The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt Ebook Download

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The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt is another masterpiece to be loved by many. The story begins with Theo Decker whose family was abandoned by his father when he was still thirteen. Though taken in by a wealthy family friend, Theo grew up estranged by his classmates as they don’t know how to talk to him. Having such endearing longing for his mother, Theo clings one thing that would remind him of her – a painting which eventually led him to the underworld of art.

As he became an adult, Theo secretly moves into the labyrinth of the drawing and dusty antique rooms of the rich where he works. This has led him to go deeper into the underworld – endangering his life because of obsession. Well I wouldn’t be telling you the rest of the story as it kills the excitement. The Goldfinch is truly an amazing masterpiece of Donna Tartt. You shouldn’t miss reading this great book. Download The Goldfinch Donna Tartt now!

Reader’s Review

I passed the Metropolitan Museum of Art the other day and was struck with a powerful and initially inexplicable melancholy. I had been affected by the experience of reading The Goldfinch, in the opening chapters of which a great tragedy happens there. The book is compelling and moving. Tartt is a master of foreshadowing, letting us know just enough of what is to come that we feel helpless to put down the book. I found myself staying up late for several nights, turning page after page to connect the dots. This book is every bit the equal of The Secret History in this regard. And it exceeds that earlier book in its great emotional depth. The opening section, in New York City, is terribly sad and in the hands of a lesser author this material would be difficult to get past. However, Tartt has signaled us well enough about the future of our protagonist, Theodore Dekker, that we stick with him. And from the second section of the book, while we have no shortage of continuing misery, it is tempered by hope or humor.

– Neurasthenic

I won’t go into the plot since everyone will know it. My concern whenever I’m given or purchase a very long book is, “Will it keep me engaged?” and is it worth the weeks it will take me to finish it?”

The answer with THE GOLDFINCH is “Yes!” and “Sorta!”

To me, the book is divided into sections or novellas–the explosion, living with the wealthy family, moving to Vegas, etc.

The brilliant opening section immediately kept me engaged–I think the explosion and Theo’s experience and recovery is some of the best writing I’ve read in years.

The family he moves in with may remind you of THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS or Salinger’s Glass family. They are funny, a bit tragic and sort of odd. The father especially–something about his behavior seemed a bit “off” as did his wild dialogue; it didn’t seem at all “real” in a novel that’s very grounded in reality. (It’s revealed later why he behaves this way.)

The next–and for me, strongest novella–takes place in Las Vegas where we “live” with Theo’s father and girlfriend. The writing is vivid, the characters and plot really move along and it’s all terrific.

– Derek Jager

Running to almost 800 pages, The Goldfinch is going to require a substantial investment of your time, but I think anyone would be prepared to give Donna Tartt’s new novel that much. What you might not realise until it is too late however is the amount of personal investment a book like this demands. By the time you get to the even half-way through the extraordinary 14 year journey that has taken Theo Decker to Amsterdam, the dawning realisation that this has to eventually come to an end suddenly hits you. Drawing out the inevitable isn’t possible either as there’s not a moment of The Goldfinch that doesn’t have you completely in its thrall, reluctant to put it down and feeling bereft at its conclusion.

The Goldfinch is a masterpiece in the classic style of the Bildungsroman. The recounting of Theo Decker’s unfolding awareness of the world, its complications, its criminality and injustice, the lack of stability in his life, his sense of being isolated and his ability to love are all affected by one significant event of terrorism in the modern world that skews his view of reality and effectively leaves him an orphan. What follows is a remarkably detailed account that covers every aspect of Theo’s life in detail and the storytelling is never anything less than wonderful. It’s almost Dickensian in scope and treatment, the book drawing obvious parallels with Great Expectations and even making references and nods to Oliver Twist, but in its own way it is also a thoroughly modern work. It’s more than just a character or psychological study, it’s more than just a series of escalating incidents that eventually reach crime thriller proportions, but it takes in a whole range of relevant cultural, moral, social and familial circumstances and tries to consider how one can make sense of it all.
– Keris Nine


WHILE I WAS STILL in Amsterdam, I dreamed about my mother for the first time in years. I’d been shut up in my hotel for more than a week, afraid to telephone anybody or go out; and my heart scrambled and floundered at even the most innocent noises: elevator bell, rattle of the minibar cart, even church clocks tolling the hour, de Westertoren, Krijtberg, a dark edge to the clangor, an inwrought fairy-tale sense of doom. By day I sat on the foot of the bed straining to puzzle out the Dutch-language news on television (which was hopeless, since I knew not a word of Dutch) and when I gave up, I sat by the window staring out at the canal with my camel’s-hair coat thrown over my clothes—for I’d left New York in a hurry and the things I’d brought weren’t warm enough, even indoors.

