The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt
Reviewed by Kelly Rosalyn Moore
An 864-page epic, Tartt's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, The Goldfinch, dissents against genre conventions, like her previous novel, The Secret History. Whilst the main narrative thread is a coming-of-age plot, there are also dedications to art and philosophy, with elements of thriller woven throughout. Despite its intimidating length (which initially made me hesitant), The Goldfinch rewards readers who dare. With an unparalleled narrative depicting the human condition, Tartt explores every emotion on the spectrum: love, grief, ecstasy, sadness, obsession and, greatest of all, hope.
The protagonist is Theo Decker, introduced as a thirteen-year-old boy excluded from school for smoking. His seemingly ordinary life is brutally upended when he survives a terrorist bombing at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), only to discover that his mother died in the attack. There are few passages in fiction that I find praiseworthy for their slow, anticipatory version of the unfolding events, but this scene, where Theo is unsure whether his mother is dead or alive, is one of the most heartbreaking depictions of fear and hope that I have ever come across. Navigating the chaos of the wreckage, Theo's theft of Carel Fabritius’ The Goldfinch permanently alters the trajectory of his life, underpinning the course of the novel.
Theo is an immaculate narrator, extricating life-altering prose out of his lived experiences. After his mother’s death, he reconnects with his father, moves from New York to Las Vegas and experiences the unrelenting pangs of unrequited love alongside a cast of idiosyncratic characters.
Three-dimensional characters like the Barbours, who temporarily house Theo, emphasise the contrast between his previous life with his mother against his new, uncertain situation. Tartt’s meticulous eye for detail thrives in the perspective of a young man attempting to understand a world that has been nothing but cruel to him. Hobie, an elderly antique restorer, becomes a mentor and father figure amongst the quiet chaos of Theo's new life, demonstrating that a sense of belonging can triumph over all conflicting emotions. Their shared interest and respect for antiques solidifies Theo’s obsession and progressive paranoia with the stolen painting.
While Theo's journey is the focal point of the novel, his unpredictable and charismatic friend Boris equally lends dimension to their world. As one of the most memorable literary creations in recent memory, his irreverent personality and morally ambiguous actions provide an interesting contrast to Theo's introspective nature. As Boris sporadically enters and exits Theo’s life, readers feel the same sense of emptiness upon his departure.
I understand why this book may not be for everyone. It is a huge commitment and, even though Tartt does include some satirical, larger-than-life plot points that might seem lacklustre in the hands of lesser-skilled writers, it is mostly a meditative book. Through her narrator, Tartt shares the intricacies of the quotidian and the importance that art brings to the lives of so many people.
Letters from Father Christmas by J.R.R. Tolkien
Reviewed by Daisy Young
Call me a Grinch, but I sometimes find Christmas to be a very exhausting time. There’s so much to organise, so much to buy and so many people involved that I need a solid chunk of the new year to recover. I loved it as a child though, especially the impending arrival of Father Christmas. So, when I saw Tolkien’s Letters from Father Christmas sitting on an unsuspecting shelf in a bookshop, I was immediately intrigued.
Composed of a collection of letters that Tolkien wrote to his children from 1920-1943, it is a beautiful example of the imagination and whimsy Tolkien brought to all his works. He writes under the guise of a shaky but witty Father Christmas, responding to the annual letters sent to him by his children with their Christmas wants and wishes. Father Christmas is thoughtful and caring, highlighting how much he enjoys hearing from the children every year. If the children are ever given a present they weren’t expecting or wanting, he is quick to recount an exciting tale that has befallen him at the North Pole (usually as a victim to the hijinks of the North Polar Bear), with some letters even featuring input from the Bear and Father Christmas’ elvish secretary Ilbereth.
Written in various styles of handwriting, the letters showcase different characters and hint at Tolkien’s other publications. The Great Goblin Wars and elvish and runic alphabets are clear nods to his Middle-Earth universe, and Tolkien even makes a joking nod towards The Hobbit in a 1937 letter to his youngest children, Christopher and Priscilla. The hand-drawn pictures paint the dramas of the North Pole into reality and bring a little more joy to the writing, especially as the book treads into the early years of WWII. Even during the darkest of times, Father Christmas writes to the children (most of them too old to still believe in him), proving to them that he has not forgotten them, nor any child. This message, for me, was one of the most important found in these letters.
What I loved most about this book was how deeply it showed Tolkien’s love for his children. The letters have no agenda: no requests for the children to behave better, or bribery for better gifts if they do. His letters are brimming with unconditional love and the simple joy of corresponding with his children in a creative way. This does not fade as the children grow older, and that in itself is another important message to all who read this book. We may outgrow the childish belief that a jolly fat man brings us presents and creates magic, but our own personal “Father Christmas” – whoever that may be – will never forget us.
“After this I shall have to say ‘goodbye’, more or less: I mean, I shall not forget you…
Very much love from your old friend,
Father Christmas”