A Little Life

“Who am I? Who am I?”
“You're Jude St. Francis. You are my oldest, dearest friend. You're the son of Harold Stein and Julia Altman. You're the friend of Malcolm Irvine, of Jean-Baptiste Marion, of Richard Goldfarb, of Andy Contractor, of Lucien Voigt, of Citizen van Straaten, of Rhodes Arrowsmith, of Elijah Kozma, of Phaedra de los Santos, of the Henry Youngs. You're a New Yorker. You live in SoHo. You volunteer for an arts organization; you volunteer for a food kitchen. You're a swimmer. You're a baker. You're a cook. You're a reader. You have a beautiful voice, though you never sing anymore. You're an excellent pianist. You're an art collector. You write me lovely messages when I'm away. You're patient. You're generous. You're the best listener I know. You're the smartest person I know, in every way. You're the bravest person I know, in every way. You're a lawyer. You're the chair of the litigation department at Rosen Pritchard and Klein. You love your job; you work hard at it. You're a mathematician. You're a logician. You've tried to teach me, again and again. You were treated horribly. You came out on the other end. You were always you.”

“And who are you?”
“I'm Willem Ragnarsson. And I will never let you go.”

—

The journey that I went on with this novel was...something, to say the very, very least, and it started with a warning. Actually, several, from many different people who, when I expressed that I was even considering picking it up in the first place, were quick to DM me variations of the phrase, “Aja, don't. Do not read that book. Don't do it.” Well, anyone who knows me well enough knows that I am quite the contrarian, and when things come into my view with blaring lights and sirens, warnings and controversy, I just have to explore for myself.

And when I tell you that I am so glad I did, that would be the understatement of the century.

This book - this dense and rich character study, this portrait of a fictional person I think I could safely say I know more intimately than most of my own extended family - was the book to end all books, the narratives to end all narratives. Never have I picked up a book and been so enthralled, so continuously compelled to read one page and then another and another til the sky went from light to dark. Never have I been this engaged by, this taken by a character (Jude), or characters so much so that their failures and successes, their highs and lows feel like my own, feel both thrilling and upsetting, so personal to me. And it got soooo much emotion out of me, smiles and laughs, as well as tears and sobs.

The world this book created in my head was so vast and detailed. Never have I had more fun mentally “casting” people to play each part, never has a literary image produced in my head been so vivid and real. It was absolutely delicious in that right as well. God, all of the lore, the trauma!!!!!

And look, I am trying so hard to give words to what was such a transcendental experience for me, so sorry for all the rambling. But I am just at my wits end with this, y'all. This book was everything to me, and not even a one-million word review could encapsulate that.

Like, I just...I just can't.
Do not listen to the haters or some random people on Twitter who only read the Sparknotes.
Please read this fucking book: today, tomorrow, or somewhere down the road in your life.
I promise you will not regret it!