The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

Donna Tartt’s spellbinding new novel, The Goldfinch, stirred me to the point that I sent a text to best-selling author Sarah Bird saying that I wanted to take her up on her suggestion that we compare notes after I’d finished The Goldfinch. She texted me back saying, “You won't believe this, but we're on Grand Cayman Island! Would love to talk Goldfinch when I get back.”  Since I feared I was cutting into Sarah’s Tortuga Rum Punch time, I cut our chat short, but our brief back-and-forth did include the descriptors “dazzling,” “stunning,” “astonishing,” and “overabundance.” The Goldfinch was Sarah’s maiden venture into audio books, and she was completely wowed. As I didn’t relish straining a hand trying to hold up the 784-page tome, I, too, did the audio version, which was particularly well presented by actor, David Pittu.

As you’ve no doubt gathered by now, yes, The Goldfinch is a standout book of the year, and is one of my top five favorites of 2013. Here’s why:

 Most (but not all) of the characters in this book are so richly drawn that you feel you know them personally, to the point that, like family, you worry about them when they’re not with you (like when you have to stop reading to work, sleep and eat).

Most (but not all) of Tartt’s writing is so illuminating that it takes your breath away and sends you down introspective bunny trails.

In researching to write this review, I learned a fascinating new word, Bildungsroman, a German word used in literary criticism to describe the coming-of-age literary genre, which is how many reviewers (but not this reviewer) categorized The Goldfinch.

Before I get further into my review, let’s look at the author, Donna Tartt (pictured), who is from the state that claims to have more famous writers (Faulkner, Welty, Grissom, Williams, Foote) than people who can read - Mississippi. Her college mates at Bennington (Vermont) included boyfriend, Bret Easton Ellis (American Psycho and Less Than Zero) and friend, Jonathan Lethem (Motherless Brooklyn and The Fortress of Solitude). Here’s a link to some hard-to-find facts about Tartt’s personal history, which is pretty intriguing. Tartt’s first book, Secret History (1992) was a runaway best seller, and her devotees (including Stephen King) have waited patiently and impatiently for her to publish again. You may not care about Donna Tartt right now, but after you read her, you will; but back to The Goldfinch.

New Yorkers, Theo Decker (age 13) and his mom step into the Metropolitan Museum of Art to escape the rain, and to view  mom’s favorite piece of art, The Goldfinch (pictured) by Dutch artist (and student of Rembrandt) Carel Fabritius. Also viewing the painting is an older gentleman and a young, beautiful girl, who catches Theo’s eye. A terrorist bomb goes off in the museum taking the life of his mom. As Theo, stunned but unhurt, attempts to escape the catastrophe, the older gentlemen, in his dying throes, beseeches Theo to take The Goldfinch to safety, and for reasons on which one can only speculate, instructs him to contact the gentleman’s partner in a local antiques restoration shop. Theo escapes the destruction with the painting, but because it is so strongly tied to his grief for his deceased mother, he cannot bare to return it to the museum. And thus the stage is set for the reminder of the story, which spans 20 years or so and involves Theo’s migration from orphan to temporary ward of a dysfunctional Park Avenue family, to the custody of his equally dysfunctional father in a skanky suburb of Las Vegas, and back to New York, where he eventually goes into business with the museum gentleman’s antiques shop partner. And then there’s Amsterdam, about which I will not speak (spoiler). Okay, let’s just say that Theo gets involved in criminal activity.

Along the way he encounters a long and colorful list of characters, some of which loom very large in his life. One is Theo’s best friend, Boris, a Ukrainian delinquent with the savvy of a senior, and the amorality, recklessness and sexual magnetism of a pirate. Perhaps you can tell that I was particularly attracted to Boris.

Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood, and the Prison of Belief by Lawrence Wright

It’s official. I now know more about Scientology than I need to. Last year I read and reviewed Janet Reitman’s book Inside Scientology: The Story of America’s Most Secretive Religion. So when Lawrence Wright (pictured), author of the 2007 Pulitzer Prize winning The Looming Tower: Al-Qaeda And The Road To 9/11, came out with another Scientology expose, I had doubts that Wright's version could shed much more light on the topic, and I was right - sort of.

It didn’t, in that it was much like Reitman’s book. It covered the wacko L. Ron Hubbard and the very secretive and very strange shenanigans of this infamous cult that believes in some stuff that makes you want to squint your eyes and say to no one in particular, “What is wrong with those people?” It also didn’t add much new info about how Scientology courts celebrities (with a good bit of success I might add). And in my opinion, Wright’s version wasn’t as well written. For what it’s worth, however, what it lacked in delivery, it made up for in detail – gobs of detail.

What kept me reading in spite of the above was Wright’s addition of more information about Hubbard’s personal life - his suspected faked war service, his marriage, his back-to-back con-jobs that kept him in tailored suits and Cuban cigars and his disciples penniless and subservient. There was also much more detail about his marriages and children, all of which were surprisingly normal as long as wife-y didn’t challenge Hubbard in any way, which they all eventually did, leading to a string of divorces.