Yes, there is a book for February: The Secret History by Donna Tartt. I'm taking a chance in choosing a book I've not read myself, because I wanted to read one that would be a surprise for everyone. Actually, my sister is reading it right now, but hasn't finished it yet. But that's a good testimonial right there -- she has very little free time and yet whenever I see the book lying around, she's 20 pages further in. Apparently it's a suspense novel about a young man who decides to leave his underprivileged life in a small town and attend an elite eastern college, where he gets drawn into an intriguing group of students studying Greek and gradually uncovers some dark secrets about their little society. That's all I know. If the language and characters are anything like her other book (The Little Friend), it should be a pretty stunning read...
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Okay guys -- I'm sorry about this book. I'm still not through it, but I have to say I've not been enjoying it as I thought I would. I find I'm disliking the main characters so much that I can't enjoy the story. I thought I was going to plug away to the end, but last night I came to the incest part and it's just about pushed me over the edge. This is getting obnoxious. If these characters don't shape up quick and get themselves enrolled in AA, I'm going to have to abandon their story!
This message doesn't constitute a real post, however. If anyone's acutally finished the book, please let us know what you thought. I just wanted to apologize for choosing a book that maybe wasn't good for a book club.
I don't know...how can you know what kind of a book is good for a book club? Especially a club like this where nobody knows everyone else in it...
I actually HAVE finished the thing. It made me angry, all the horrid selfish THOUGHTLESS twits, so I finished it in a rush--I had to get to the end just to get it over with. It...well, the first time (and last) I read Crime and Punishment (which this book can't help but be compared to, thematically, at least), I distinctly remember how I felt while I was reading it--some sort of black haze had settled over me and I couldn't get clear of it. I felt trapped as good ol' Rasky, and for him, and I didn't, couldn't, consider it a enjoyable experience. But it was a powerful one. After all, sometimes a trip into the dark can be--er, enlightening--as long as you can find a way out of the dark again. And I guess if there is going to be any light in this book at all, it's something that the reader will have to make for themselves, 'cause this book doesn't even have a hint of redemption in it, anywhere.
It did make me think a lot about the nature of evil, and the nature of damnation. Richard says that, after everything, he does not consider himself "an evil person (though how like a killer that makes me sound!)" and that struck me. I suppose all five of them considered themselves to be essentially good, just caught in a series of unfortunate circumstances--as I suppose anyone does who becomes so entrenched in evil--it's such a sly thing, so slippery, so easy to fall into. But, of course, it must be partnered with a willful deception to get to the point they were at: to kill a friend and not even think about what it meant.
Julian tutored them in this--he only saw what he wanted to. So they failed to recognize the evil in themselves; they were taught to ignore it, to rationalize it, to deny, to dress it up and call it something else. And even Julian can't be blamed for all of it. I think they came together the way they did because they all were willing to lie in that way, and perhaps because they already were. Richard, after all, the only one we are introduced to before Julian, was already lying to anyone and everyone about who he was, because he didn't like who he was. And he talks of his "fatal tendency to try to make interesting people good." Hey, if that isn't self-deception-!
I don't think it was an accident that they mutilated that farmer, either, the night of the bacchanal. I had to look up Dionysus (that was another thing about this book--so many allusions to too many things--I felt like patting myself on the back if I even remotely understood a quarter of the allusions--and FOREIGN LANGUAGES, too? I can't even handle Spanish. No soy mochila. See?)--the god of wine and revelry. And my heavens, what exactly was it that they went out in the woods to worship, without even giving it a second thought? What does a god of wine and revelry bestow upon his worshippers? The drugs and the sex and everything just so they could get to a point to offer up their agency, to lose "sense of self," I think, as Henry so romantically put it. And they did--and they gave up all sense of responsibility with their awareness. The problem is, when you come to yourself again, the responsibility for whatever you have done is waiting for you, because after all, you are not an animal, you are a man....So, the murder of the farmer was actually a culmination of their worship, and not some unfortunate mishap.
