hii im river this is my a little life sideblog. main is @0kultra!
this blog will most likely be for quotes and art lol but ill update this post as necessary if i start posting more things :-)
tags below <3
Jules of Nature
$LAYYYTER
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
styofa doing anything
Mike Driver
Not today Justin
RMH
Today's Document
i don't do bad sauce passes
wallacepolsom
will byers stan first human second
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
trying on a metaphor
AnasAbdin
Keni

Product Placement

shark vs the universe
Peter Solarz
seen from Türkiye
seen from France
seen from United States
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seen from Canada
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seen from Singapore

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Greece
seen from France

seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from Türkiye
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seen from Saudi Arabia
@judeaftersickness
hii im river this is my a little life sideblog. main is @0kultra!
this blog will most likely be for quotes and art lol but ill update this post as necessary if i start posting more things :-)
tags below <3
Neat bit of foreshadowing in 'A Little Life'
Here, Harold is explaining his case about the football team who all died while driving a van they borrowed. It's presented as a moral dilemma of whether the parents of the dead team members were right to sue the owner of the van. Jude is the only one who calls it "right" even if it might not be fair. At the time, neither Harold nor the reader know why he said that.
But THEN, after Willem's death, it seems that the hypothetical situation is brought to life as Jude sues basically anyone who was even remotely involved in the crash, even if it may ruin their lives.
There's probably more to it but for now I'm just sharing this neat little detail:)
Brutality and Violation in A Little Life
Okay, so, I just want to talk about this a little bit. I’m going to go into some pretty heavy spoilers for this book here, so if you haven’t read it yet, you should skip this post.
I’ve seen some people accuse and refer to the violence and abuse we see in A Little Life as “torture porn”, saying it’s excessive and unnecessary, using their own shocked reactions and otherwise dry-eyed responses during such scenes in the book to back up their claims. I want to address this, because I think it’s an entirely wrong take, and I’ll just explain why.
The entire point of A Little Life is to confront the reader with the reality of certain sorts of lives. And as Hanya Yanaghihara has said, some lives, the lives we don’t see, the lives we are often so afraid to look at, are violent lives, brutal lives, torturous lives. And this book specifically forces the reader to come to terms with those violent sorts of lives, and to come to terms with the consequences, with the results of people, specifically children, living through real violence and abuse.
The abuse Jude goes through in the book is extreme, yes, but not anywhere near impossible, or even improbable. These sorts of things DO happen to people, every day. Once again, just because we don’t see it, or hear about it, doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. It is. And what this book does, what makes it so important, is that it forces us, the reader, to look at something, and acknowledge something as existing, that we otherwise would likely turn away from and pretend wasn’t there. The book doesn’t allow you to do that. It MAKES you look, and so, it makes you see the people that have gone through the kinds of horrors Jude goes through. It makes you aware, whether you want to be or not, of their existence.
Now, in terms of practical story telling, the abuse and violence we see in the book is also necessary, and here’s why.
