Genre: Book
Title: The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt
Venue: Book Club
Event Date: Finished reading 9/02/14
Matthew Pearl does something well: takes a work of art and
creates an adventure or a context and biography around it. I think this is
where Tartt was trying to go. The first problems are that The Goldfinch isn’t a
famous painting and Fabritius isn’t a widely known painter. Already, the odds
are against having a ready-made emotive tie with the premise. It’s too bad
because it is a charming painting, representative of its time and genre and -
I’ll concede – even a bit emotive once you realize the bird is tethered and
there’s an inner struggle to enjoy the painting while recognizing that these
are not ideal bird conditions. If it was meant to be a metaphor, it is a bit
too broad.
I’ll try to steer clear of spoilers and give some general reflection. The plot
centers on Theo, an adolescent boy who, on a visit to the Metropolitan Museum
in New York with his mother, is caught in a terrorist bombing attack. The
events during the bombing and death of his mother are the catapult that sends
him off to live with his father and to attempt to survive the trauma of such an
experience. The premise is an interesting one, and the plot was relatively
simple. I was entertained, not bored, and didn’t find it tedious to get through
the reading. Still, it felt as though I remained on the superficial level of
only acquaintance instead of breaking into and getting to know the characters
and what made them tick. I found myself relatively un-invested and, sadly, even
wishing some of the characters would be written off.
I’m realizing that it’s hard to analyze the characters without risking
spoilers. So, I’ll say this: Over all, I found it repeatedly difficult to
understand the characters’ motivations. More often than not, I questioned their
actions, unable to see what it was about their perspectives or experiences that
drove them to this action or that choice. I have to guess that this speaks to
underdeveloped character writing but, as a whole, I think it’s more that the
characters felt “plugged in” like there was a plot that needed to be respected
and the characters had to “make it work.” I felt that Tartt was more invested
in her plot than in allowing the characters to develop and lead the way. I say
this because I find it difficult to see a character arc for any of them. In a
time span of about 10 years, there doesn't seem to be much self-reflection or
growth.
Show-don’t-tell is the first rule of Creative Writing 101 in any classroom in
any school, anywhere. The internal debates and ruminations that a reader has
should be prompted by the analytical approach in the writing. What would I do
if I were Theo? Or his father? Or any of the other characters? The predicaments
and dilemmas that a character finds himself in are meant to arouse our own
morality and character. Agree, disagree, but know yourself. Let these winding
roads define yet another fraction of you. Struggle with the choices that the
character made because you want to empathize yet his actions are at the edge of
what you feel to be right or good. Sympathizing or – better yet – empathizing
is the goal of a well written character. How many of us wanted Dexter to get
away with it? Or Walter White from Breaking Bad? Theirs are not actions that we
condone as a society, but properly developed and carefully executed, we
gradually and repeatedly shifted our tolerance so that we continued to become
personally invested in the outcome of each challenge. Tartt’s characters don’t convince
me in their choices. I feel very much on the outside looking in and, more often
than not, disagreeing with their moves or just perplexed by them.
Unfortunately, the story wraps up with a series of thinly veiled “essays,”
plugged in rather sloppily. Not only did they feel forced, like Tartt was
realizing that she was wrapping up and wasn’t sure she’d gotten her message
across, but they were also unwelcomingly spoon-fed. One character who
throughout the story had maintained a one-dimensional, caricature-like
simplicity with little self-reflection suddenly waxes poetic about relative
morality and the gray areas versus black and white. It felt like a speech.
Worse was Theo’s last few pages of reflection on art and its connection to
humanity. There was something terribly scholastic about his points and
positions. Like an idealistic poet torn between studying Philosophy and Art
History trying to make an emotive speech about being interconnected by time.
Maybe I’m a pragmatist. I love art. I’m an Art Historian by training only, but
with in-depth knowledge of art, I certainly have my perspectives on what its
place is or could/should/has been in our lives. These are not simple debates.
They can’t be poured out and force-fed. Throughout the story, I felt that the
painting in question was only an object; the cause of some problems now and
then, but not a terribly big part of the lead character’s (or any other
character’s) presence. The last minute shift to delve into the complexities of
art as a philosophical human binder aggravated me. I’d been asked to
participate so little up until the last few pages. It was too late.
