The Goldfinch

Novel by Donna Tartt

I haven't blogged since March 19? What? I knew it had been a long time but I guess I didn't realize I'd slacked that much. And before you start judging me or wondering if I'm slipping, it's not because I wasn't reading in all that time. Well, mostly not because of that. I read two books in the last month and a half. And the second one was so.very.long that I can't even remember what the first one was. Honestly. I'm trying and I can't recall. I feel like I've been reading The Goldfinch for about a year. The library probably feels that way, too, since they keep emailing and asking for it back.

I suppose that's what I get for tackling a recent Pulitzer Prize-winning 700-page masterpiece-behemoth just as the sun is gracing us with its presence and both my pasty skin and pasty children are asking to go outside all the time. More playing, less reading, which generally is good for everyone (except my library status).

So now you know that you shouldn't begin this book unless you have a serious amount of time on your hands, plus strong hands in general because it's so heavy (literally). Here's a few other things it might help to know, courtesy of my mistakes and ignorance.

A) The story is about a boy who steals a painting after a tragic accident in a museum. All that is disclosed very early on. What I did not know is that this is a real painting. I thought surely it was made up because it is so central to the story, the author wouldn't fictionally DO all those things to a real painting. And also because I'd never heard of it, and I think I know a few things about art, but apparently not.

B) Everyone I talk to agrees that the book could be about 200 pages shorter. I wonder, though, if it would sort of stick with you the way it does if it was shorter. We basically grow up with the main character and he is all kinds of messed up, in a way that as a teacher and parent makes me cringe and gasp and cry for him. It's at times understated, his grief and depression, and other times incredibly stark, his drug use and lack of parenting and moral guidance. And even though it was almost more than I wanted to know, you really do know him, could probably recognize him if you saw him on the street because you would know his eyes and his soul.

C) It's definitely literary. I mean, it won the Pulitzer, but it also has that "important book" quality about it in the way it combines modern culture and art history and characterization to the max and intriguing story. I wasn't expecting such a heavy book (figuratively this time) because of its mass marketing. It makes me feel a wee bit dumb, actually, to read a bestseller and have it be a bit above my head in some places.

All in all, I'm glad I read it, but I'm more glad to have read it (to borrow an idea from Glennon Doyle Melton, the satisfaction in having done something more than in actively doing it). I'd love to hear what you think, either because you are in the have read it club or because you're thinking of reading it. Just don't ask too much about the end. I was so relieved to be almost done that I pretty much skimmed the last five pages.