred for what little this work accomplishes. I do not think that either topic should be something outside of and above the realms of literature and discussion, they both need realism and truth, but above all they need sincerity. and although i know little of the subject, and am in no place to argue for or against, i am truly disturbed by how vehemently this book is constructed to elicit an emotional response; that is, it will go to such lengths, and hide behind veiled profundity, so that it seems to have justified the severity of its contents, but it does not. Jude is a one-note, exploitative character, whose misery is a disservice to the nuance that should be applied to his suffering, but is instead reduced to the most fundamental notions of empathy. It is prestige-driven, emotively expressed manipulative bullshit that is devoid of empathy or perspective, and because of the inconsequentiality of the lack of any meaningful message, flies under the radar as a 'you get what you put into it' work, which profits from voyeuristically observing the most gratuitous scenes of inhumanity without trying to educate anyone's views of the subjects, and has only survived from the extrinsic support of readers who impart morals onto a piece which has none; it is sadism. That may sound extremely harsh, but do remember that an author has won accolades, and received a hefty sum for what is tantamount misery-porn, and I am sick of how romanticised stories like this are revered. It would aid me in knowing that something of this is from personal experience, but to my knowledge it is merely a reaction to stereotypes of mental illness, which i personally do not think are accurately portrayed just because they are written with such hateful lustre.

I realise how one-minded I have been writing this. My feelings of contempt for this book knows no bounds, but i should acknowledge that this is entirely from my own perspective, which could be, and most always is, greatly flawed and hypocritical. I appreciate that many people have gotten something positive from the experience of reading this, and i sincerely hope that it has benefited their lives to the extent they have allowed it to. however, I cannot condone any work like this on the basis of interpretation alone, there needs to be some authorial voice of empathy, integrity and meaning to subside the bile that is its contents, and i can't find that. I want desperately to have just misinterpreted it, though i'm blinded by the extortion of anguish that seems so apparent to me. I want it to have exemplified the radiance of some message of love triumphing to outshine the faults and forlorn, yet it isn't there for me. it all seems superficial and dull, depicting subtlety and nuance with the grace of a blunt knife. I hope i'm not correct about the duplicity of the author, that would be most horrifying of all.

Mental illness deserves better representation than it has been given here.

This...was incredible. Breathtaking, beautiful, heartbreaking, truly magnificent. By barely 200 pages in, I could tell it would top my all time favorite books list, displacing other beloved novels into rankings incomparable.

This intimate, epic detailing of lives intertwined by friendship and love, through mental illness, addiction, and physical disability as well as age make A Little Life canonical. I was reminded of East of Eden, in that both are rich with truth and beauty, yet told simply and exquisitely.

This was a true pleasure to read. I enjoyed it with the library app but will be purchasing it for endless re-readings as I age.

if you enjoy being mentally stable or at least sane, do not read this book.

This book is not for everyone.

Sad

Wrecked.

This book was so beautifully brutal it literally is the only book I have read that made me actually feel emotionally drained while reading it. I don’t think I have ever read anything like it. Strangely I loved the book and the characters as flawed as they were I loved too.