The Goldfinch (written by Donna Tartt) is the tragic adventure of a young boy named Theo Decker. It all begins in a museum and ends in Amsterdam with about 800 pages in between.
This was a captivating story drawn out much, much further than necessary.
The detail was impeccable, but often tiring. The lack of good decision making from any of the characters was maddening. The fact that I just couldn’t put the book down made me want to pull my hair out. How could so many people simultaneously choose the path that would only bring them more problems? How could no one stop for a moment to even try to comprehend the bigger picture?
But that’s the reality of a wild life, isn’t it? And a good story. A part of me just wishes this story could have been told in 300 pages or less. How many pages does one really need to describe a drug-induced stupor? But I admire and commend Donna Tartt on her pure talent for creating extraordinary from the mundane.
Every character, besides Theo’s mum and Hobie, was difficult to love; much like most normal humans. And while we are supposed to feel great empathy and compassion for Theo in the beginning, the ability to empathise runs out when the pages turn into what feels like a never-ending pity party.
I loved this book and hated it all at the same time. It was a little too raw and a little too real to be read in comfort. But that is the style of the author, and part of what makes her work irreplaceably great. I’m craving to read more of her work, but I need time to recover.
Mona Lysa 