AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT....
I wrote this a few years ago so I wouldn't forget the most unforgettable novel I have read in recent decades. I promptly forgot all about The Goldfinch, and don't know if I posted this anywhere previously, but I stumbled on this today. I hereby put it out here for anyone who loves literature and hasn't yet read this amazing book.
Loving and Hating The
Goldfinch
I thought I was
alone when I first thought of Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch as “Dickensian.” Now that I have finished this 700+ page novel
and have looked back at what has been said about this book, I see that many
have called it so. Why is it Dickensian? We have the saga of a sad, orphaned boy who
drifts from adventure to adventure as he grows up, who encounters an assortment
of vivid characters along the way, (many with unlikely names like “Hobie”, “Bracegirdle” and “Kitsey”), a life journey that
veers this way and that under the influence of these many encounters as he
searches for someone to love and protect him.
We have the portraits of how the rich live and how the poor survive, what
brings them unhappiness and what brings them joy, though joy is shortlived for
all, it seems. There is the questionable
ethics of heroes and villains alike, an unrequited love. I could go on.
I loved and hated
this book. It is the first one in my
memory not an academic requirement that I finished despite my feelings of
sorrow, depression, anger, frustration and disgust. Practically speaking, the length was daunting
and not every chapter was compelling. Why
did I keep reading? Aside from not
wanting to disappoint my book club, and out of respect for its Pulitzer, I kept
turning the pages because I had to find out what would happen to the
unfortunate young man, Theo. Without
giving too much away, I will explain a
few reasons why he captivated me.
His sadness and
loneliness were palpable; yet his inner voice and outer behaviors were
fascinating and frustrating in their incompatibility. Sometimes I wanted to slap him for his
wrongheaded actions. Would he ever finally
grow up and get his life together? Would
the painting be his salvation and would he ever be able to restore it to its
rightful place? Would he ever connect
with a friend or relative who could show him true understanding and love? Would he break Hobie’s heart with disappointment? Would Pippa ever truly see the real Theo? Would the terrorist attack be explained as
anything more than a plot device? I
could go on.
This book is an
experience. There were passages of mindblowing writing and philosophical asides
that tapped into some of my own ideas about humanity, morality, life, death,
the universe. While reading it has left
me with a kind of spiritual exhaustion, it is not because it is all sorrow and
pity. There is the painting. The author’s use of a famous work of art from
1654 as the cause celebre in Theo’s life keeps straight the thread of
his adventures. His love of The
Goldfinch, his mission to protect it, is the most reliable and beautiful
fragment of hope in his difficult journey.
The irony of what we learn happens to the painting does not diminish its
value to Theo. The idea of the painting, a timeless thing of beauty, is Theo’s
life ring.
In the end, it has
saved him:
“Insofar as it is
immortal (and it is) I have a small, bright, immutable part in that immortality. It exists; and it keeps on existing And I add my own love to the history of
people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled
them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve
them and save them while passing them along literally from hand-to hand,
singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of
lovers, and the next.”