In order for the reader to fully comprehend why Jude is as damaged as he is, we need to see what caused that damage. Jude’s struggle in the present, his mental health issues, his self-loathing, his inability, no matter how many people tell him he is deserving of kindness and love, no matter how many people tell him he’s good, or extraordinary, his inability to believe it, the impossibility for him to believe it, needs to be explained. Because Jude’s life IS a good one, on the surface. He’s professionally and personally successful. He has a high paying, important job, he has numerous friends who love and adore him, he has enough money to live a comfortable life of privilege and luxury, he’s respected, etc… So why is he so messed up? Making vague, half-hidden allusions to a dark and abuse filled past wouldn’t be satisfying enough, narratively, to explain away WHY Jude hates himself as much as he does, why he feels the need to self-harm to such an extreme and devastating degree, why his memories haunt and torture him so persistently, why he’s so unable to make them stop. A Little Life deals largely in psychology, and patterns of behavior. Jude thinks very specific things about himself, all of which are rooted in the abuse he suffered as a child. His belief that he’s unclean, that he’s spoiled and guilty, his belief that he’s a bad person, his inability to say no, or to defend himself, or understand that he even is ALLOWED to defend himself, his cutting, etc… All of this is tied up, inextricably, with what happened to him in childhood. We, as readers, NEEDED to witness Jude’s past in order to understand his present. Without it, without witnessing specifically what it is that happened to him in his childhood, we wouldn’t have nearly the psychological understanding of Jude that we end up having. His struggles and difficulties and sufferings in the present wouldn’t make any sense to us. We would wonder, by the end, why it was he felt he needed to end his life, rather then the perfect understanding we’re actually left with, rather then the empathy we have for his choice, and so one of the driving and most important themes of the book (the question of justified suicide, of what makes life unendurable) would be lost, and that would be a massive failure, and make the book far lesser as a work of art. With the inclusion of Jude’s past, the detailed and unflinching view we get into his past, we aren’t left to wonder why he’s as broken and damaged as he is, we don’t question his pain and suffering, we don’t ever think he’s being overdramatic or self-indulgent. Instead we understand perfectly why he is the way he is. As Andy tells Willem at one point, make him tell you what happened to him, and you’ll understand why he is the way he is. Like Willem needed to hear the truth, as brutal and horrible as it was, we too, as readers, needed to hear it as well.
There’s one other point I want to address too, which I’ve heard some people posit as proof that the violence and abuse we see in the book was included only for the sake of shock value. They say during these scenes of past abuse, they felt more shocked than anything, but didn’t find themselves tearing up or particularly emotional, and this is somehow supposed to be proof that the scenes are excessive and unnecessary and only included to shock the reader.
To me, this claim only shows poor reading comprehension. It shows a failure to understand the view point presented in these flashbacks.
All of the abuse scenes are told from Jude’s perspective. We are witnessing them through Jude’s eyes. One point Hanya Yanagihara has made again and again in interviews about child abuse, about what makes it such a particularly awful thing, is that children don’t possess the intellectual or emotional capacity to understand what it is that’s happening to them, and so they aren’t able to process it at all. They aren’t able to comprehend it.
While these things are happening to Jude, then, while he’s being beaten, or emotionally, mentally, or sexually abused, he doesn’t have the mental or emotional maturity yet to comprehend why these things are happening to him, or what these things even are. And again, remember, these scenes are told to us through Jude’s perspective on them, his thoughts, his feelings. Jude can’t understand what’s happening to him. While we as readers can understand it, and know intellectually that what is occurring is a tragedy, and heartbreaking, Jude can only respond to it with fear and confusion. He doesn’t have the mental or emotional capacity yet to be heartbroken, or sad, over what’s happening. He only has the capacity to be confused and afraid. And those are the emotions we’re presented with during these scenes. Confusion and fear.
Early on in the abuse, Jude also responds in the way children do when something is happening to them that they don’t understand. He throws temper tantrums. He becomes violent, screaming and throwing himself against walls and onto the floor, rebelling in a confused state of pain and terror to something that he can sense is bad, but doesn’t yet understand WHY it’s so. Eventually, in response to these tantrums, his abusers beat him badly enough, enough times, that Jude learns responding at all to what’s happening to him only makes it worse, and so he learns to repress what he’s feeling. He stops throwing tantrums, he stops screaming, he stops crying, and he shuts down. Again, remember, these flashbacks are being shown to us entirely from Jude’s perspective. So he shuts down and goes entirely within himself, learning, even , to disassociate during instances of abuse, to pretend it isn’t happening to him. That he’s only somehow witnessing the event, not experiencing it. The scenes of abuse then take on a dreary, resigned, defeated quality. They’re MEANT TO. Because, again, we’re experiencing them through Jude’s perspective. The abuse becomes an almost mundane, agonizing and oppressive part of his every day life. An inescapable reality for him. A common and inevitable part of his existence. Jude falls into a state of despair. He isn’t consciously aware of feeling anything but that resignation, then, and we feel that resignation with him. Extremity of emotion is missing from these scenes on purpose, because we’re meant to feel what Jude is feeling, which is nothing at a certain point. He disassociates, detaches, and represses his anger and pain and fear. It’s the only way he has of coping with the brutality of his life.
