Can An Author Go Too Far? A Little Life and Trauma Dumping
By Features Editor Chloe Barrett
Content Warning: The following article contains references to the topics covered in the novel A Little Life. These include ableism, domestic violence, paedophilia, self-harm, and suicide. For a full list of warnings concerning the book, please visit: https://www.booktriggerwarnings.com/A_Little_Life_by_Hanya_Yanagihara
The definition of trauma is the following: “a deeply distressing or disturbing experience”. It is an umbrella term that can be applied to many life-altering scenarios that occur both mentally and physically. Many keep their trauma hidden deep within themselves, while others find it liberating to discuss and unpack their experiences. Regardless of how one expresses themselves, it is, of course, important to show the utmost respect and support to them. However, is the novel A Little Life doing the exact opposite of that?
The book itself focuses on four best friends in New York and in its lengthy 800 pages, the reader gets glimpses of their relationships from college days all the way to being in their fifties. I believe that it is the greatest character-based book that I have ever read. There is a limited plot, and the book itself is even suspended in time, with no references to any real-world events. The characters are purely at the centre. As the novel progresses, its perspective narrows to one character, in particular, Jude. He is deemed the mysterious one of the group, even earning the moniker of “The Postman”, from his friend JB, which later is employed as the title for the second section of the book: “We never see him with anyone, we don’t know what race he is, we don’t know anything about him … [He’s] post-sexual, post-racial, post-identity, post-past.”
While his friends begin to live successful lives, Jude, despite being a successful lawyer, finds himself haunted by his past, a deeply traumatic upbringing that bleeds into his current life. This is where the novel explores trauma as a subject matter, as Jude’s childhood is filled with a sickening cycle of seemingly never-ending abuse. Written in vivid detail, the writing of Yanagihara, which seemed so beautiful at the beginning of the novel, devolves into stomach-churning lines that require the reader to look away, if only for a brief moment in order to reassure themselves that what they are reading is, in fact, fiction. There is no respite in Jude’s tumultuous life, as when the perspective switches back to a present narrative, he finds himself in the company of an ableist lover, one who beats him close to death. All while these events are laid out for us, Jude is actively self-harming as a method of coping with his trauma, and further descending into an unhealthy lifestyle. With his doctor, Andy, constantly on speed-dial, and his newly adoptive father, Harold, by his side, Jude’s life devolves into a nauseating state of chaos. His best friend, Willem, a successful actor, bears witness to everything and decides to move in with Jude, in the hopes of keeping an eye on him. From there, Jude begins to open up about his past, but not without fail, as their relationship shifts into something more than friendship, which comes with its own set of complications. However, a period of his life with Willem by his side, results in the self-proposed title “The Happy Years”, which, in this book, obviously does not last. Instead, the book throws graphic scene after graphic scene at the reader, which poses the important question: When is this too much?
Having been highly debated years after its initial release in 2015, the novel has been granted the title of “controversial”, and “not suitable” for everyone. However, the query that heavily looms above it proposes if the book’s creation was necessary at all. Yanagihara is an immensely gifted writer, specifically when it comes to her characters, but who was this novel created for, exactly? What audience is it appealing to? It can be boiled down to a simple tagline of a torrent of vigorous abuse reigning down on a disabled gay man. As a woman who has never identified herself as either, what gives her the right to torture a fictional character repeatedly? Many have branded the novel and its content as “torture porn”, which, when you have read it, is an incredibly hard phrase to disagree with. I have read hundreds of books, and of them all, A Little Life is the one that is consistently looming somewhere in my mind. After spending so long with the characters, and being privy to their every traumatic experiences, they began to feel like real people. In the process of initially reading the book, I was sobbing. Now, I rarely cry at media that does not contain a suffering animal at its forefront, that is just how the emotional part of my brain works, but this book had me in tears. My senses were overwhelmed, and Yanagihara’s unrelenting belief that this character could not get better was so wholly distressing. It begs the overall question of should using this much trauma for shock value be allowed?
Because I apparently have a fondness for making my already compromised mental state even worse, I decided to grab a ticket to see the play version of A Little Life in London. It has been running for a few months now, and due to the large demand for tickets, its original run was extended. I was curious about how they would adapt the lengthy book, and with the play running for almost four hours, they packed what they could into the timeframe. Some characters and scenes were inevitably cut, but of course, the graphic moments that oozed with shock value remained. Throughout the entirety of the sold-out show, a few people got up and left, declining to return at any point, an obvious indicator that some moments were too much for them. The theatre had sent out an additional email outlining the content warnings beforehand, and many decided to top up on alcohol in the short interval as a coping mechanism for whatever happened next. James Norton, who played the role of Jude, embodied the character to such an extent that I am baffled as to how he sometimes performs the entire play twice a day. Luke Thompson, the charming Willem by his side, mostly remained on stage in the sidelines, and could often be caught sitting outside the lightning and watching his co-star with an enthralled expression as he is chased around the stage by Elliot Cowan, who was aptly cast to play all of the bad men in Jude’s life. Omari Douglas and Zach Wyatt, JB and Malcolm respectively, were demoted to side characters and lost some of their depth that came across in the novel but were still captivating to watch. The character of Ana, a social worker who was present in Jude’s younger life, was given the upgraded role of an almost omnipresent narrator throughout the script, which was a fascinating performance alongside the entirely male cast. Zubin Varla, a theatre veteran, held his presence against Norton’s heartbreaking performance as Harold, whose gut-wrenching monologue closed the play, ending with the famous quote: “And so I try to be kind to everything I see, and in everything I see, I see him.”
Overall, it was a tear-jerking play about the fragility of humans, with the pessimistic undercurrent that existed within the novel. As I waited at the stage door afterwards, eyes still rimmed with already shed tears that threatened to make a reappearance, the cast piled out with an energetic and grateful air about them. They spoke with everyone and informed me that they were going out for drinks afterwards to decompress from their weighted performance. (James Norton also went to see Lana Del Rey that night, he might just be the strongest warrior among us.)
Personally, I do not think that I would recommend the novel to anyone. The writing is beautiful and the characters themselves are an excellent example of fully fleshed-out beings, but it is most certainly an acquired taste, and I do not want to be responsible for the emotional hurricane that you will get trapped within. Please, for the love of all things, research the trigger warnings beforehand, and prepare yourself. Believe me, you will need it.
If you would like to experience the play, it is being shown for a limited time in multiple cinemas nationwide. Unfortunately, Cork is not one of them, but if you are willing to make the journey up to Dublin or Limerick, for example, and are a fan of crying in public, it may be a worthwhile road trip for you.
