Books. I love them. I’ve been reading them – one after the other – since I was five. And some books make me laugh. And some make me sick. And some get on my nerves. And some I love and keep on my shelf forever.
And then there’s The Goldfinch.
I asked for Donna Tartt’s latest breeze block for Christmas.
I’ve just finished reading it.
And I’m in a state of complete and utter discombobulation.
Never ever has any book made such a powerful impact on me.
For me, The Goldfinch was extraordinary. Right from the horrifying bomb blast at the start to the deeply philosophical discussion of why we are here at the end. The characters and the settings – they were extraordinary too. As was the entire plot. Donna Tartt’s story-telling is audacious. I’m experiencing twin waves of shock and awe.
And when those waves have calmed down a bit, I’m going to pick that book up and start reading it all over again. So I can squeeze some more meaning out of it.
That’s it. That’s all I wanted to tell you.