- Paperback: 832 pages
- Publisher: Anchor; Reprint edition (January 26, 2016)
- Language: English
- ISBN-10: 0804172706
- ISBN-13: 978-0804172707
- Product Dimensions: 5.2 x 1.4 x 8 inches
- Shipping Weight: 1.2 pounds (View shipping rates and policies)
- Average Customer Review: 3,010 customer reviews
- Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #1,841 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
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A Little Life Paperback – January 26, 2016
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“Astonishing.” —The Atlantic
“Deeply moving. . . . A wrenching portrait of the enduring grace of friendship.” —NPR
“Elemental, irreducible.” —The New Yorker
“Hypnotic. . . . An intimate, operatic friendship between four men.” —The Economist
“Capacious and consuming. . . . Immersive.” —The Boston Globe
“Beautiful.” —Los Angeles Times
“Exquisite. . . . It’s not hyperbole to call this novel a masterwork—if anything that word is simply just too little for it.” —San Francisco Chronicle
“Remarkable. . . . An epic study of trauma and friendship written with such intelligence and depth of perception that it will be one of the benchmarks against which all other novels that broach those subjects (and they are legion) will be measured. . . . A Little Life announces [Yanagihara] as a major American novelist.” —The Wall Street Journal
“Utterly gripping. Wonderfully romantic and sometimes harrowing, A Little Life kept me reading late into the night, night after night.” —Edmund White
“Spellbinding . . . . An exquisitely written, complex triumph.” —O, The Oprah Magazine
“Drawn in extraordinary detail by incantatory prose. . . . Affecting and transcendent.” —The Washington Post
“[A Little Life] lands with a real sense of occasion: the arrival of a major new voice in fiction. . . . Yanagihara’s achievement has less to do with size . . . than with the breadth and depth of its considerable power, which speaks not to the indomitability of the spirit, but to the fragility of the self.” —Vogue
“Exquisite. . . . The book shifts from a generational portrait to something darker and more tender: an examination of the depths of human cruelty, counterbalanced by the restorative powers of friendship.” —The New Yorker
“A book unlike any other. . . . A Little Life asks serious questions about humanism and euthanasia and psychiatry and any number of the partis pris of modern western life. . . . A devastating read that will leave your heart, like the Grinch’s, a few sizes larger.” —The Guardian
“Exceedingly good.” —Newsweek
“A Little Life is unlike anything else out there. Over the top, beyond the pale and quite simply unforgettable.” —The Independent
“Piercing. . . . [Yanagihara is] an author with the talent to interrogate the basest and most beautiful extremes of human behaviour with sustained, bruising intensity.” —The Times Literary Supplement
“A brave novel. . . . Impressive and moving.” —Literary Review
“Enthralling and completely immersive. . . . Stunning.” —Daily News
“An extraordinary book. . . . The truths it tells are wrenching, permanent.” —Evening Standard
“A tragic love story. . . . A transformative experience, not soon forgotten.” —Minneapolis Star Tribune
“Arresting. . . . An extraordinary work of fiction by a writer of tremendous insight. . . . Yanagihara has a keen, incisive eye.” —Irish Times
“Epic in scope, riveting on every page.” —Bookforum
“The most ambitious chronicle of the social and emotional lives of gay men to have emerged for many years.” —The Atlantic
“A miracle. . . . Yanagihara’s most impressive trick is the way she glides from scenes filled with . . . terrifying hyenas to moments of epiphany.” —Newsday
“Yanagihara achieves great psychological realism. . . . [A Little Life] seems to levitate out of history, edging towards the mythic or incredible.” —The Spectator
“An American tragedy for our time, a haunting plea for redemption.” —Toronto Star
“Devastating. . . . [A Little Life] has so much richness in it—great big passages of beautiful prose, unforgettable characters, and shrewd insights into art and ambition and friendship and forgiveness.” —Entertainment Weekly
“A touching, eternal, unconventional love story. . . . A hymn to serious, lifelong friendship” —The Financial Times
About the Author
Hanya Yanagihara lives in New York City.
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Top customer reviews
Overall, I found it to be an engrossing read; I felt for the characters, I thought it was well written (though not fabulous or outstanding, but decently done, very little purple prose, which I appreciate), and it generated a lot of response from me. I was okay up until the penultimate section "Dear Comrade," which I spent bawling my eyes out over. But the book made me think about larger issues, regarding art and class and sexuality, and I want to address just a few of those issues in my review.
