This was a 4.5-star book for me. Normally I'd round up but when tedium is what drags you down the half star, it's going to drag you the rest of the way on Goodreads, so officially a 4-star book. But it's a 4.5-star book most of the time.
The Goldfinch first got on my radar probably because of the movie adaptation. It looked very arty and emo. And the book is that. But the kind of emo where you realize the singer is kind of an awful person after a few listens to the album.
The story starts with a bang. Literally.
And somehow it got there in a very dry, boring fashion.
We follow a young man at the end of his story retelling his youth, starting with loss. And it somehow keeps getting worse. And better. And then worse again.
I don't really know what the point was. It was A Series of Unfortunate Events as literary fiction.
At its best, it's a drugged-out stupor, it's kindness in found family.
At its worst, it's a slog. It's Tolkien going on a little too much about trees, food, and fortifications.
But it is still good. I won't be in a rush to read another Donna Tartt book, but I also won't rule it out. I'll just block off a couple months of my life so I have time to read it first.
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