By Hanya Yanagihara
On page 480, I laid Hanya Yanagihara’s, A Little Life, down and came close to putting it back on my bookshelf, unfinished. There are really no words to describe the vast range of emotions I experienced while reading this sad and marvelous book.
A Little Life is the story of four men and their friendships with each other and with those outside of their circle. At the heart of this tale is the story of one man, Jude, a man with a horrible, unspeakable childhood. It is about trust broken into a million shards, each bearing parts of his story, each one sharp enough to devastate any one person. He survives and he loves, unbearably because of, and in spite of, his past.
I have sons and I wanted to both hold this book close and tear pages out by the handful.
One character, (you’ll need to read this to find out who it is) speaks to why I thought of those boys/men while I read this tale, why I felt sick to my stomach just imagining them having similar lives. “I have never been one of those people- I know you aren’t either- who feels that the love one has for a child is somehow a superior love, one more meaningful, more significant, and grander that any other… But it is a singular love, because it is a love whose foundation is not physical attraction, or pleasure, or intellect, but fear. You have never known fear until you have a child, and maybe that is what tricks us into thinking that it is more magnificent, because the fear itself is more magnificent.”
This book tells a story that is profoundly impactful and beautiful. It is about grief and pain and their opposites, love and faith and profound connection. It sits with me still, weeks after finishing it. Truly one of the most amazing novels I’ve read in a very long time.