Helpful Score: 3
Once in a great while, a book comes along that finds a permanent place in my heart. That is where A Little Life resides, along with The Elegance of the Hedgehog, A Prayer for Owen Meany and a few others. This novel celebrates the power of love and friendship, and the resilience of the human spirit in the aftermath of devastating, heartbreaking betrayals. This is life at its grittiest and, subsequently, at its most sublime. There is cruelty in this book that left me in tears, but there is also an extraordinary depth of kindness and compassion. This is a difficult book to put down once begun and, despite its length, I was so sorry to see it end. 720 pages simply wasn't enough. This is a powerful story by a profoundly talented writer.
Helpful Score: 1
Such an in-depth look at another person's life. It made me cringe at times and certainly brought tears to my eyes when reading what this character suffered throughout his life. At times it was almost too in-depth for me, his suffering being told over and over and it was a lot to bear. A great book but not one I felt comfortable encouraging others to read.
Not my style. Could only do the first chapter. Reading the other reviews I might set it aside for now and try it again at a later time.
Tried it again, not for me. Here is a review.
I think what makes the most angry about this book is that I do see flashes of brilliance in it. Images I loved, earned emotions. Early on in the novel, one character muses about being a guest in his own life. Another talks about photography in terms that made me stop in my tracks and pause the audiobook just so I think about what she'd written. Later, the relationship between Jude and his adoptive father and the love his adoptive father has for him made me cry. But all of that doesn't matter, when the end result is what we're given.
What it comes down to the fact that pain was the only point, and I think that is reprehensible.
Tried it again, not for me. Here is a review.
I think what makes the most angry about this book is that I do see flashes of brilliance in it. Images I loved, earned emotions. Early on in the novel, one character muses about being a guest in his own life. Another talks about photography in terms that made me stop in my tracks and pause the audiobook just so I think about what she'd written. Later, the relationship between Jude and his adoptive father and the love his adoptive father has for him made me cry. But all of that doesn't matter, when the end result is what we're given.
What it comes down to the fact that pain was the only point, and I think that is reprehensible.
I didn't like this.
I found every page of the 115 I read painfully empty and self-indulgent, and the prospect of 600-odd more pages of the same was mind-numbingly awful. "Taking a break" from it felt like a blessed relief, and gradually turned into abandonment, and I have no regrets.
Yanagihara has said, in interviews, that her objective was to ask, what if there are some people who are just too damaged to save? I'd like to flip that on its head an ask, what if an all-powerful being (the Author) inflicts three useless, selfish "friends" on one who has suffered terrible abuse? And then the author heaps as much abuse as possible on that person, in order to make it impossible for them to be saved?
What if the "friends" are contrived to be as incestuously close and inward looking as it might be possible to be, with little connection to their families, and very little connection to any other friends or colleagues? They stay stuck in the close-knit little foursome they form as college roommates, all obsessing about (but never really helping) their damaged but brilliant friend, Jude.
I've read several times comparisons to Mary McCarthy's novel The Group, and that occurred to me, as I read the blurb, and weighed this brick of a book in my hand -- four brilliant young men, with issues, take on the world, and the world kicks back at them. It's a long time since I read The Group, and my memory of the novel may be tainted by the movie adaptation, but my strongest recollection is that the women in that novel was that it certainly wasn't a great novel, but it was a page-turner, and it had a certain horrible fascination as a sort of "state of the [female] nation" social document: the member of the group were avatars of the negative possibilities of female experience of its time, representative of, and victims of, the injustices and horrors of female experience. See Friend A survive an abortion, Friend B kill herself over an unworthy man, Friend C, a stay at home mom, dumped by her husband for a younger model ... etc
There's nothing like that here. Jude is Job, the recipient of all the ills of the world,, but his friends are not fully realized, recognizable people, but clueless, self-centred cyphers, like shapes cut by the same cookie-cutter: handsome, smart in a superficial way, stumbling into inexplicable success at something that they don't seem to be all that good at. Vaguely described, and a bit fuzzy round the edges -- two are supposed to be black (but don't seem like it). Two are supposed to be poor (but never really seem like that, either) Unmoored: either conveniently free of families, or dismissive of any claims their families have on them.
The narrative is also unmoored, and several interviewers, reviews, and readers have commented on this -- there is nothing to peg the narrative to a specific time. Sometimes it feels like the 1950s, and then someone whips our a cellphone; sometimes, it feels like now, but there's no mention of 9/11, Donald Trump, the ban on smoking in restaurants, Hurricane Sandy -- all topics that a New Yorker might at any time in the past 20 years have been affected by or had an opinion about ...
Some reviewers have referred to this, admiringly, as Yanagihara refusing to be distracted from her character (and Jude's suffering) by such trivial concerns as real life. Some have said that the novel exists in a sort of alternative reality in which those things didn't happen. (I read Science Fiction, mate. I know alternative reality, I like alternative reality, and this, sir, is no alternative reality ...)