I think it’s also important to acknowledge the sinister, creeping nature of the abuse, and how it’s portrayed, especially in regards to Brother Luke and Dr. Traylor. More than intending to make the reader feel sad, or heartbroken, the scenes with these two, main abusers are meant to invoke in the reader a real sense of unease and unsettlement and fear. We’re aware, in a way Jude is not, that these men are manipulating him, and that their apparent kindness is nothing more than a ruse. Our awareness of this reality, while simultaneously witnessing Jude’s ignorance and naivety, while witnessing his trust, is incredibly disturbing, because we know these men are going to molest him at some point. This isn’t meant to make us cry, so much as it’s meant to make us deeply uncomfortable and frightened for Jude. We know what’s coming, even as Jude doesn’t, and it’s awful to see. And then, once again, we experience the abuse through Jude’s perspective, and once again, because of his lack of emotional or mental maturity, because of his inability to fully understand what’s happening to him, the emotions we find conjured in us are ones of confusion and fear and despair, rather than extreme heartbreak. These scenes aren’t meant to make us cry, they’re meant to make us understand what Jude is experiencing and feeling during this period of his life, which is, after a certain point, just simply resignation, and an oppressive sense of inescapability. More than anything, it is an endless drudge of misery with no end in sight, and that’s the feeling we as readers are left with, because it’s what Jude himself is feeling. He rarely cries, he never shows anger, he never rebels. He never shows any extremity of emotion. He is, more and more, introverted and emotionally suppressed, and once again, that oppressive inevitability which marks his existence is the primary feeling we’re left with.
It isn’t until Jude is older, and able to mentally comprehend what actually happened to him, that the heartbreaking tragedy behind it all comes more to the surface, and the emotions Jude, and thus, the reader, go through are more extreme in their intensity. When Jude starts to realize, as an adult, the nature of what was actually done to him, that’s when we’re met with more emotionally charged reactions from him, and in turn, we find ourselves responding with more emotion. It’s why Jude’s struggles in the present are so heartbreaking, because he’s no longer able to separate himself from the act like he had as a child, he is no longer able to pretend it happened to someone else, to escape inside himself, to shut down emotionally. He’s hit with the full brunt of his reality, and it’s devastating, both to him, and to us.
Hanya Yanaghihara has said that children are far more accepting of terrible living conditions and abuse and ill treatment than an adult would be, because they simply don’t know any better, because they simply don’t know anything else. Whatever their lives are, that’s all they can imagine as reality. They can’t imagine anything past it. And that’s what we see with Jude. As a child, while all of these terrible things are happening to him, he grows to simply accept it as his reality, and can’t imagine a life beyond it, and so he reacts to it with a deadened resignation. There’s an oppressive, suffocating sense to what he’s experiencing, more than extreme sadness, and once again, we as readers are meant to experience that oppressive suffocation with him. When he grows up, and his life improves, and he learns that life can be not just better, but infinitely so, that’s when he starts to understand what happened to him, when he begins to understand the injustice and cruelty of it, and the heartbreaking aspect of it becomes more clear, to both him and to us.