I don't give this book a higher rating, however, because I do think there are some flaws. Certainly it could have been edited more tightly and thus been shorter. Two of the main characters are somewhat short-changed, and I would have liked to have seen further development with them. The initial meeting of the four friends is never fully explained, nor is the meeting and buildup of trust between Jude and Andy, and I would have liked to seen just how Jude came to trust his friends, particularly Andy and Willem, so deeply. Jude's career definitely needed more flushing out; he's a bigshot lawyer but what we see of his personality and private life doesn't fit with that, and I would have liked a better exploration of his life in the courtroom, to make him more three-dimensional as a character. I was also really irked that the novel has no historical setting. It follows these people for more than three decades, but at the very outset, in their youth, they have cell phones and modern technology, so I'm assuming the novel takes you into the 2040s, which is awkward. Also the treatment of queer issues and how society views homosexuality seems very modern but doesn't evolve as the time goes on. Some historical context to anchor the novel, the way key locations in New York anchored it, would have been welcome.
Now, then, to give my two cents on the biggest negative criticism, that this is tragedy porn: Yes, it is a very difficult read. Yes, lots of horrific tragedies are heaped on to the main character, and some may view this as unrealistic overkill. But as someone who works in the counseling profession (though I am NOT a counselor, I just work with them), I can tell you that people who have the history of physical and sexual abuse that Jude has are more likely to face continued abuse as they grow older--they are more likely to get into abusive relationships, for example, and struggle with self-harm and drug abuse. We don't like to talk about these issues, because they are difficult and have no easy solutions. If you think what happens to Jude is unrealistic or overly exaggerated, I have very bad news for you. Child trafficking exists; there are many, many incidents of an authoritative figure--a coach, a doctor, a family member, whoever--taking advantage of young children, sometimes abusing them for years; pedophilic rings do exist, even in America; and of course abuses committed by members in organizations such as the Catholic Church have occurred and continue to occur (and be covered up). I wouldn't say that the suffering Jude experiences is unrealistic. Quite the opposite: These things happen under our noses every day in America. We don't like to face it, but it is reality. We certainly don't like to face the long-lasting consequences; we the public think everything is OK when the pervert goes to jail or whatever, we revel when these bad guys get their comeuppance, but the psychological scarring and warped worldview of the victims continues for the rest of their life. We don't want to acknowledge that some of these victims are going to suffer forever.
Two of the many themes in this novel deal with this idea of "tragedy porn" in an oblique way. The first is that life is not fair; this theme is pretty explicitly stated, even by Jude, fairly early on in the novel. I'm reading this book, particularly the difficult "Dear Comrade" section, and thinking, "My god, life is so unfair! This isn't fair!" And that's part of the point. There is nothing about life that is fair. We are all going to suffer in our lives. We are all going to be or going to know someone who has been abused in some manner, who will attempt or be successful at suicide, who has (sometimes quite severe) mental illness, who struggles with drug abuse, who has been in an abusive relationship, who is injured or killed in an accident, who suffers from a debilitating illness or disability. Life is quite unhappy. I am reminded of a story once told of the Buddha; a grieving mother came to him asking him to heal her dead child, and the Buddha told her to bring him rice from the household of someone who has never been visited by tragedy. She couldn't find anyone in her village untouched, and thus the teaching: All will suffer. No one is exempt from life's ugliness.
The second section in the novel, "The Postman," lays out a lot of themes and world views of the characters, particularly Jude and Harold, and is worth a revisit and a closer read, or, if you are reading it for the first time, you should pay particular attention to this section and keep it in mind as the book goes on. I think a close read of this section might affect your opinion of the novel overall. I think "The Postman", with its discussion of the law and debate between Jude and Harold, is probably the most enlightening as to what the book is really about.
Second, the criticism of the book as tragedy porn is somewhat mirrored in the novel, as artist JB makes a successful career in his paintings, particularly those of Jude. We as readers can criticize the book as tragedy porn, but we are remiss if we do not recognize that within the novel itself, JB uses his friend Jude as tragedy porn. For JB, as with Yanagihara, Jude is subject matter, and JB uses his chosen art medium to comment on Jude. Is this exploitative tragedy porn? Is it wrong of JB to use Jude as material in his paintings? Is it wrong for Yanagihara to use Jude (who is fictional, of course) as material in her book? Both are capitalizing on Jude's pain; within the worldview of the book, JB becomes successful off Jude's suffering, and obviously in our world, Yanagihara has crafted a successful book off Jude's suffering. Of course, it's different because we readers know Jude is fictional, but within the book's world, JB and Jude are both quite real. Is it acceptable for JB to paint and profit off his friend? Is it acceptable for Yanagihara do the same, or is the author crassly manipulating her readers? Is Yanagihara just toying with the emotions of the reader, just piling on the pain in an overwrought manner to elicit a cheap response? I don't think so; I get this sense of manipulation from other authors (such as Jodi Picoult, Mitch Albom, and Alice Sebold), but this novel doesn't feel like cheap manipulation to me. It somehow feels more authentic and sincere.
