The Goldfinch

Yep. I loved the first 1/3 of the book. I found the story interesting, I liked the characters, I wanted to know more... Then chapter 10 happened, and I noticed that it had been deteriorating the whole time, but it had happened so slowly (like everything else with this book) that I hadn't noticed it. And then it crashed.
Chapter 12 is among the most stupid crap I've ever read. The logic and research was on the level with fan fiction. When it's OK for fan fiction quality work, it is not OK for a Pulitzer prize winner.

I mean, it starts with them flying over the Atlantic ocean in about an hour. His best friend becomes a totally different person, just to force our MC to wander the streets of Amsterdam and waste time. He takes his passport with him, just to lose it, so that the author can create drama later on.
He gets wet, just so that he gets sick. (Because people get cold by getting cold. It has nothing to do with things like viruses and so.)
He creates really elaborate plans to get rid of his blood stained shirt, when the most obvious, easiest and untraceable solution would be to just put it in the hotel waste basket. Hotel cleaning crew has seen a lot more upsetting, incredible, weird things in waste baskets than a stained shirt.
His telephone dies two days after it got wet, when he tries to charge it, just so that he won't get his friend's text messages.
He tries to buy a train ticket and they insist on seeing his passport. This doesn't ever happen. They don't care about your ID when you buy a train ticket. They just want your money. And you can be a kid, they'll sell you tickets anywhere you want. Because your passport is going to be checked AT THE BORDER. And there is no border control between Amsterdam and Paris. But, noooo, that would be too easy, and Donna would have needed to cut out this whole part, and she probably loved this specific part.

There's at least 400 pages too many in this book, and a lot of drama just for drama. It doesn't make any sense, it doesn't forward the story, it's just there, because. FU, that's why!
It's like watching a damned Woody Allen movie. (I don't get the fascination of those either. Blasé and neurotic people yap about things no-one cares about, not even they, and there's a lot of sex between “woody” and a young, pretty, sex-crazy fan girl. And everyone speaks the same way. Lots of stuttering and blabbering and impotent rage.)



Really, the last 200 pages I was like “look at that bitch eating those crackers as if she owned the world”. Every little error and fault grew into a bloodstain that just won't wash out. Like, where did all those shoes in his closet come from?

I almost forgave her with the scene with Hobie at the end, but then she made me angry again with the last part of blah blah blah blah... I was moaning out loud when reading the last 100 pages, and almost started crying when I turned a page and saw that there was still more to be read. Like reading the Cyrano de Bergerac death scene. He talks and talks and walks about and falls and dies and wakes up and talks some more and dies and wakes up and talks... and here the MC talks and talks and talks, says the same thing over and over again, differently this time, and then the same way, just to make it sure we get the point, and blah blah blah blah...

GOD! If it hadn't been a library book, I would have ripped it in pieces, jumped on it and burned it!

I would have given it two stars, because I really liked the beginning, the basic story, the characters, but The Goldfinch received tons of accolades and praise from people who really should know better. I call this “Emperor's New Clothes” effect - people don't get it, but it SHOULD be amazing, so they praise it and talk about some mysterious values and stuff, to hide how clueless they are. I really fail to see how anyone could seriously like this book. I know, I know, people like different things, but... Uh.
Anyway, one of my greatest achievements this year is managing to actually read this book.