So, in conclusion, the arguments or criticisms people level at this book, particularly in regard to the scenes of abuse, don’t, in my view, hold much, if any weight, because they seem to fail entirely to grasp the purpose behind any of it. It makes them uncomfortable, which it’s meant to, and because it makes them uncomfortable, they’ve decided, as a means of relieving that discomfort, to dismiss it as unnecessary and excessive and included only for shock value, as a cheap trick to ring emotion out of the reader. Again, these sorts of takes fail to understand the purpose or importance of Jude’s past being revealed the way it is. This book is uncompromising, and understands the necessity of facing the ugly reality of child abuse head on. It understands that it achieves nothing by skirting around the issue, or by coddling the reader and making the grim and horrific reality of its subject matter more palatable for them. It would do both a disservice to Jude as a character, and our understanding of why he ends up where he does, and a disservice to real life victims of child abuse, who aren’t afforded the luxury of getting to pretend that what happened to them wasn’t so bad, who aren’t afforded the luxury of looking at it askance and at a remove. The point of this book is to show the lifelong and devastating consequences of child abuse. Jude is unable to escape the pain and vividness of his memories. He can’t get away from them. He’s made to live with them every moment of every day of his life, made to relive the horror of his past again and again, and the reader too is meant to be unable to escape it, is made to relive those moments with him, precisely so that they can then better understand Jude’s suffering, and why life is so difficult for him.
That’s the entire point.
The Nature of Tragedy in A Little Life
So there’s another element in A Little Life,and other works which deal in a similar fashion with the same subject matter, whichI want to talk about. Spoilers ahead, for anyone who hasn’t read the book.
I see, very often, with works of art that deal with the subject of child abuse, particularly child sexual abuse, (specifically I’m thinking of Banana Fish) and which have the conviction to follow through on depicting the negative, devastating consequences of it, an almost violent backlash by a certain number of readers, sometimes manifesting as flat denial (a refusal to accept the tragic nature of the story), sometimes manifesting as unjust and vitriolic negativity, sometimes resulting in attacks on the author themselves. Every time I see this sort of reaction to a book like A Little Life, it reminds me of how so many people, particularly it seems in Western culture, don’t seem to understand the nature of tragedy, and the importance of tonal consistency within a tragic story. A Little Life is a tragedy, because it’s central character, Jude, is a tragic character. In order to maintain narrative integrity, the narrative has to follow through on its tonal convictions. It’s incredibly frustrating, seeing people complaining and talking about how a character dying at the end of a story didn’t “deserve” to die, or how it shouldn’t have happened because they went through so much, etc... It shows a total failure to understand the actual message of what they’ve just read. It isn’t about what is or isn’t deserved. It’s about reality, and an honest portrayal of child abuse and what it does to a person. Real life rarely gifts good people with happiness JUST for being good. Real life rarely gives good people what they deserve. Very often, good people end up having pain filled, tragic lives, and there’s no reason for it, there’s no justification for it, there’s no POINT to it. Karma doesn’t exist in reality, and this notion that good people will be given the life they’ve earned, and bad people will be punished for being bad, is fanciful at best, and actually a destructive concept at worst.
That’s very much what we see being depicted in A Little Life. The danger inherent in believing that we’re given the life we deserve has never been more apparent than in Jude’s character himself.
Jude is a good person. He’s an exceptionally good person, and just an exceptional person in general. He’s brilliantly intelligent, incredibly gifted, extraordinarily good looking, kind, compassionate, generous. He cares deeply and selflessly for all of his friends and loved ones. He never feels any sort of jealousy or envy toward them for their success, but only genuine joy and contentment. He supports them all as fully as he’s capable, in whatever endeavors they undertake, and encourages them in every way he knows how. He never asks too much of them, he never burdens them directly. He never even asks for their help, even when he’s struggling horribly. He never demands of his friends that they change, he never tries to make them into anyone else, he never tells them there’s anything wrong with them. He accepts and loves all of them for who they are. He is, undoubtedly, the most selfless and giving character in the entire book, routinely placing the happiness and comfort of everyone else above his own. When one takes into account the absolute horror and suffering Jude experienced in his life, the truly sickening ways in which he was treated and how he was raised to think of himself, the hard and cruel lessons he was taught about the world, and the trustworthiness of people, his earnest and continued ability to love and be loved is nothing short of a miracle. Jude had every reason to forever mistrust, to forever be, to a crippling degree, paranoid and hateful, to forever despise people, and see them all as enemies. It can only be an overwhelming, natural inclination toward goodness, despite every element of his upbringing doing its best to stamp that goodness out of him, that can be credited with Jude holding on to that ability to give and receive love. Nothing in his first 15 years of life should have allowed for the possibility of Jude turning out the way he did as a person. And yet he did.
