I read this book immediately after two (in my opinion) much better but spiritually similar novels by Michael Cunningham (a newly discovered favorite toward whom I am definitely biased), which may have accidentally and perhaps unfairly thrown Yanagihara's flaws into high relief (worth noting, though, that the two Cunningham books in question were, like A Little Life, only his second- and third-published, so the comparison is a fair one).
What followed was a rare case of my nodding in agreement with both the 5- and 1-star reviews, which doesn't even take into account my difficulty with the subject matter, though now's as good a time as any to acknowledge this room's lurking elephant -- A Little Life's trigger/content warnings need their own separate addendum. In that regard, I won't spoil particulars, because Yanagihara clearly meant for the offending episodes to be uncovered in a particular order, though I do question the effectiveness of slowly doling out the sorts of passages a reader who's survived any sort of abuse should be wary of going in. The result is that the book ends up being much more predictable than intended for readers who find themselves needing to stay vigilant for "that" chapter. Suffice it to say, if you find content warnings essential, this book of all books is the one wherein you should absolutely assume "that" chapter is indeed right around the corner and is visited more than once, so have a plan.
Q: What about the dog?
No animals are harmed that aren't already introduced as food.
Q: Obligatory Trump stand-in that instantly dates the book?
For a book starring a racially-diverse cast of mostly LGBTQ men and set in New York City in presumably modern times, it is surprisingly apolitical, save for one character who quickly drops this trait after his first few appearances. Trump had not been elected when this novel was published (or terribly important when she'd started writing it over a decade prior) so there is no conveniently bad-coiffed mayor or dean or landlord with inadequately-sized hands yelling about Mexicans.
Q: You're still salty that Salman Rushdie actually mentioned Gamergate in a novel, aren't you?
YES. WHY DO THIS.
Q: Speaking of ethics in games journalism, does this book pass the Bechdel test, Mr. MAN?
Good lord, no. This book arguably doesn't even have female characters.
Q: WHAT?
Strange choice, but true (aside from the wives of the few straight men who pop in functionally to illustrate that these men are, in fact, straight and totally crush puss offscreen, you guys). Yanagihara has said something to the effect of how this was her attempt at writing a "what if" story where men actually understood and communicated their feelings (i.e. male emotions are now speculative fiction in the vein of Man in the High Castle. We may never know how they work or where they come from).
Q: Okay, what is this book about? And keep in mind that in the decade since we've done this, we've become accustomed to a max of 208 characters.
Then you'll love this feature, and I've put it right at the top so that everyone can get right back to XVideos.
THE ELEVATOR PITCH
Man with brutally traumatic childhood attempts to heal until we run out of book. Happiness is floated but PTSD and deus ex machinas win out. Also a drug addiction plot that lasts two pages then evaporates. (character count: 204)
Q: Thanks, I'm out.
Now for those with longer refractory periods, here's some more detail. Starting, of course, with:
- The main character was given the ham-fisted name of Jude, and if you just so happened not to connect this name with Saint Jude, the patron of lost causes, she’s "helpfully" included a character to point this out to you explicitly. Bless her heart, as we say in Texas, you can tell she really felt this was clever.
- Way too many named characters are undeveloped and function as plot devices (one of them -- a "mean artist" and I swear that's the most she gave me to work with -- only materializes for a page or so, presumably to instigate the aforementioned drug abuse episode, then — I am not making this up — actually laughs villainously before walking out of the novel forever.)
- Less of a gripe and more an amusement -- side characters written by this ostensibly straight woman struggle to understand what a bisexual is, even though it is 2015 and said bisexual works in Hollywood. He sleeps with men and women regularly, but by page 600 he is still trying to figure out whether he is gay or straight. He says this to multiple people and not a single one of them corrects him or even acknowledges the oddity of the question, so I have to believe this is the headspace Yanagihara herself actually occupies.
Q: Aren't YOU bisexual?
That was fast. And yes. When it comes to whether the author's attempts at writing queer men crosses some Twitter-approved line or is just quaint and amusing, one might say that I am, predictably--
Q: Don't.
--"on the fence."
Q: Thanks, I hate it.
You're welcome, but you know what I didn't hate?
THE GOOD:
All these complaints -- and yet! God damn me but I absolutely did get attached to Great Big Sadboi Jude in his Great Big Sadboi Book. This is the shortest amount of time it's ever taken me to finish an 800-page novel (including the times I had to put the book away after yet another child brutalization scene), and given my notoriously short attention span (the somewhat comparably-sized Infinite Jest took me multiple months) this speaks volumes on how effectively she’s recreated the emotional state of a desperately broken man trying his best not to be. At times the book succeeds in spite of its gratuitousness — “little” scenes, such as one where an adult Jude, in an earlier stage of his disability, falls and breaks a memento of his professor-turned-father figure’s deceased son while having jerked away in a trauma response of avoiding his simple hug, broke my heart more than the harder-to-stomach episodes of preteen Jude falling into the hands of one increasingly sadistic abuser after another. If the book repeats itself (and it does) this is admittedly in part because PTSD repeats itself, and Jude’s infinite loop of apologizing, fawning, and shutting down to every kind figure in his adult life does feel authentic to his particular trauma rather than exploitative (even if the situations he’s placed into often veer outlandishly to the latter, and then some). The nonlinear storytelling also mitigates the repetition to a degree. I'll add that I did see other reviews complaining about the language being clunky (which for my part I never noticed) in the vein of Churchill’s “These are the things up with which we cannot put."
Q: Or even "Cunningham, toward whom I am definitely biased"
Quiet you.
Q: This is getting long, can you work in a cat?
And how!
THE TOTALLY UNQUALIFIED VERDICT:
A solid “????” out of 5.
It may take me quite a while to decide how I actually feel about A Little Life. I did not go into this one thinking I would call a book with this many child predators crawling around in it or this many matter-of-fact descriptions of self-mutilation a "page turner," but here we in fact are. The back of Yanagihara's next book (notably, a piece of actual speculative fiction about an alternate America, so that ersatz-45 "Ronald Grump" character may be coming yet) contains a blurb about this one, claiming it "will make your heart grow three sizes like the Grinch."
Q: Did that happen?
That did not happen (thank goodness) but it did give the old ticker a workout all the same. Ultimately though, if I'm going to recommend a pessimistic book about childhood trauma, abusive adults, queer relationships, and close male friendships that also happens to be set in New York, I'm going to instead direct you to the absolutely masterful and already-mentioned Flesh and Blood by Cunningham, or his much lighter take on the same themes, Home at the End of the World. Then, if your takeaway is "I want 500 more pages of this, even if it’s not as good, and I’ve seen Human Centipede 20 times so I defy you to make me flinch” (good luck with that) give this one a look. Just don’t be disappointed if the promised Grinchification doesn’t occur. It’s probably not you.
Q: Human what now?
Don't look it up.
Q: Can you end this review in meme form?
Sure:
