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3.96 AVERAGE
3.96 AVERAGE
dark
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Content Warnings
Graphic: Death, Drug use, Injury/Injury detail
challenging
dark
inspiring
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
“The Goldfinch” is a piece of literature for people who LOVE literature. Niche, meandering, and utterly verbose, this novel takes 700+ pages to recount the story of a boy and a stolen work of art. The narrative can be pretentious; nothing much happens; and yet, this book knows exactly what it’s doing and exactly what it wants to be, so it’s hard to judge. It is, quite literally, a long-winded love letter to the arts.
The first section is one of the most chaotic and immersive intros to a story that I’ve read. The middle is dense and slow-moving, carrying the dread of a bad trip, as we spend years in the head of an addicted, emotionally unwell narrator who struggles to form meaningful relationships or ambitions. The ending is beautifully circular and philosophic and sort of anti-climatic, in a way that makes sense with our narrator’s life. I found some parts too much of a slog, so I might not reread this novel, but I appreciate it for its commentary on art, beauty, love, morality, selfhood, and the sublime.
I’ll let the prose speak for itself:
“You could grasp it in an instant, you could live in it forever: she existed only in the mirror, inside the space of the frame, and though she wasn't alive, not exactly, she wasn't dead either because she wasn't yet born, and yet never not born — as somehow, oddly, neither was I. And I knew that she could tell me anything I wanted to know (life, death, past, future) even though it was already there, in her smile, the answer to all questions, the before-Christmas smile of someone with a secret too wonderful to let slip, just yet: well, you'll just have to wait and see, won't you? But just as she was about to speak — drawing an atfectionate casperated breath I knew very well, the sound of which I can hear even now — I woke up.”
"Well — I have to say I personally have never drawn such a sharp line between good' and 'bad' as you. For me: that line is often false. The two are never disconnected. One can't exist without the other. As long as I am acting out of love, I feel I am doing best I know how. But you — wrapped up in judgment, always regretting the past, cursing yourself, blaming yourself, asking ‘what if,’ ‘what if.’ ‘Life is cruel.’ ‘I wish I had died instead of.’ Well — think about this. What if all your actions and choices, good or bad, make no difference to God? What if the pattern is pre-set?”
"Idolatry! Caring too much for objects can destroy you. Only — if you care for a thing enough, it takes on a life of its own, doesn't it? And isn't the whole point of things- beautiful things — that they connect you to some larger beauty? Those first images that crack your heart wide open and you spend the rest of your life chasing, or trying to recapture, in one way or another? Because, I mean — mending old things, preserving them, looking after them — on some level there's no rational grounds for it…but…it looks like a bit of a fix, doesn't it?”
“If a painting really works down in your heart and changes the way you see, and think, and feel, you don't think, 'oh, I love this picture because it's universal.’ ‘I love this painting because it speaks to all mankind.’ That's not the reason anyone loves a piece of art. It's a secret whisper from an alleyway. ‘Psst, you. Hey kid. Yes you’...You see one painting, I see another, the art book puts it at another remove still, the lady buying the greeting card at the museum gift shop sees something else entirely, and that's not even to mention the people separated from us by time — four hundred years before us, four hundred years after we're gone — it'll never strike anybody the same way and the great majority of people it'll never strike in any deep way at all but — a really great painting is fluid enough to work its way into the mind and heart through all kinds of different angles, in ways that are unique and very particular. Yours, yours. I was painted for you…Well — let's put it another way. Who was it said that coincidence was just God's way of remaining anonymous?…Can't good come around sometimes through some strange back doors?"
“We can't choose what we want and don't want and that's the hard lonely truth. Sometimes we want what we want even if we know it's going to kill us. We can't escape who we are…And as much as I'd like to believe there's a truth beyond illusion, I've come to believe that there's no truth beyond illusion. Because, between 'reality' on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there's a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic. And — I would argue as well — all love. Or, perhaps more accurately, this middle zone illustrates the fundamental discrepancy of love…And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of color across the sky — so the space where I exist, and want to keep existing, and to be quite frank I hope I die in, is exactly this middle distance; where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime.”
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
I feel like I just read The Secret History all over again!