What I think is that Yanagihara is a lazy writer, whose characters would be revealed as purest cardboard, with no life outside the narrow boundaries she has given them, if she tried to force them to relate to challenging, cataclysmic events.
I think the Emperor has no clothes.
I found every page of the 115 I read painfully empty and self-indulgent, and the prospect of 600-odd more pages of the same was mind-numbingly awful. "Taking a break" from it felt like a blessed relief, and gradually turned into abandonment, and I have no regrets.
Yanagihara has said, in interviews, that her objective was to ask, what if there are some people who are just too damaged to save? I'd like to flip that on its head an ask, what if an all-powerful being (the Author) inflicts three useless, selfish "friends" on one who has suffered terrible abuse? And then the author heaps as much abuse as possible on that person, in order to make it impossible for them to be saved?
What if the "friends" are contrived to be as incestuously close and inward looking as it might be possible to be, with little connection to their families, and very little connection to any other friends or colleagues? They stay stuck in the close-knit little foursome they form as college roommates, all obsessing about (but never really helping) their damaged but brilliant friend, Jude.
I've read several times comparisons to Mary McCarthy's novel The Group, and that occurred to me, as I read the blurb, and weighed this brick of a book in my hand -- four brilliant young men, with issues, take on the world, and the world kicks back at them. It's a long time since I read The Group, and my memory of the novel may be tainted by the movie adaptation, but my strongest recollection is that the women in that novel was that it certainly wasn't a great novel, but it was a page-turner, and it had a certain horrible fascination as a sort of "state of the [female] nation" social document: the member of the group were avatars of the negative possibilities of female experience of its time, representative of, and victims of, the injustices and horrors of female experience. See Friend A survive an abortion, Friend B kill herself over an unworthy man, Friend C, a stay at home mom, dumped by her husband for a younger model ... etc
There's nothing like that here. Jude is Job, the recipient of all the ills of the world,, but his friends are not fully realized, recognizable people, but clueless, self-centred cyphers, like shapes cut by the same cookie-cutter: handsome, smart in a superficial way, stumbling into inexplicable success at something that they don't seem to be all that good at. Vaguely described, and a bit fuzzy round the edges -- two are supposed to be black (but don't seem like it). Two are supposed to be poor (but never really seem like that, either) Unmoored: either conveniently free of families, or dismissive of any claims their families have on them.
The narrative is also unmoored, and several interviewers, reviews, and readers have commented on this -- there is nothing to peg the narrative to a specific time. Sometimes it feels like the 1950s, and then someone whips our a cellphone; sometimes, it feels like now, but there's no mention of 9/11, Donald Trump, the ban on smoking in restaurants, Hurricane Sandy -- all topics that a New Yorker might at any time in the past 20 years have been affected by or had an opinion about ...
Some reviewers have referred to this, admiringly, as Yanagihara refusing to be distracted from her character (and Jude's suffering) by such trivial concerns as real life. Some have said that the novel exists in a sort of alternative reality in which those things didn't happen. (I read Science Fiction, mate. I know alternative reality, I like alternative reality, and this, sir, is no alternative reality ...)
What I think is that Yanagihara is a lazy writer, whose characters would be revealed as purest cardboard, with no life outside the narrow boundaries she has given them, if she tried to force them to relate to challenging, cataclysmic events.
I think the Emperor has no clothes.
Wow, this was one of the most intriguing, moving and heart felt books I've ever read. It is not easy to get through the horrific subject matter at times, but highly recommend it.
Four male classmates from college move to New York to pursue their dreams. JB is an aspiring artist, Malcolm is an aspiring architect, Willem is an aspiring actor and Jude is an aspiring lawyer.
The men are very close, however, JB & Malcolm tend to pair up and Willem and Jude tend to pair together.
They all tend to gravitate toward Jude. Jude is very close-mouthed about his life before college. He has some disabilities, with a lurching walk and has a tendency to wear long sleeves and not want anyone to see him with no clothes on.
The novel really centers on Jude and his story. He had a very rough childhood and we learn most of it throughout the novel.
I thought the book was a little long, but am thrilled with the way the author uses the language.
The men are very close, however, JB & Malcolm tend to pair up and Willem and Jude tend to pair together.
They all tend to gravitate toward Jude. Jude is very close-mouthed about his life before college. He has some disabilities, with a lurching walk and has a tendency to wear long sleeves and not want anyone to see him with no clothes on.
The novel really centers on Jude and his story. He had a very rough childhood and we learn most of it throughout the novel.
I thought the book was a little long, but am thrilled with the way the author uses the language.
Without a doubt this is the best and most heartbreaking book I've read in my life. But be warned: this requires an emotional investment equivalent to a pound of flesh: the price is hefty, it's going to hurt, and you're going to suffer; but take this hit because it will pay off.
