The Goldfinch
I finished reading The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt today and I'm breathing a huge sigh of relief.
I have literally been on a mission to read this novel for several years now and I finally, at long last, found a copy at the library. As soon as I found it, cleverly disguised sans dust jacket, I immediately sat down and began reading it until my friend dragged me away from it about an hour later. The next day I was able to dedicate a few more hours to it and quickly reached 200 pages and had high hopes that I would be able to continue on in a similar reading clip.
However, that didn't happen. I went out of town for a few days and left the book at home (library book+traveling=not happening). I got back and had a few days before returning to work and figured I'd dedicate those few days to the book...and that didn't happen. I still enjoyed the book, but my attention span just couldn't continue with long clips of reading that particular book. Then I had to go back to work and finally between yesterday and today I managed to finish it. And the only thing I can feel is relief.
I liked the book. Don't get me wrong. There would have been no way in hell I would have reading nearly 800 pages if I wasn't into it...the first three quarters of the book were absolutely fantastic. I loved Theo and I really wanted him to finally have some peace, and for him to finally find a place in the world for himself. But then the final quarter happened and that was when my attention decided that it had had it and it went off on a lala vacation...you know, when you find yourself mostly just skimming the pages and not digesting a whole lot.
I don't think it is the fault of Donna Tartt. I blame this entirely on me, I got way too ambiguous with this book, and was determined to rush through it so I could get it back to the library (with time to get to the other two books I borrowed without having to renew)...
I'm still debating whether I want to buy a copy of this and reread it, at a much slower pace.
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