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Review: The Goldfinch, by Donna Tartt
Jun. 30th, 2015 07:25 pmWow.
Huh.
I'm...at a loss.
I realize, typing this out on in a review, that I sound facetious at best - why else would I say I'm at a loss, and then proceed to go on for several paragraphs, thus clearly demonstrating that I'm not lost at all? But it's an accurate representation of how I feel when I try to consider rating this book.
Let me see if I can explain.
My biggest criteria for judging a work of art is how it affects me emotionally. Does it make me feel...something? Sad, disgusted, angry, upset, uplifted, thoughtful? Does it do so through cheap manipulation, or the genuine creation of a conversation between artist and audience? Is its effect the one the artist intended? (Can you even tell?)
By that metric, the book succeeds; there's a lot of authentically affecting stuff, here. Some beautiful prose, thoroughly-developed complex characters, and a few moments of near-sublime beauty. There's even some philosophy, although it occasionally toes the line between "thought-provoking" and "pretentious". This isn't just some cheap entertainment, every page practically yells, but a Book With Aspirations.
But, ultimately, that's the book's failing. Donna Tartt clearly wants to write a capital-N Novel, an Important Work that sticks with people long past when they close the cover of their Kindle (or, in my case, mark it "finished" in the Audible app). And in many ways, she's succeeded - the ambition in this book is clear, and the payoff is almost enough to be worth the extra-long journey it takes to get there. But cripes, it takes forever to get there - and much of the time is spent in well-written but not-particularly-pleasant places in our protagonist's head. Always beautifully described, of course, but I suspect about 200 pages of Theo's angst could have been cut with no real loss to the narrative.
So I'm in a bind. I want to give it three stars - an average of sorts between the five-star bits and the two-star bits where I almost stopped listening - but that means I'm putting it in the same rating as the many "lighthearted fun, but flawed and/or didn't stick with me" type books that I read. And if anything, The Goldfinch is the opposite - heavy, and often not particularly fun, but with quite a bit of substance and plenty of bits worth chewing over. But given how its imperfections are largely what's sticking in my mind when I remember the experience of listening to it, I think three stars is fair. I admire its ambition, and in some ways it hit the mark. But I hope Tartt's next editor is much more aggressive with the red pen. B-
Huh.
I'm...at a loss.
I realize, typing this out on in a review, that I sound facetious at best - why else would I say I'm at a loss, and then proceed to go on for several paragraphs, thus clearly demonstrating that I'm not lost at all? But it's an accurate representation of how I feel when I try to consider rating this book.
Let me see if I can explain.
My biggest criteria for judging a work of art is how it affects me emotionally. Does it make me feel...something? Sad, disgusted, angry, upset, uplifted, thoughtful? Does it do so through cheap manipulation, or the genuine creation of a conversation between artist and audience? Is its effect the one the artist intended? (Can you even tell?)
By that metric, the book succeeds; there's a lot of authentically affecting stuff, here. Some beautiful prose, thoroughly-developed complex characters, and a few moments of near-sublime beauty. There's even some philosophy, although it occasionally toes the line between "thought-provoking" and "pretentious". This isn't just some cheap entertainment, every page practically yells, but a Book With Aspirations.
But, ultimately, that's the book's failing. Donna Tartt clearly wants to write a capital-N Novel, an Important Work that sticks with people long past when they close the cover of their Kindle (or, in my case, mark it "finished" in the Audible app). And in many ways, she's succeeded - the ambition in this book is clear, and the payoff is almost enough to be worth the extra-long journey it takes to get there. But cripes, it takes forever to get there - and much of the time is spent in well-written but not-particularly-pleasant places in our protagonist's head. Always beautifully described, of course, but I suspect about 200 pages of Theo's angst could have been cut with no real loss to the narrative.
So I'm in a bind. I want to give it three stars - an average of sorts between the five-star bits and the two-star bits where I almost stopped listening - but that means I'm putting it in the same rating as the many "lighthearted fun, but flawed and/or didn't stick with me" type books that I read. And if anything, The Goldfinch is the opposite - heavy, and often not particularly fun, but with quite a bit of substance and plenty of bits worth chewing over. But given how its imperfections are largely what's sticking in my mind when I remember the experience of listening to it, I think three stars is fair. I admire its ambition, and in some ways it hit the mark. But I hope Tartt's next editor is much more aggressive with the red pen. B-