Clearly Yanagihara shows brilliant writing talent. She creatively strings words and phrases together to produce immense thoughts and ideas; but it doesn't end there. The thoughts and ideas, themselves, contain a rawness and honesty that bites and microscopically tears into you. She gives you a reprieve and emotional scar tissue builds, and she cuts again, words searing through the toughened flesh. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Each character felt vibrant and present in my mind, their descriptions more than mere words on a page. Jude, Willem, Harold, Andy, JB, Malcolm, Julia, Richard: were they to come to lunch with me I'd know them so well I could order for them. Yanagihara gifted me that level of intimacy.
As for the specific characters of Jude, Willem, Harold, and Andy, I carry them inside of me now. Andy: the very definition of dedication, everything a medical professional should ideally be. Harold: a man devastated by loss who makes the brave and frightening choice to invite someone with an unknown past into his life. Willem: the best friend a person could possibly ever have. Ever.
Finally, Jude: the character with the most clarity, a precarious and fragile soul for whom my heart simultaneously breaks and cheers. He is far too complex and damaged and beautiful a person to summarize. Read the book.
The story (and the story within the story) progresses slowly and builds until it runs away, the reader in tow. Glance up and months have sped by. Years, decades. And you're with it every step of the way, watching their hair gray, witnessing their bodies break down.
The author accomplished a shift in reader perception with a barely noticeable, subtly nuanced use of the title, conveniently tucked away in two very different parts of the book. At the end you're left to choose which to take with you.
Another stunning use of her skill is silent foreshadowing, enough to make you forget it had ever been there. And then you're reminded of when it happened, and the fact that you remember it happening becomes the most touching and interactive part in the entire book.
A study emerged in the past few years linking the development of empathy to reading fiction. This novel is a prime example of this. Unless you're a psychopath, you cannot read this without seeing the world from the main character's point of view. More importantly, you cannot be in a position to judge his actions. Personally, I felt for him deeply; I lost sleep over him; I mourned with him; I cried so many tears for him for myriad reasons. I suspect I might have been a little bit in love with Jude.
I will never forget the experience of reading this. It couldn't have been only a story. It felt so real. It was so real. Wasn't it?
Clearly Yanagihara shows brilliant writing talent. She creatively strings words and phrases together to produce immense thoughts and ideas; but it doesn't end there. The thoughts and ideas, themselves, contain a rawness and honesty that bites and microscopically tears into you. She gives you a reprieve and emotional scar tissue builds, and she cuts again, words searing through the toughened flesh. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Each character felt vibrant and present in my mind, their descriptions more than mere words on a page. Jude, Willem, Harold, Andy, JB, Malcolm, Julia, Richard: were they to come to lunch with me I'd know them so well I could order for them. Yanagihara gifted me that level of intimacy.
As for the specific characters of Jude, Willem, Harold, and Andy, I carry them inside of me now. Andy: the very definition of dedication, everything a medical professional should ideally be. Harold: a man devastated by loss who makes the brave and frightening choice to invite someone with an unknown past into his life. Willem: the best friend a person could possibly ever have. Ever.
Finally, Jude: the character with the most clarity, a precarious and fragile soul for whom my heart simultaneously breaks and cheers. He is far too complex and damaged and beautiful a person to summarize. Read the book.
The story (and the story within the story) progresses slowly and builds until it runs away, the reader in tow. Glance up and months have sped by. Years, decades. And you're with it every step of the way, watching their hair gray, witnessing their bodies break down.
The author accomplished a shift in reader perception with a barely noticeable, subtly nuanced use of the title, conveniently tucked away in two very different parts of the book. At the end you're left to choose which to take with you.
Another stunning use of her skill is silent foreshadowing, enough to make you forget it had ever been there. And then you're reminded of when it happened, and the fact that you remember it happening becomes the most touching and interactive part in the entire book.
A study emerged in the past few years linking the development of empathy to reading fiction. This novel is a prime example of this. Unless you're a psychopath, you cannot read this without seeing the world from the main character's point of view. More importantly, you cannot be in a position to judge his actions. Personally, I felt for him deeply; I lost sleep over him; I mourned with him; I cried so many tears for him for myriad reasons. I suspect I might have been a little bit in love with Jude.
I will never forget the experience of reading this. It couldn't have been only a story. It felt so real. It was so real. Wasn't it?
Shocking, brutal, emotionally riveting to read. Incredibly good writing, profound in many ways throughout the book, most especially once you get past the first 1/4 of introduction of characters. The thoughts and feelings between the main characters as they grow are written so well you believe these are real people, and an amazing talent the author had is relaying the inner feelings of each of them, over and over again as they age, in ways so compassionate and profound. You almost want to put it down it's so hard to read, but you cannot put it down until you know the end. It echoed in my head days after I was done. Just an emotional rollercoaster.
