The People in the Trees

A couple years ago I watched the new (not so new now) Sweeny Todd with Johnny Depp, Alan Rickman, Helena Bonham Carter. directed by Tim Burton.  It was beautifully directed. The singing  was incredible.  It had Tim Burton's signature style.  It was striking to look at.  The acting was riveting.  My heart was in my throat.  In a word the whole thing was riveting.   It had all of the elements of a masterpiece.

 But Sweeny Todd does not have a happy ending (which is not a requirement for me by the way).  Those of you who know the film or the musical already know this, and are probably yelling to me, "What were you expecting!! It's Sweeny Todd for Pete's sake!!! It's subtitled  the DEMON BARBER! of Fleet Street!!"

Yeah, well you could say I was naive.  I didn't know.  I didn't expect what happened to happen.  It was a punch to my gut, while ripping my heart and lungs out.

After watching the film, (and determining that I never needed to see that again,) I felt like I needed to take a shower in maple syrup, and dust myself in powdered sugar.  That's how dark it left me feeling.
I feel even stronger about The People in the Trees by Yanagihara.

 The People in the Trees by Hanya Yanagihara is vile.

I'll be honest.  I couldn't finish the book.  The narrative structure is interesting.  It's told in two first person point of views.  One portion of the book (the majority) is the memoirs of  Dr. Norton  - a man in prison for child molestation.  He was a great scientist.  He won the Nobel.  He made huge advances in a previously unknown disease, and adopted forty three (yes 43) children from the island where he studied, children who were dying, whose parents pushed them into his hands so they could have a better life.  His children went on to teach at places like Bard, become doctors, scientists, writers.

 The other portion is written in the voice of his colleague who worked in the lab with him for years,  a friend who has remained steadfast in his loyalty to his colleague.  It is this man that Norton entrusted his memoirs for editing and publication. (The device is meant to present the book as Norton's memoirs with his colleagues comments and footnotes in a few sections.) The author is gifted.  There's no doubt about that.

But for all its interesting narrative structure, its beautiful language, I got bored.  So I did what probably a lot of readers do, but won't admit to: I skipped to the ending.  When I say ending, I don't mean the last page.  I mean the last chapter, chapter and half.

(SPOILERS)

 Norton is accused of molesting his children.  We are led to believe that he is innocent.

The last section details minutely his multiple rapes of a specific adopted son.  It is also in this chapter that he said that he had had other boys before this specific one in question - some of them his own children.  He convinces himself and grooms his children to believe that this is his way of loving them, and that it is fulfilling to pass it on.  He is teaching them it is ok to rape, to manipulate their power and position with others to continue this love he shows and gives to them.

  I literally threw up in my mouth.

 I don't typically write negative reviews.  But I write this one as a warning.

  Yes, I didn't finish the book.  Yes I skipped portions.  I will absolutely admit that.  But this is my opinion on what I read.  (Note the phrase what I read).   

What I read is vile and repulsive.   It puts us in the mind of a child molester who rationalizes his behavior as love.  In detail. The last detailed bit of course changes the rest of the book with its presence - knowledge that had been denied the readers regarding the case and characters is revealed.  It shifts from one aspect of a story to a drastically different, dark, horrific story.

  The author is gifted.  The pull that off takes skill. The language is beautiful.  Like Sweeny Todd, it has all the elements of a masterpiece.  BUT I  felt like I had to go take shower in maple syrup, dust myself in powdered sugar and go sleep in unicorn footie pajamas to wash the stink off me.

Give it a try if you want.  But don't say I didn't warn you.