I had plans for my New Years day, this particular Sunday, but it was rainy and grey and I had just a third of A Little Life left to read. So I cancelled it all and stayed in bed reading, napping and crying, getting up only to make a cup of tea or some toast. I finished it just before dinner, an emotional wreck; so sad to leave the world of the book, so wrought and undone by it.
It is, without hesitation, the saddest and hardest thing I've read. Parts of it made me ill and had me sobbing outwardly. And yet, and yet. I found so much beauty in the relationships of the characters, of the men. Compassion and loyalty and deep, deep abiding love that I was also amazed and inspired by it. Full with the heart of it.
There was something so wonderful about starting my year in bed, lost in another world. It's a story to immerse yourself in, to give over to.