Outside, all was activity and cheer. It was Christmas, lights twinkling on the canal bridges at night; red-cheeked dames en heren, scarves flying in the icy wind, clattered down the cobblestones with Christmas trees lashed to the backs of their bicycles. In the afternoons, an amateur band played Christmas carols that hung tinny and fragile in the winter air.

Chaotic room-service trays; too many cigarettes; lukewarm vodka from duty free. During those restless, shut-up days, I got to know every inch of the room as a prisoner comes to know his cell. It was my first time in Amsterdam; I’d seen almost nothing of the city and yet the room itself, in its bleak, drafty, sunscrubbed beauty, gave a keen sense of Northern Europe, a model of the Netherlands in miniature: whitewash and Protestant probity, co-mingled with deep-dyed luxury brought in merchant ships from the East. I spent an unreasonable amount of time scrutinizing a tiny pair of giltframed oils hanging over the bureau, one of peasants skating on an ice-pond by a church, the other a sailboat flouncing on a choppy winter sea: decorative copies, nothing special, though I studied them as if they held, encrypted, some key to the secret heart of the old Flemish masters. Outside, sleet tapped at the windowpanes and drizzled over the canal; and though the brocades were rich and the carpet was soft, still the winter light carried a chilly tone of 1943, privation and austerities, weak tea without sugar and hungry to bed.

Early every morning while it was still black out, before the extra clerks came on duty and the lobby started filling up, I walked downstairs for the newspapers. The hotel staff moved with hushed voices and quiet footsteps, eyes gliding across me coolly as if they didn’t quite see me, the American man in 27 who never came down during the day; and I tried to reassure myself that the night manager (dark suit, crew cut, horn-rimmed glasses) would probably go to some lengths to avert trouble or avoid a fuss.

The Herald Tribune had no news of my predicament but the story was all over the Dutch papers, dense blocks of foreign print which hung, tantalizingly, just beyond the reach of my comprehension. Onopgeloste moord. Onbekende. I went upstairs and got back into bed (fully clad, because the room was so cold) and spread the papers out on the coverlet: photographs of police cars, crime scene tape, even the captions were impossible to decipher, and although they didn’t appear to have my name, there was no way to know if they had a description of me or if they were withholding information from the public.

The room. The radiator. Een Amerikaan met een strafblad. Olive green water of the canal. Because I was cold and ill, and much of the time at a loss what to do (I’d neglected to bring a book, as well as warm clothes), I stayed in bed most of the day. Night seemed to fall in the middle of the afternoon. Often—amidst the crackle of strewn newspapers—I drifted in and out of sleep, and my dreams for the most part were muddied with the same indeterminate anxiety that bled through into my waking hours: court cases, luggage burst open on the tarmac with my clothes scattered everywhere and endless airport corridors where I ran for planes I knew I’d never make.

Thanks to my fever I had a lot of weird and extremely vivid dreams, sweats where I thrashed around hardly knowing if it was day or night, but on the last and worst of these nights I dreamed about my mother: a quick, mysterious dream that felt more like a visitation. I was in Hobie’s shop—or, more accurately, some haunted dream space staged like a sketchy version of the shop—when she came up suddenly behind me so I saw her reflection in a mirror. At the sight of her I was paralyzed with happiness; it was her, down to the most minute detail, the very pattern of her freckles, she was smiling at me, more beautiful and yet not older, black hair and funny upward quirk of her mouth, not a dream
but a presence that filled the whole room: a force all her own, a living otherness. And as much as I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t turn around, that to look at her directly was to violate the laws of her world and mine; she had come to me the only way she could, and our eyes met in the glass for a long still moment; but just as she seemed about to speak—with what seemeda combination of amusement, affection, exasperation—a vapor rolled between us and I woke up.

Why You Should Download : The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

This is yet another New York Times Bestseller for October and it hasn’t stepped down from the ranks for more than 4 weeks now. Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch is another masterpiece and is a must read. Together with Theo, embrace the adventure into the art underworld where the risk is greater than the reward. Get your copy of the book by downloading The Goldfinch Donnar Tartt ebook download.

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