A book I read last spring ruined me for books for a little while. Because after I finished, I had such a book hangover that I didn’t feel ready to go back to the trough right away. When I did, the first 50 pages of anything would feel so pale by comparison that I’d wander off mentally, then physically. It didn’t help that we were in the midst of moving, so my attention span was pretty compromised.
The book is A LITTLE LIFE, by Hanya Yanagihara, and news came out last week that it had made the longlist of nominees for the National Book Award. Irrationally, I felt a pride of relational ownership, like a niece had made the US hopscotch team, because that’s what falling in love with a (then) little-known book feels like to me. You become its advocate, you feel like everyone should see how spectacular it is — what, you’ve never seen my niece hopscotch? how can you not have seen that fancy footwork, those vertiginous transitions between movements…
I don’t recommend the book wily-nily to everyone because it’s a tough read — not tough on the sentence level, but in the sense that the subject matter isn’t for the faint of heart, circling back constantly to the suffering in a character’s past and how he struggles to overcome it, secretly, his entire life. I won’t say more, though the reviews always do, because I think it diminishes the scope of the book, intimidates potential readers, and ruins the joy of discovery. But to me it was a brilliant book about lifelong male friendship, a topic not often written about with depth unrelated to sports or military, and what it truly means to look out for one another.
Someone brought this collection of quotes (http://lithub NULL.com/hanya-yanagiharas-a-little-life-in-10-quotations/) to my attention the other day, a blog feature that offers a hopscotchy sense of a novel through 10 chronological excerpts. I think it gives as good a sense of the book as any review, and without any real spoilers, which is nearly impossible to do.
I can’t promise you’ll fall for it as arrestingly as I did. But I can promise you’ll never forget the characters brought so brilliantly, heartbreakingly to life in Jude and Willem.
Of Jude: “Always, he wonders why and how he has let four months—months increasingly distant from him—so affect him, so alter his life. But then, he might as well ask—as he often does—why he has let the first fifteen years of his life so dictate the past twenty-eight. He has been lucky beyond measure; he has an adulthood that people dream about: Why, then, does he insist on revisiting and replaying events that happened so long ago? Why can he not simply take pleasure in his present? Why must he honor his past? Why does it become more vivid, not less, the further he moves from it?”