One of my guilty pleasures is reading about the monstrous activities of wealthy characters. As such, I adored Tartt's 'The Secret History'. Unfortuantely, I cannot say the same for 'The Goldfinch'. I was expecting dark academia, history, priviledge of art. Instead I got a bore. The book is long, and it feels long. The excruciating detail does not add anything substantial to the story and borders on hypergraphia with inconsequential tangents galore. At many points, it just plain bored me.

I was most interested in the art world, art theft, and dodgy dealings underworld of antiques, and yet the book frustratingly spends little time there. All glossy descriptions and no substance of narrative. Why it won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction I don't know. The book attempts at some grandiose reflection of life, juxtaposing beauty and purpose and the transcendent universiality of experience through time (through the painting and Hobie), against chance or a higher 'pattern' (through gambling, drugs, and Boris). The last 3 chapters or so are just incoherent rambling of Theo trying to justify his life through these reflections. I am not convinced that Tartt successfully justifies/condones his choices or criticises them. A series of bad events happen to an unsympathetic character, maybe if the story was cut down it would have held my interest. It started strong with an interesting premise, then meandered its way through Theo's chaotic life, never truly addressing the consequences to himself or others. Altogether, very disappointing. The famous painting itself however, is exquisite.

Bits that did resonate with me: