I saw this book on shelves so many years ago and always wanted to read it. I finally bought a copy. And the anticipation far surpassed the experience.

How can 720 pages contain no hope? I am compelled that Yanagihara could keep my willing attention for what seemed to be a 720-page justification for suicide. Where is redemption?

Where is love or hope? Only sadness and pain here. Well written but zero redemption. Life never lacks sweetness, but this book did. Entirely.