You obliterated me. You damn well messed me up. There were paragraphs and pages where I had to stop because I was struggling to release the pressure that was crushing my chest. I had to reel myself and emerge from the story's depths so that I could breathe; to remind myself that my lungs are deflated and that they need to function properly and that I must stand up and shake off droplets of grief. To recover from the flurry of punches to the gut, to suck back the air that was knocked out of me. To stop the world from spinning as my eyes sped through thousands of words. To remind myself that I am still lucky, to remind myself that I am still safe, before I plunge into the novel's depths once again.
Then, to brace my body for the impact of shifting narratives (especially the few final ones), the remaining words that I knew would deliver the hardest blow.
I knew there was a right time to finally fish you out of my TBR pile. I knew that it must be when I am emotionally prepared and ready.
For those who haven't yet read "A Little Life" and are planning to, please know that it is a heavy book loaded with heavy issues that may trigger your mind to spiral. To call this novel dark and gloomy is an understatement. Prepare for the pain.
Yet, even after all that, I highly appreciated this reading experience. First time diving into prose that juggles themes of horrendous traumas and bright, complex friendships, of how they blend and clash and affect the fragile, broken self living in an often cruel age of anxiety.