But then, this natural, inherent goodness, if the people who cry about what a person deserves and what a person earns are to be believed, should have shielded Jude from anything bad happening to him, ever. And by that same, absurd logic, the terrible things which happened to Jude must have, in some way, been deserved and earned. He must have done something to be treated so horribly.
This is what Jude ends up believing about himself, and ultimately, it’s what drives him to take his own life. The truly toxic, devastating, tragic belief that we get what we deserve.
A book like A Little Life shows us, of course, the tragic fallacy of such a belief, because if there’s anything any reader of the story comes away knowing, it is that Jude didn’t deserve any of the bad things that happened to him. Not a single one. They instead come away knowing he deserved the opposite. As Harold says in the end, he deserved happiness.
But karma isn’t real, and a person’s life isn’t dictated or mapped out by what they deserve, what they’ve earned, who they are. As Hanya Yanagihara put it so simply, most of the time, it just comes down to luck. Nothing more.
It is ironic, then, that people who complain about stories like this one and its tragic ending are failing so spectacularly to see how, in doing so, in demanding a happy ending, in demanding the character “get what they deserve”, are themselves pushing the same, destructive concept which lead to Jude believing himself to be a bad person, which lead to Jude believing himself undeserving and unworthy of the love he was given, which lead to Jude feeling so inescapably tormented and so self-loathing, which lead, ultimately, to Jude killing himself.
The empathy we see in A Little Life is immense, in how it understands and dissects the deep tragedy of how abuse, especially child abuse, can completely destroy a person’s sense of self-worth, and plant in them the lifelong struggle to ever believe in their own value as a human being. By following through on the tragic nature of Jude’s life, A Little Life refuses to undermine or dismiss his suffering. It refuses to marginalize the enormity of what he went through, it refuses to shrug away the devastating consequences and impact of the abuse he endured, or the weight and impact of his experiences on his sense of self and self-esteem. By having the book end with Jude’s suicide, we, as readers, are forced to confront the stark, horrific reality of Jude’s childhood, and the gross injustice of what was done to him. By refusing to give us a happy ending, by refusing to give Jude what he deserved, A Little Life refuses to downplay his pain, it refuses to wave away his torment, it refuses to treat the trauma of his past, the suffering of his childhood, with anything less than the gravity it deserves. And, ultimately, it also refuses to push the destructive notion that good things happen to good people just for being good, and it’s opposite, that bad things happen to bad people just for being bad. A book which refuses to place our own comfort over its commitment to honesty and realism, or its empathy for victims of abuse.
The Dichotomy of Jude the Lawyer versus Jude the Man:
"He was a gentle person (though not to himself), gentle in manners and voice, and yet in the courtroom that gentleness burned itself away and left behind something brutal and cold. This was about seven months after the incident with Caleb, five months before the incident to follow, and as I watched him reciting the witness's own statements back to her, never glancing down at the notepad before him, his face still and handsome and self-assured, I kept seeing him in the car that terrible night, when he had turned from me and had protected his head with his hands when I reached out to touch the side of his face, as if I were another person who would try to hurt him. His very existence was twinned: there was who he was at work and who he was outside of it; there was who he was then ad who he had been; there was who he was in court and who he had been in the car, so alone with himself that I had been frightened."
The dichotomy between how Jude behaves in the courtroom versus how he is in his actual, everyday life, speaks volumes about the damage of the abuse he suffered and how that damaged impacted every aspect of his existence.