One of the scariest things about the book is how it shows that evil can be born as something as simple as insecurity. Another quote of Richard's, speaking of Julian (and applies just as well to the rest of them), that he (and/or they were) "twisting feelings of inferiority into superiority and arrogance." And all of them were so polished, so intellectual, confident, cool, and all of this was an act. No matter how intelligent, sophisticated, or exceptional they believed themselves to be, they missed the simplest truths. Henry especially.
Ick, ick. But even the truth catches up to you, even if you don't recognize it. By the end of the book, I still don't think that Richard got it--really understood what he had done--but he knows that he is frozen in time. He's stopped, he can't ever leave the top of that ravine. He's stuck. And if that isn't damnation, what is? And Henry--? The chilling thing about him, when he said something about--killing Bunny made him feel powerful, like he knew he could do anything at all, and Richard knew what he meant. I suppose Henry was right, after a fashion, but it's more like...a bird trading in his wings for a bigger beak and sharper talons. And he figures it out in the end, I think. What is it he tells Richard in the dream? That his movements are restricted now? You know, for eternity?
Blech. It was a dark place to visit, and I think I need to go read something, er, light and silly.
I'm so glad the Little Friend takes a different, er, tone. Though after reading this, I'm not too sure I'd even have the stomach to try it. But--if you both loved it--
That is one thing I always wonder about, after reading a book--what kind of a person is the author? I know it shouldn't matter, but it has to, to me. I wonder what she had to do to get into the psychology of a murder so well. Scaaaarrry.
Sharon--you know what was funny about those first 40 pgs? When I read the comment about Richard getting so depressed watching the Wonderful World of Disney, I thought I was really going to LIKE him.
I know I"m a wee bit slow posting a comment on this book. But it's no small accomplishment for me to actually finish a 500+ book, so I hope you'll forgive my delayed reaction.
First of all, when I learned that the book was about the nature of evil, I was very intrigued. Several of my favorite books deal with how a "good," or "normal" person gets drawn into evil. A Separate Peace, Lord of the Flies, etc. That part of The Secret History I appreciated. It was very thought-provoking, as the others have said, to have a murderous character say in all honesty that he thinks he is a good person whose hand was forced by circumstances. And even more creepy was for me to realize that the vivid descriptions of Bunny's crass, dissolute behavior were making even me think "yeah, he probably would be better off dead -- I mean, what does this jerk have to live for?" Highly disturbing, but in an instructive, incisive way. I can appreciate that.
However, my main problem with the book wasn't so much the characters' behavior (though that was obnoxious and very wearing). It was that the author didn't make me like ANY of the characters to begin with -- not Richard, not anyone. I got the feeling that the descriptions of the gang at the beginning were intended to make us feel warm and fuzzy about these people -- their quirks, their golden curls, their friendliness toward Richard. But if that was the intention, it failed miserably with me. The story would have been so much more powerful if I'd been able to make a strong emotional connection with one or all of them before their downward spiral. That's a HUGE failing, in my opinion. With that link stronger it would have been a real stunner of a book -- truly chilling. As it is, it only preaches to me about the danger of touching the flame. As I read, I realize intellectually that I have potential for falling into the fire pit as Richard and his friends did, and that cerebral realization has a certain power to it. But if she had succeeded in making me care about the characters and really identify with them early on, I think I would have felt the heatwaves beating on my face. That would have been something to write home about. As it is, I'm not sad I read it, but it is frustrating to see how much talent the author has and yet have her sorta miss the boat on such a key element.
(My, aren't I the critical one?? When was the last time I penned a bestselling novel?)
Wynne was wondering about Donna Tartt--apparently you're not the only one. I read an interview with her shortly after The Little Friend was published. She doesn't give ANY personal information, not even whether she's married or single. Although the article also mentioned that The Secret History has no correlation whatsoever to her own experience, at least as far as snotty Eastern collegiate twits. So maybe she has no Dionysian killings in her past.
But maybe she does . . . .
You never know...
Didn't Dostoevsky kill somebody?
Oh, and Marie--I agree--I hated everybody. You can't help it--they were so full of self-loathing. Maybe Tartt hated all the characters, too. If that were the case, why did she write about them at all?
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