The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt

This year has been the Year of Reading Really Long Books for me.  I’ve ploughed through Les Misérables and The First Man in Rome so far and this has continued with Donna Tartt’s 784 page work The Goldfinch.

The Goldfinch has received almost universal acclaim and has been long awaited – Donna Tartt can rival George R.R. Martin in the field of procrastination.  It was selected by The New York Times as one of its ‘10 Best Books of 2013’ and has been shortlisted for the ‘National Book Critics Circle Award’, the ‘Bailey Women’s Prize for Fiction’, the ‘Pullitzer Prize’ and the ‘Andrew Carnegie Medal for Excellence in Fiction’.  In fact pretty much the only thing that it has not won is the ‘Man Booker Prize’ and even this was met with no little controversy.  So, the critics love it, but that is not always an indication of a book that is good to read and indeed I believe this book, while very impressive, to be rather flawed.

The Goldfinch is a the bildungsroman to end all bildungsromans.  It tells the life of Theo Decker, who starts as a rebellious 13 year-old whose mother dies in a bombing of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.  Theo, who was present at the blast too, encountered a dying man there who encouraged him to take a work of art from the wall, Carel Frabritius’s ‘The Goldfinch’.  The book then follows Theo over the next two decades as his structure-less life takes him from house to house without him ever having a connection anywhere or to anything.  The story takes Theo from New York, to Las Vegas, back to New York, and then to Amsterdam, yet he only has a real connection to one thing, ‘The Goldfinch’.

This being a Tartt book, Theo slipps into substance abuse and introverted existential angst as he struggles to gain control of a life that lost all focus in that art gallery.  She peppers the book too with the usual array of preppy, boisterous parvenus and unsavoury, shadowy elements, all of whom, while enjoyable seem particularly clichéd.  The narrative has a distinctive flow and a peculiar sentimentality to it, as Tartt strives to contrast the material world in which we live in, with the more ethereal one of art and culture.  It is a book of vice, where each character struggles and fails to overcome their more base instincts and traits and none more so than Theo.

This book’s main problem though is its length – put shortly, it’s just far too long.  In my review of The Secret History I stated that the book’s only real weakness was how long it took to get going; The Goldfinch has the opposite problem: it cannot sustain its flow.  The story starts at a roaring pace with the bombing and its aftermath and through the first New York City part of the story it is a thoroughly engaging read, and yet, much like Theo’s life, it gets bogged down in Vegas and the story never really picks up.  Even when the book transitions nearer the end to something of a heist novel, all of the drive seems to have left the narrative and I struggled to get re-engaged.

In summary, The Goldfinch is a work of undoubted quality in terms of theme and scope, but in reading I was always conscious of just how long the thing is and, moreover, I am really unconvinced that it needed to be quite so protracted.  A cursory google of critical reviews suggest that I am perhaps in a minority in this view, but I am no less convinced of this point.

7/10

Favourite Quotes

“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"

“A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don’t get to choose our own hearts. We can’t make ourselves want what’s good for us or what’s good for other people. We don’t get to choose the people we are.” 

“But sometimes, unexpectedly, grief pounded over me in waves that left me gasping; and when the waves washed back, I found myself looking out over a brackish wreck which was illumined in a light so lucid, so heartsick and empty, that I could hardly remember that the world had ever been anything but dead.” 

“You can look at a picture for a week and never think of it again. You can also look at a picture for a second and think of it all your life” 

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Snowdrops - A.D. Miller

This year has so far been for me a year of reading really long books, so it was really nice when my new book club selected something nice and short for the next meeting, A.D. Miller’s Booker Prize nominated Snowdrops.

Miller is a journalist working at The Economist newspaper and spent many years reporting from Russia.  This experience inspired him to write Snowdrops, a book set in the early years of Putin’s presidency, as the oil tycoons continued to accrue the ‘benefits’ of Russia’s new found capitalist zeal and the people of Russia grew accustomed to rule by the oligarchs.  The book itself is about a British lawyer, an expatriate living in Moscow who falls, against his better judgement, for a con artist called Masha.

The ‘Snowdrops’ alluded to in the title of the book are not the winter flowering plant, but the bodies of people who died in the early Russian winter and whose bodies are quickly covered in snow – only to emerge in the spring.  The message is clear – scratch the surface of modern Russia, and you will only find the morbid below.

Nick, the lawyer, is engaged in the business of drawing up business contracts, a murky world to say the least; indeed he describes it as ‘putting lipstick on a pig’.  He has a fairly high opinion of his ability to navigate the Russian way of living; proud of his ability to spot cons, avoid entrapment and to keep his soul relatively clean.  The problem with him is that he is too clever by half, so sure of his ability to spot a con that he doesn’t take sufficient precaution in case he is mistaken – and it is this that causes him all the problems in the book.

