Completed April 2021
A LITTLE LIFE
There were several points during A Little Life where I was scared to pick it up because I could tell whatever was coming wasn't going to be good. It was if by leaving the book closed I could spare the characters their fates, in a Schrödinger's cat sort of sense.
This sounds ridiculous of course, because it is, but it's credit to the novel's characterisation that I felt this way. The primary cast were authentic and substantial and crafted in a way which was nothing short of masterful. It was invigorating to read such complex and challenging arcs, which never failed to surprise without straying into the implausible.
Jude, who gradually emerged as the central character, was the epitome of this. His voice was unique – simultaneously relatable and unfathomable, transparent and opaque. This conflict was fascinating, and I soon found myself invested in him and his story... which made for difficult reading. From the beginning there were questions surrounding his past, and as the novel progressed a cold horror crept in as the extent of his trauma slowly began to unravel.
It was when the full truth was revealed that I felt most distant to Jude – not through lack of empathy but because of how relatively sheltered my life felt in comparison. I could relate to his physical pain, his insecurity, but when it came to the abuse he underwent I truly believe there is a gap in understanding that cannot be crossed by those who have not been there. It was excruciating to feel so powerless, to feel so desperate to fully comprehend his struggle – and yet be unable to.
In this way, the reader's experience mirrors that of those who surround him, as for decades they try to understand, to break down his walls. But this is impossible – the chasm is too wide. In the end, the most important gift they – and the reader – can offer is to travel with him, in companionship, and relieve him of his burden only as much as he will allow.
Another aspect of the book which stood out to me was the portrayal of disability, which is often absent from fiction. In particular, it was refreshing to see a disabled character whose condition was complex and in flux, and although the novel was unflinching on its impact on his life, it never defined him.
It's hard to deny that this was a pretty harrowing read – I don't think traumatic is too strong a word. But to disregard its value for this reason would be a mistake. The truth is, even in the deepest depths of suffering, light remained. And this is the key takeaway of the book. Happiness is present throughout, even if it's just glimpses at times – and this is what drives the narrative. The belief in and pursuit of happiness is what motivates the characters to be brave, to take risks, to form the connections that make their lives worth living.
Joy has value, regardless its transience and finitude. All things must end, and this does not negate the fact that they happened. Jude found happiness and love, even in the darkness. As can we.
“It had always seemed to him a very plush kind of problem, a privilege, really, to consider whether life was meaningful or not.”