Donna Tartt’s latest Pulitzer-prize winning novel takes the reader on a rich, vivid journey through the life of an orphan in high-society New York. We follow young Theo Decker, survivor of an attack which claimed his mother’s life, through immaculate Park Avenue penthouses, warm and dusty antique shops, the arid Nevada desert – his life changes rapidly, yet the one constant keeping him anchored is The Goldfinch, a prized 17th century painting which falls into his hands.

At almost 800 pages long, this novel is incredibly dense - and a feast for the senses. Tartt wastes no opportunity to describe, vividly, the sights, sounds, smells, and feelings of the occasion. The descriptions paint a picture just as captivating as the 17th century Dutch paintings featured in the story. It’s this richly packed detail that makes The Goldfinch so enjoyable and endears it to its readers. Theo’s story is by no means boring, but his coming-of-age tale is made all the more meaningful by Tartt’s prose, which helps plant the reader in Theo’s shoes.

Tartt uses the great breadth of this novel to craft subtlety into her characters and relationships. She masters the art of showing, not telling, the minute ways that the death of his mother has traumatized Theo, made him feel unwelcomed and unloved by those who try to help him. Through Theo’s unreliable first-person narration, the secondary characters are complex and enigmatic, and the reader can make their own inferences about their true personalities. Of all the characters, Theo’s careless and reckless friend Boris shines the brightest, and serves as his foil in many instances.

In The Goldfinch, Tartt tells a meaningful and nuanced story, but it falls short of excellence with a muddled ending. In truth, the novel could have ended with 150 pages trimmed off and come out even better. Instead, Tartt wraps up the book with a long, long, long monologue that breaks the fourth wall and tries to tell the readers what they’re supposed to get out of the novel. It comes across as pretentious and fake; it ends on a bad note, which is a shame for a novel which captivated for 600 pages.

Despite its flaws, The Goldfinch is a meaningful journey into art and the human connection; trauma and depression and abuse; finding oneself and growing up, despite all the challenges.

Audible





BRILLIANT. EXQUISITE. FASCINATING. STUNNING.

«Whatever teaches us to talk to ourselves is important: whatever teaches us to sing ourselves out of despair. But the painting has also taught me that we can speak to each other across time. And I feel I have something very serious and urgent to say to you, my non-existent reader, and I feel I should say it as urgently as if I were standing in the room with you. That life—whatever else it is—is short. That fate is cruel but maybe not random. That Nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn’t mean we have to bow and grovel to it. That maybe even if we’re not always so glad to be here, it’s our task to immerse ourselves anyway: wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and hearts open. And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch. For if disaster and oblivion have followed this painting down through time—so too has love. »

I feel overwhelming, speechless, dazzling...

I cannot stop thinking about HOW Theo's life could have been if

...his mother hadn't died in the explosion
...he hadn't put this bird into his bag
...he hadn't met Hobbie
...his father hadn't brought him to Las Vegas and hadn't died in the car accident (or was it a suicide?) later
...many many tiny and significant IFS...
But the biggest, the most important, the most fateful IF-

...IF HE HADN'T MET BORIS?

I love this book so much.

This fantastic review tells you everything I feel about this book, everything I wanted to say, but wasn't able to find the right words...

Didn't quite live up to the hype for me. 

I’m tired of huge books about privileged white males who cause most of their own problems. I’m glad I listened to this on audio while working instead of slogging through 700+ pages on my own time.

I finished reading The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt today and I'm breathing a huge sigh of relief.

 

 

I have literally been on a mission to read this novel for several years now and I finally, at long last, found a copy at the library. As soon as I found it, cleverly disguised sans dust jacket, I immediately sat down and began reading it until my friend dragged me away from it about an hour later. The next day I was able to dedicate a few more hours to it and quickly reached 200 pages and had high hopes that I would be able to continue on in a similar reading clip.

 

However, that didn't happen. I went out of town for a few days and left the book at home (library book+traveling=not happening). I got back and had a few days before returning to work and figured I'd dedicate those few days to the book...and that didn't happen. I still enjoyed the book, but my attention span just couldn't continue with long clips of reading that particular book. Then I had to go back to work and finally between yesterday and today I managed to finish it. And the only thing I can feel is relief. 

 

 

I liked the book. Don't get me wrong. There would have been no way in hell I would have reading nearly 800 pages if I wasn't into it...the first three quarters of the book were absolutely fantastic. I loved Theo and I really wanted him to finally have some peace, and for him to finally find a place in the world for himself. But then the final quarter happened and that was when my attention decided that it had had it and it went off on a lala vacation...you know, when you find yourself mostly just skimming the pages and not digesting a whole lot. 

 

 

I don't think it is the fault of Donna Tartt. I blame this entirely on me, I got way too ambiguous with this book, and was determined to rush through it so I could get it back to the library (with time to get to the other two books I borrowed without having to renew)...

 

 

I'm still debating whether I want to buy a copy of this and reread it, at a much slower pace.