The story has two parallel narratives that never really cross: a business deal with a mysterious and nefarious man known as ‘The Cossack’, and his involvement with the gorgeous and enigmatic  Masha.  The narrative device is a sort of confessional: a letter from Nick to his unnamed fiancée.  The plot is entirely predictable – both the deal and the relationship are destined to end in failure and ruin, a fact never hidden by Nick.  Yet it is the very predictability of the plot that gives it power.  The book reads like a crash in slow motion: we know how it will end, and deep down probably so does Nick, be he and we are powerless to prevent it.

The characters in the book are a little caricatured.  Masha is the stereotypical Russian temptress, familiar to anyone who has ever seen a Bond film.  Nick is the gullible business man.  The Cossack and other officials are also instantly familiar and they all perhaps lack a nuance that one would expect from a Booker shortlisted book.

The book is, however, successful in two key ways.  The first is in the picture it paints of Moscow.  Miller shows a vision of the Russia capital that is both “attractive and appalling”, a fact that he clearly believes that can be extrapolated to describe the country itself.  His descriptions, though occasionally a little flowery, are very effective in drawing you into a world of corruption and murky dealing.

The second is in the narrator himself.  As I said earlier, the device is as a sort of ‘Confessional’ but it is clear that though Nick starts off regretful, it turns out that he has become rather wistful.  He recognises the evils of Russian officialdom, but he misses it: as a prisoner may miss his captor.  Trapped in boring old Blighty, he misses the exciting and dangerous Russian way of life that he escaped.  Yes he got conned, lost his reputation, his money and a portion of his soul, but what a ride!

7/10

Favourite Quotes

“I could tell that one of the Russian proverbs he loved was on the way. 'The only place with free cheese is a mousetrap'”

“That's what I learned when my last Russian winter thawed. The lesson wasn't about Russia. It never is, I don't think, when a relationship ends. It isn't your lover that you learn about. You learn about yourself.”

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The Silkworm - Robert Galbraith (J.K. Rowling)

The second book in a series can often be where a series trips up.  The first book has the excitement of introducing something new, and later books have the complexity built up from those previous works.  Second books often come across as stepping stones; things to get past so as to reach the more exciting bits.  This is, however, entirely not the case with Robert Galbraith (aka J.K. Rowling)

If you haven’t read The Cuckoo’s Calling, the first book in this series, then I wouldn’t be put off from reading this review or indeed the book though I would recommend it.  While the events of the previous book are heavily alluded to in The Silkworm, you would not be spoiling the previous book by beginning in media res.

The Silkworm takes place a few months after the events in The Cuckoo’s Calling and business is booming for Cormoran Strike.  His success in cracking the Lula Landry case has found him a raft of rich clients who mainly seem eager to prove that their spouse is banging the secretary/neighbour.  All this is, however, making him feel a little unfulfilled so when the wife of a rather mad author comes in to say that her husband is missing, he jumps at the case.

The missing man is a Owen Quine, an eccentric writer who just before his disappearance had written a novel that basically insulted everyone he knew including his wife, mistress, agent, editor, and former friends.  Any one of them could have a motive, but the police are pretty darn sure it was the wife – Strike disagrees.

Much like The Cuckoo’s Calling, this story is a pretty old-fashioned detective story set in modern London.  Unlike the previous work though, which was set in the flashing lights of glamourous models and stately homes, this book is set in literary circles – around writers, booksellers and publishers.  Now call me biased, but that is my kind of book.

Set around a fast-paced and deeply intricate plot, it continues the story of Batman Cormoran Strike and his assistant Robin.  Strike is continuing his policy of attempting to ignore the shambles of his personal life, though at least he is no longer living in his office, but is still being dragged back by his past to aspects that he’d rather leave locked away.  Robin is still feeling held back by the two men in her life: the boss that seemingly does not recognise her potential and a fiancée who cannot recognise the importance that her work life holds for her.  While I was worried that these sub-plots would detract from the main narrative, they actually hold up well, though I am worried that his may wear thin if it continues for several more books!

My main criticism of The Cuckoo’s Calling was that, while it was very enjoyable, it did not have that sprinkling of star dust that transforms a book from being a ‘good read’ to being a ‘great read’.  I feel that this book is a step up.  While it is in many ways a very similar book, it  develops the characters in interesting ways and the plot itself is more fulfilling.  Much like in the 'Harry Potter' books, Rowling dangles clues in front of you, pulling you from one side to the other.  The answer is right in front of you, but you do not see it until the end.  Mystery stories should always end with the reader feeling that the answer was staring them straight in the face – and it does in The Silkworm.

An improvement on her previous foray into the world of crime then, let’s hope her third continues in the same bent.

8/10

Favourite Quotes

“Forever encased in the amber of a writer's prose.”

“writers are a savage breed, Mr. Strike. If you want life-long friendship and selfless camaraderie, join the army and learn to kill. If you want a lifetime of temporary alliances with peers who will glory in your every failure, write novels.”

“Memories like shrapnel, forever embedded, infected by what had come later…words of love and undying devotion, times of sublime happiness, lies upon lies upon lies…his attention kept sliding away from the stories he was reading.”

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