Houses symbolize security and protection. The novel opens when Willem and Jude, in their 20s and fresh out of college, move into their Lispenard Street apartment. The apartment is objectively awful—it’s impossibly small and grimy—yet Willem and Jude love it. Willem and Jude both come from disadvantaged backgrounds and regard having a place of their own, even one as lackluster as Lispenard Street, as a significant success. They also view Lispenard Street as proof that they can control their lives. Willem has come from a relatively disadvantaged upbringing in rural Wyoming, and Jude’s childhood was defined by horrific abuse and abject poverty. Yet, here they are: driven, college-educated young men who have a place to call their own. Lispenard Street specifically, then, symbolizes a person’s ability to reinvent themselves and take control of their lives and destiny.
Lispenard Street (and all the other houses they live in together) also symbolizes Jude and Willem’s evolving relationship and commitment to each other. It will be years before their relationship morphs from a close friendship to a romance. Still, the way their commitment to each other transforms Lispenard Street from a rundown and depressing hovel to a happy, meaningful place reinforces the close bond that has always been the foundation of their relationship. Many years later, when Jude and Willem have achieved great success in their respective careers, they hire Malcolm to design a house for them upstate, Lantern House. Lantern House is a visual measure of their success: it reflects their ability to transform their lives from fraught and damaged to grand and beautiful. It’s also a measure of their evolved relationship: they began as close friends, but now they have grown to become life partners.
Even before Lispenard Street, houses had a special resonance for Jude. When Jude is still living at the monastery, Brother Luke gives him a toy set of round cylinders of wood that resemble logs for his eighth birthday. Jude uses the toy logs to build miniature versions of the cabin that Brother Luke promises he and Jude will build and live in together once they run away from the monastery. But Jude’s happy future with Brother Luke in the cabin never comes to fruition. Instead, upon fleeing the monastery, Brother Luke forces Jude into sex work and sexually abuses Jude himself, weaponizing Jude’s dream of the cabin to manipulate and control Jude. So, Jude’s relationship to houses is multifaceted and complex. On the one hand, he recognizes that superficial markers of success, such as building a house or advancing in his career, aren’t always enough to counteract the enduring trauma of his past. Still, the fact that Jude, in his own words, continues to “fetishize” houses as an adult symbolizes his enduring hope that achieving financial security and forming meaningful bonds with others might still be enough to help him heal from that past and become the restored, undamaged person he longs to be.
Houses, Apartments, and Cabins Quotes in A Little Life
“But Jude,” he said, quietly, “you’re in pain. We have to get you help.”
“Nothing will help,” he said, and was silent for a few moments. “I just have to wait.” His voice was whispery and faint, unfamiliar.
“What can I do?” Willem asked.
“Nothing,” Jude said. They were quiet. “But Willem—will you stay with me for a little while?”
“Of course,” he said.
But now he knows for certain how true the axiom is, because he himself—his very life—has proven it. The person I was will always be the person I am, he realizes. The context may have changed […]. But fundamentally, he is the same person, a person who inspires disgust, a person meant to be hated. And in that microsecond that he finds himself suspended in the air, […] he knows that x will always equal x, no matter what he does, or how many years he moves away from the monastery, from Brother Luke, no matter how much he earns or how hard he tries to forget. It is the last thing he thinks as his shoulder cracks down upon the concrete, and the world, for an instant, jerks blessedly away from beneath him: x = x, he thinks. x = x, x = x.
He was home, and home was Jude.
“I’m not Hemming, Willem,” Jude hisses at him. “I’m not going to be the cripple you get to save for the one you couldn’t.”
On these days, he succumbed to a sort of enchantment, a state in which his life seemed both unimprovable and, paradoxically, perfectly fixable: Of course Jude wouldn’t get worse. Of course he could be repaired. Of course Willem would be the person to repair him. Of course this was possible; of course this was probable. Days like this seemed to have no nights, and if there were no nights, there was no cutting, there was no sadness, there was nothing to dismay.
Finally he lifts his head and sees Harold staring at him, sees that Harold is actually crying, silently, looking and looking at him. “Harold,” he says, although Andy is still talking, “release me. Release me from my promise to you. Don’t make me do this anymore. Don’t make me go on.”
“It’s such a beautiful house,” I said, as I always did, and as I always did, I hoped he was hearing me say that I was proud of him: for the house he built, and for the life he had built within it.