i was excited to read this because i’ve heard so much praise of Tartt’s work, and i think it’s warranted—she is an incredible writer. her prose is oracular and all-encompassing (which may be why this novel spans 800 pages). The Secret History has skyrocketed to the top of my tbr. 

what’s particularly stunning about The Goldfinch is its ability to weave the narrative through, essentially, Theo’s entire life up until the book’s conclusion. it reminds me of A Little Life—or maybe A Little Life reminds me of this?—in that Tartt spares nothing. this novel exists in multiple dimensions at once, each character and plot point layered with complexities. when reading, we are Theo; Theo is us. 

(analysis)
Theo’s problem, i think, is not that he is intentionally callous or uncommunicative—it is that the permanence of the painting, of The Goldfinch, outweighs the fleetingness of life around him. his human obsessions and relationships and conflicts take a backseat, and i think it’s an interesting exercise to think of why that is. his mother is dead, his friends change with the seasons; what other reason would he need to instead depend on something material, inorganic? something that cannot willingly leave him, something that will outlast him?