The People in the Trees by Hanya Yanagihara
Readers of A Little Life will already know that no one does complex characters like Hanya Yanagihara, but the novelist takes this to new heights in her overlooked debut book, The People in the Trees. It is a work that is not only intricately structured with many layered nuances, but entangled in pure emotion and feeling. I was moved by this novel in a way I haven’t been by most reads, and it has reminded me again why authors like Yanagihara are so necessary in the field of writing.
The book itself, structured like a scientific article including footnotes and all, delves into the discoveries of a scientist who finds a tribe of seemingly ‘immortal’ beings on a remote island. After years of travelling back and forth from this island, he begins to adopt the children of the inhabitants until his family is one of about 43. It’s made known in the beginning of the book that it is one of these children, Victor, who accuse him of rape, which leads to his imprisonment from where he writes of his past. The plot on its own is enough to intrigue, but what comes out of this is far more than just an interesting story.
Much like A Little Life, The People in the Trees takes on the themes of power and vulnerability in a way that is pure poetry. As an author, Yanagihara has the power to lull and hypnotise readers into accepting the unreliable protagonists for a teller of truth. Against better judgement, we feel compelled to believe the only voice we hear, which as history tells us, is often the voice of the victor. It is only when reality is revealed in the epilogue that the deception dispels, and Yanagihara allows the reader to leave their trance. And in the wake of this we are left with confusion, anger, and mostly shame, for having allowed our inner sense of guidance to shift so greatly.
It is exactly this control of the reader that makes The People in the Trees so powerful, for if nothing, as evidence of the fickleness of truth. Yanagihara cleverly comments on and critiques colonialism and much of white-written history, that the book essentially becomes a metaphor for. Truthfully, it is only this understanding that allowed me to digest the ending in a way that didn’t take away from the rest of the book. With further thought, it begins to appear as an inevitable conclusion and solidify the fact that it is too complicated a topic to end at all comfortably or neatly. It is this unsettling feeling, this bitter final taste, that elevates the meaning of what has been read before.
The People in the Trees is not an easy read, and requires of the reader to be willing to delve deeper into the many folds of moral ambiguity. There is no clear-cut path to understanding, and at times, parts can appear disturbing beyond comprehension. But this world that Yanagihara creates is a mere mirror for the one which we already live in, reflecting back the parts that we have learnt to avoid. And it is such courage to face the most unnerving of truths that is needed when looking back, to prevent the repetition of the same horrors tomorrow.
The People in the Trees
by Hanya Yanagihara
362 page. 2013.
Roumina Parsamand
Roumina is a journalism and finance student from Melbourne, Australia. She is a filler of journals with words and drawings, and an obsessive reader. Always happy to chat books, pet dogs, and drink tea. You can find her on Instagram at @nami.reads