Jude was such an abused person that he'd had any ability to become angry on his own behalf completely beaten out of him, both figuratively and metaphorically. Harold speaks here about the stark contrast between Jude's manner while acting as a lawyer and his manner outside that environment. How in the courtroom, he's a killer, intensely aggressive and unyielding and merciless, but outside of it, he's wilting and withdrawn and afraid. Harold notes how Jude takes pleasure in and enjoys dismantling witnesses on the stand, and how completely at odds his demeanor in court is with his demeanor outside it, where he's always been an incredibly gentle person.
Jude's aggression in the courtroom is a result of the fact that, Jude is angry. He's filled with rage over what his life has been, over what's been done to him, over the cruelty he's endured, but he's been so beaten down and destroyed by that cruelty, that he genuinely believes that he doesn't have a right to his rage. He doesn't think he deserve to feel angry over what was done to him, because his self-esteem, his sense of self-worth, has been reduced to nothing. And so the courtroom, and his profession as a litigator, offers Jude an outlet for the rage he feels, for the aggression he feels over what's been done to him. He's able to get it out, not on his own behalf, but on behalf of his clients. Jude doesn't become a killer in the courtroom because he's a cruel person, or because he enjoys causing others misery. He becomes a killer in the courtroom because it's his only means of expressing his anger and pain. He doesn't believe he's allowed to show those emotions, to feel those things, not for himself, but if it's for somebody else, if it's aggression expressed toward a professional obligation, then it's okay.
This seeming contradiction in Jude encapsulates so wholly what a tragedy his life was, demonstrating in devastating fashion the consequences of child abuse. That he suffered such overwhelming injustice and brutality, and as a direct result of that abuse, wasn't able to feel anger for himself, even as he, more than anyone, deserved to feel anger. It shows in the worst way the stifling and oppressive results of treating someone like they're worthless, especially a child. To make someone who's been so sickeningly wronged believe they have no right to feel angry over it, to make them believe so thoroughly that they deserved such cruelty, that they have no, real means to express the hurt it's left them with, is such a travesty. And that's what happened to Jude.
He took out his aggression in the courtroom because he was never allowed that aggression toward his abusers. To express it, to express his rage over what was done to him, to the people who did it to him, only ever resulted in his further degradation and suffering, and so he learned and was conditioned to push that anger down until he wasn't able to feel it for himself at all, indeed, until he was afraid to feel it for himself.
I can't think of a greater tragedy than that.
Dog Woman, Chris Abani
i've always felt very awkward posting about my own writing but here's the fic </3. it's a canon divergence where willem survives the car crash, but suffers a major traumatic brain injury. you could call it a fix-it I GUESS since willem lives, but it's not exactly HAPPY lmao. it's a short first chapter, but if i nitpick it for too long i'll never post it
i am being so so so brave and posting on ao3 for the first time in like four years.
am i insane. I'm watching the dutch version of the allife screenplay and I think it's so so so bad. Is the UK version better. And by better I mean is it written in a way that represents them even remotely closer to the book
ok
oh I see. it was the crime of wanting. that's why I deserve it.
obligatory mid april happy birthday jude st. francis post
Jude when the hyenas came back after going off his meds
Joy Sullivan, from “These Days People Are Really Selling Me On California”, Instructions for Traveling West
Ilya Kaminsky, from “A City Like a Guillotine Shivers on Its Way to the Neck”, Deaf Republic
The Backwards Man in His Hotel Room by Diane Arbus, 1961 | How I Wrote My Novel: Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life
"For a decade, I thought and thought about that image: I knew I had some words to put to it, but it wasn’t until I began writing this book that I knew that A Little Life would be, in some way, at least, the text that I’d write to accompany that photograph. Although I always describe the book as largely concerning itself with male friendship, I also intended it as a portrait of loneliness — specifically, the kind of loneliness that only city dwellers know."