A Little Life: A Journey I Didn’t Know I Needed

It’s been ten long years since I last picked up a fictional book. And to be completely honest, I wasn’t even aware of how much time had passed. Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that fiction no longer had a place in my life. I was immersed in non-fiction, in self-help books, business guides, biographies, and everything else that promised to teach me something. The allure of success stories, productivity hacks, and lessons on personal growth consumed me. They seemed important—necessary, even. But somewhere along the pages of these books, I had lost sight of something crucial: the power of a good story.

I used to love stories. As a child, I devoured books, getting lost in the worlds of fantasy, adventure, and human connection. But somewhere, amidst the noise of the real world, I started thinking that stories were indulgences, distractions—things I could no longer afford. I thought they didn’t teach me anything. They didn’t add to my ‘growth.’

But then something shifted.

Maybe it’s the season of life I’m in right now—feeling a little burned out from constant self-improvement. Perhaps it’s that I’ve been yearning for something more. And here’s the thing I’ve realized: Sometimes, stories teach you in ways that no ‘how-to’ book can. They teach you empathy, compassion, and how to be human in a world that feels increasingly cold. (And believe me, I could learn some empathy)

And so, after all these years, I decided to pick up a book again. And not just any book, but A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara.

How A Little Life Found Me

The decision wasn’t immediate. In fact, it all started with a post. One of my mentors—a woman whose perspective and guidance I’ve always deeply respected—shared her thoughts on this book. The way she described it was so compelling. The idea of a book doing that was enough to make me sit up and take notice.

I immediately looked up A Little Life. The reviews were mixed—some said it was devastatingly beautiful, others warned it could be too intense, too emotionally draining. But something about it felt like an invitation, a gentle nudge telling me that I needed to go on this journey myself.

Now, if I’m being honest, I didn’t actually know what I was getting into. I had heard whispers about the book’s themes—trauma, survival, the fragility of human existence—but I didn’t understand just how deeply it would affect me.

Nevertheless, I had to start. So, I picked it up. And just like that, I was swept into the story.

What followed was unlike anything I’d ever encountered. This wasn’t just a book—it was a journey, an emotional reckoning, a mirror held up to the deepest parts of the human experience.

At its heart, A Little Life is the story of four friends—Jude, Willem, Malcolm, and JB—and the lives they build together in New York City. But to call it a story of friendship feels inadequate. This is a book about trauma, survival, love, and the relentless search for belonging.

And for me, it was always about Jude St. Francis....

Meeting Jude

Jude isn’t just the protagonist of A Little Life—he’s its beating heart. From the very beginning, there’s something about Jude that draws you in. He’s quiet, composed, and deeply private. His friends love him fiercely, but even they can sense the walls he’s built around himself. Those walls aren’t just there to protect him—they’re there to protect the world from the weight of his past.

As the story unfolds, those walls begin to crack, and you see the scars—both literal and metaphorical—that Jude carries. His childhood is revealed in fragments, each one more harrowing than the last. The abuse he endured is almost too much to comprehend, yet Yanagihara’s writing forces you to sit with it, to feel it, to bear witness. As someone, who has a little history with the scars, it was uncomfortable for me to sit with the story. It felt as though my own scars had started to dance again.

What struck me most about Jude was his grace. It wasn’t the kind of grace that comes from strength or confidence. It was the grace of survival—a quiet, fragile, and deeply human grace that made me ache for him.

Jude’s pain is palpable, but it’s his resilience that lingers. He moves through the world carrying an unfathomable weight, yet he still finds ways to show up for the people he loves. There’s a scene where he meticulously bakes a cake for Willem’s birthday—a seemingly small act, but one that speaks volumes about who Jude is.

For Jude, love is expressed in action. Even when he struggles to accept love from others, he gives it freely, in the only ways he knows how.

The Duality of Strength and Vulnerability

What makes Jude such an unforgettable character is the way he embodies both strength and vulnerability.

On the surface, he’s accomplished, brilliant, and unshakably loyal. He’s the friend who will drop everything to help you, the colleague who will work tirelessly to get things done. But beneath that exterior lies a man who is deeply wounded, whose self-worth has been shattered by years of trauma.

There’s a moment in the book where Jude reflects on the love his friends have for him. He doesn’t understand it—can’t understand it—because he’s spent his entire life believing he’s unlovable. That belief is so deeply ingrained that even the purest acts of kindness feel undeserved. Reading those passages broke me.

How often do we carry invisible wounds? How often do we let those wounds dictate how we see ourselves and the world around us?

Jude’s story is a reminder that strength isn’t the absence of vulnerability. It’s the courage to keep going, even when you feel like you can’t. It’s showing up, even when you want to hide. And sometimes, it’s letting others love you, even when you don’t think you’re worthy of it.

The Lessons I Didn’t Know I Needed

Before A Little Life, I thought I knew what books could offer me. I thought I’d outgrown stories, that they couldn’t teach me anything I couldn’t learn from a self-help book or a TED Talk.

But this book taught me something I never expected.

It taught me to sit with discomfort. Jude’s story isn’t an easy one to read. There were times I had to close the book, take a deep breath, and let the emotions settle. But those moments of discomfort were also moments of growth.

It taught me to see people—not just their achievements or their smiles, but the pain they carry in silence.

And perhaps most importantly, it taught me about love. Not the romantic kind, but the kind that exists in friendships, in chosen families, in the quiet acts of care that make life bearable.

The Weight of Connection

One of the most profound aspects of A Little Life is the way it explores connection.

Jude’s relationships with his friends—especially Willem—are the anchors of his life. They’re not perfect relationships; they’re messy, complicated, and sometimes painfully one-sided. But they’re real.

Willem’s love for Jude is unwavering. He sees Jude in a way no one else does, not just as someone to be pitied, but as someone to be cherished. His love isn’t about fixing Jude or saving him—it’s about being there, consistently, even when it’s hard.

That kind of love is rare, and it made me think about the connections in my own life. Do I show up for the people I love in the ways they need me to? Do I create spaces where they can be fully themselves, without fear or judgment?

Jude’s story reminded me that the most meaningful connections are the ones that allow us to be vulnerable. They’re the ones that make us feel seen, even in our darkest moments.

Hanya Yanagihara’s Unflinching Prose

Hanya Yanagihara doesn’t just write; she immerses you. Her prose is raw, unrelenting, and unapologetically honest. She doesn’t flinch from pain or try to soften it. Instead, she forces you to confront it, to wrestle with it, to sit in it until you understand it.

There’s a bravery in her writing—a willingness to go to the places most of us would rather avoid. And in doing so, she creates something extraordinary.

A Story That Stays

A Little Life isn’t a book you read and move on from. It’s a book that lingers. Jude’s story will stay with me for a long time, not because it was beautiful, but because it was real.

It reminded me that fiction isn’t just about escapism—it’s about empathy. It’s about stepping into someone else’s world, feeling their pain, their joy, their humanity. And in doing so, it teaches you to be more human yourself.

So, if you’re on the fence about A Little Life, let this be your nudge. It will break you in ways you didn’t think possible, but it will also leave you with something indescribable—a little piece of someone else’s life stitched into your own.

And isn’t that what great stories are meant to do?