Kelsey
I have conflicting feelings about this book – mainly I hated it. Before I digress into my disappointment, I'll start with a positive (though wildly underwhelming) opinion.
On the one hand, this book has been the topic of many conversations since I started reading it. It also put me into a deep, dark funk for days (which I think is an impressive feat for any author). And, finally, I can't hate on any book too harshly when I was able to sit down and read it for 3+ hours at a time. So from that perspective... Fine. It was engaging, thought-provoking, well-written, etc, etc.
BUT (this is a big but, requiring all caps) the other hand wanted to throw this book (and myself) out the emergency exit of the airplane where I was reading most of it...
Bear with me as I get a little dramatic (if you liked this book, then I expect you won't take issue with any form of dramatic flare): I mentioned having many conversations about this book. I've also had many conversations about death, international conflict, the gender and race pay gap, sexual assault, etc, etc. Should that mean I'm glad those things exist? Because they give me something to talk about? Sure, I was able to read this book for 3hrs straight; I could also doom scroll on Instagram for 3 hours straight, but I wouldn't recommend that to anyone.
A Little Life was self-indulgent grief porn at best. I will concede that there were descriptions and stories of trauma that I found enlightening; I was surprised at how easy it was to relate to Jude's experience of trauma, despite the exaggerated and deeply disturbing circumstances in which it occurred. However, the hyperbolic display of hardship struck me as cheap in many ways. It seemed like the author spent a week or two contemplating the worst things that could possibly happen to a human. Then rather than attempting to artfully display childhood trauma's effects on adults (which was seemingly her goal), she exploited extreme circumstances to demand an emotional response from the reader.
I would have loved this book if it had left just a sliver of room for the imagination. I'd almost compare it to a movie where the director doesn't believe in the audience to put the pieces together themselves; they give you a montage at the end to over-explain how the heist/murder/escape actually went down, frame by frame. I think readers of this book could have walked away with all the same insights into trauma, friendship, and grief without 140 scenes of pedophilia and abuse.
All that being said, I understand that a lot of people loved this book. I'm open to the possibility that my interpretation was simple-minded, and I'd happily be convinced that all of the shit in this book was necessary.
I have conflicting feelings about this book – mainly I hated it. Before I digress into my disappointment, I'll start with a positive (though wildly underwhelming) opinion.
On the one hand, this book has been the topic of many conversations since I started reading it. It also put me into a deep, dark funk for days (which I think is an impressive feat for any author). And, finally, I can't hate on any book too harshly when I was able to sit down and read it for 3+ hours at a time. So from that perspective... Fine. It was engaging, thought-provoking, well-written, etc, etc.
BUT (this is a big but, requiring all caps) the other hand wanted to throw this book (and myself) out the emergency exit of the airplane where I was reading most of it...
Bear with me as I get a little dramatic (if you liked this book, then I expect you won't take issue with any form of dramatic flare): I mentioned having many conversations about this book. I've also had many conversations about death, international conflict, the gender and race pay gap, sexual assault, etc, etc. Should that mean I'm glad those things exist? Because they give me something to talk about? Sure, I was able to read this book for 3hrs straight; I could also doom scroll on Instagram for 3 hours straight, but I wouldn't recommend that to anyone.
A Little Life was self-indulgent grief porn at best. I will concede that there were descriptions and stories of trauma that I found enlightening; I was surprised at how easy it was to relate to Jude's experience of trauma, despite the exaggerated and deeply disturbing circumstances in which it occurred. However, the hyperbolic display of hardship struck me as cheap in many ways. It seemed like the author spent a week or two contemplating the worst things that could possibly happen to a human. Then rather than attempting to artfully display childhood trauma's effects on adults (which was seemingly her goal), she exploited extreme circumstances to demand an emotional response from the reader.
I would have loved this book if it had left just a sliver of room for the imagination. I'd almost compare it to a movie where the director doesn't believe in the audience to put the pieces together themselves; they give you a montage at the end to over-explain how the heist/murder/escape actually went down, frame by frame. I think readers of this book could have walked away with all the same insights into trauma, friendship, and grief without 140 scenes of pedophilia and abuse.
All that being said, I understand that a lot of people loved this book. I'm open to the possibility that my interpretation was simple-minded, and I'd happily be convinced that all of the shit in this book was necessary.