I think this theme of exploiting tragedy particularly interesting if you carry it further into the real world. Where is the line between tragedy porn and art, or is there even one? I am reminded of some harrowing famous photographs, specifically: the photograph of Phan Th' Kim Phú, the young Vietnamese girl captured running through the street of her village, naked and burned by napalm dropped by South Vietnamese forces during the Vietnam conflict; and the photograph of a starving child in Africa being stalked by a hungry vulture. Do you consider these images tragedy porn? After all, the photographers won prizes and became famous for their work (Kevin Carter, who took the latter photograph, later committed suicide, and his suicide note suggests he was driven to it by his guilt at seeing and photographing such images). Do you believe that these photographs are not tragedy porn because their raw, visceral subjects provide commentary on greater societal and political issues? Is it okay to exploit suffering if you are "proving a larger point"? To me that is the true definition of tragedy porn--capitalizing on the immense suffering of others to further one's own cause! Or perhaps we should step away from "art", and consider: I know people who were shot in the Virginia Tech massacre in April 2007. At a candlelight vigil, one of my friends was in a small group mourning the loss of a dorm-mate, when a cameraman came by, lowered the boom mike into their circle, and recorded their crying. Tragedy porn? Exploitation? Journalism? Gun massacres are headline news, of course, as was the Vietnam war and the photo of the African child--does that make it okay? Where do you personally draw the line in the matter? I'm not looking to pick an argument, I merely think this is a topic worth exploring, and every person is going to have their own red lines on the issue.
I should also note here that I did not find parts of the book to be that tragic. Don't get me wrong, Jude (and others) seriously suffers--but there are many points of happiness and contentment, and two major events that happen to Jude are things I would consider glorious and wonderful. I won't name them, to avoid spoilers, but the book does have some happy moments among all the tragedy; and Jude is blessed with some amazing friends (we should all be so lucky for that!) as well as some horrible abusers. And after all, isn't that what life is? Hence "A Little Life"! It has its glories and its tragedies, but it is a little life all the same. We are all leading our little lives, and we will all experience both joy and tragedy.
So anyway, this is a very small summary of some of the emotions and thoughts this book provoked in me, and that is the reason I enjoyed it so much. While it did have some flaws, it made me THINK, and I like book that makes me think. This book had me squirming and crying at some parts, and laughing and smiling at others, but ultimately it gave me a lot of food for thought, and I appreciate that.
I can admit that while reading Beckett and Kafka, I didn't experience the same level of fear that Yanagihara evokes. I was sometimes afraid to learn more about Jude's (the protagonist) life story. It's just so awful. All the while, she still manages to capture the sense of hope and inevitable dread that comes with watching someone destroy themselves for society's shortcomings. However, for a writer who structured her story to resemble a fairytale, it just doesn't offer the humor (although there's very little room for it) and eccentricity (grotesquerie) that the respective aforementioned writers, employed.
Too, with all this metaphor cramming, she's simply unable to cram in the metaphor behind suffering. For Beckett, it's perhaps a meditation or intellectual reasoning of man's existence--this grotesque need to exist--even though our existence, our legacy, will die right along with our final spin into the sun. It all just ends while we cling to this rather cruel, repetitive sense of hope and purpose. Now, that's challenging. Whereas with Kafka, well that one always escapes me. I rarely know what Kafka's endgame is. Nonetheless, suffering has a purpose.
Point is, the extended metaphor drives our understanding of why characters do the things they do and Yanagihara's Jude doesn't achieve that. His is suffering for suffering's sake, because it feels better than addressing his real problems ("To be, or not to be"). Why actively choose "to be" while actively rejecting the very essence of what it means "to be", which he very well does? Jude's friends desperately try to reach out to him, to know what consumes him, but he just can't understand why and pushes them away. This character flaw ultimately makes him uninteresting and unimportant. When Melville's narrator observes Bartleby to the point of obsession with said character, we learn more about the narrator's fragile state of mind and understanding of himself. This is Melville's opus to the artist's eternal fight against conformity--real dedication and sacrifice for real art. In light of this, Kafka's artist also comes to mind. But Jude suffers because...? His friends suffer because...? There's no real suggestions. This becomes very clear when you read reviews. The reviewers emphasize the language, (which I still, ironically, don't understand) its dark tone, and vivid, uncomfortable imagery. But what about the content?
So, I guess what really disappoints me is: "why?" Why should I suggest you read her book? It's really dark? But it's beautifully written? Maybe I'm not understanding her groundbreaking take on modern suffering. We suffer because we are meant to suffer, because in real life - in our very "absurd" existence - we lack any true sense of agency in our being. Maybe we choose to suffer everyday without even knowing it. Maybe this tale is closer to Beckett than originally thought. Perhaps in a world occupied by perfection, anything less can only be suffering. But then, what does that say about her non-normative characters who aren't able to experience perfection? Perhaps, it's strength is that it's a perfect exercise in style, or more to my point, why banging out an epic novel in 18 months is generally a bad idea because Yanagihara's second novel, and especially it's subject matter, deserves "a little" better. It deserves research, craft, and commitment in balance with melodrama and I just don't see it in A Little Life.
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