This story begins with a flashback account of a 13 y.o. boy trying to escape a NY city art museum that has had an explosion. The narrative is spotty, confusing, and spot on in the way it depicts what a kid would have been able to remember and relate in the midst of such a trauma. Trust me, this part of the book is hard-going, but true fans of Donna Tartt will hang on for the ride, because it all starts to come together in such an amazing story that you'll never forget. I savored every word of this book. So to those who say it was too long, I have to beg them to go back and try again. The language of this book is so rich, like a decadent chocolate truffle for those who appreciate good literature. The plot is so intricate and well-crafted that I want to thank Tartt's editor and publisher for giving her the ten years it took her to write this tome. I only wish that there were more info about Tartt herself. After reading her books, I want a juicy interview that, for one, explains where she got her knowledge of street drugs, NY high society, and Russian mobsters. If you haven't read this one, put aside some time and get ready for an all-encompassing read!
dark
emotional
funny
informative
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
dark
emotional
mysterious
reflective
sad
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I dunno, it's just not got the same pizazz that the secret history has. Like while secret history is like everyone's horrible and I'm compelled, I felt the goldfinch was like everyone's horrible and I kinda wanted to leave them to it.
I almost gave up on this and sheer stubbornness kept me going. I'm glad I read it, but I don't think I'll read it again. It kinda felt like the book took 500 pages to get going.
also I'm sorry but that painting would not have survived the sheer amount of cigarette smoke it was exposed to, let alone literally everything else that the poor thing went through
I almost gave up on this and sheer stubbornness kept me going. I'm glad I read it, but I don't think I'll read it again. It kinda felt like the book took 500 pages to get going.
adventurous
challenging
funny
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
The Goldfinch is undeniably ambitious. Tartt has the chops to tackle a story sprawling across decades, cities, and themes. But did it all come together in a satisfying way?
The book’s strengths lie mainly in its exploration of fate, beauty, and the randomness of existence. Structurally, it’s impressive. The story is woven with echoes and returns that tie the ending neatly back to the beginning, giving the novel a satisfying circularity even if the journey meanders. Her prose is solid and functional but infrequently dazzling.
The first misstep? Theo himself. He felt bland, hard to connect with, and often too passive—smothered by circumstance. Hobie and Pippa were a delight, but instead of more of them we got more Boris. Yes, Boris was entertaining at times—funny, over the top, a sharp contrast to Theo—but whole stretches with him, plus plotlines like Kitzy, the endless drug binges, and the mafia-ish Amsterdam detour, felt superfluous. The book dragged even when things were “happening.” With tighter editing, it could have easily been under 500 pages.
Ironically, the novel’s looseness, which framed the story in a way that gave it massive potential, ended up being one of its biggest issues. Its large scope ultimately makes it easy to get lost or disconnected. Unlike The Secret History, the focus here often felt diffuse, and I never felt fully gripped.
The bottom line: The Goldfinch is memorable but not life-changing. At 700+ pages, I wanted to be swept away, but I mostly trudged through.
Would I recommend it? Maybe, to Tartt fans and die-hard literary fiction readers. To the average reader? Probably not, because my final verdict is that this is a challenging and bloated novel that may feel “not worth it” to many readers.
The book’s strengths lie mainly in its exploration of fate, beauty, and the randomness of existence. Structurally, it’s impressive. The story is woven with echoes and returns that tie the ending neatly back to the beginning, giving the novel a satisfying circularity even if the journey meanders. Her prose is solid and functional but infrequently dazzling.
The first misstep? Theo himself. He felt bland, hard to connect with, and often too passive—smothered by circumstance. Hobie and Pippa were a delight, but instead of more of them we got more Boris. Yes, Boris was entertaining at times—funny, over the top, a sharp contrast to Theo—but whole stretches with him, plus plotlines like Kitzy, the endless drug binges, and the mafia-ish Amsterdam detour, felt superfluous. The book dragged even when things were “happening.” With tighter editing, it could have easily been under 500 pages.
Ironically, the novel’s looseness, which framed the story in a way that gave it massive potential, ended up being one of its biggest issues. Its large scope ultimately makes it easy to get lost or disconnected. Unlike The Secret History, the focus here often felt diffuse, and I never felt fully gripped.
The bottom line: The Goldfinch is memorable but not life-changing. At 700+ pages, I wanted to be swept away, but I mostly trudged through.
Would I recommend it? Maybe, to Tartt fans and die-hard literary fiction readers. To the average reader? Probably not, because my final verdict is that this is a challenging and bloated novel that may feel “not worth it” to many readers.