My book companion for the last several weeks has been the 750+ page Donna Tartt novel, The Goldfinch. I’ll probably go through Goldfinch-withdrawal now, not knowing what’s going on the lives of Theo, Boris, Pippa, and Hobie.
I really enjoyed it, though truth be told, there were some spots where I felt it dragged just a bit. In the final analysis I thought it was really three books (or more) instead of just the one. There was the JD Salinger-ish first part of the book where Theo inhabits the Upper East Side and lives a life a bit reminiscent of Holden Caulfield, then the book drastically changes gear into a Kerouac or Russell Banks Rule of the Bone-type drug-addled foray as Theo moves in with his no-good father in Las Vegas, then finally in Amsterdam it’s like The Godfather. Tying it all together thematically is the wonderful but diminutive Dutch master painting of the goldfinch, which I’ve had the great fortune to see in a couple different museums in my life (most recently across the street at the High Museum!).
I can see this being made into a BBC miniseries for Masterpiece Theatre or the like. It really wouldn’t translate well into a movie since it is just so long. Still, it’s a great story, well written, and is one, no doubt, that will remain with me for some time to come.
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