The Goldfinch, by Donna Tartt

My great pleasure in immersing myself in this Dickensian novel was somewhat spoiled by the sheer heft of the book.  Even in moderately small type, it is almost 800 pages long and weighs in at close to a pound.  “The Goldfinch” is an actual 17^th century Dutch painting.  In the novel, Theo, a thirteen year old boy, is with his mother in the New York museum where the painting is on loan.  A terrorist bomb goes off and Theo’s mother is killed.  He survives and is urged by a dying older man to take the painting away from the destruction.  Once it is in his possession, he finds it hard to part with.  Left parentless, his father having disappeared a year or so earlier, Theo finds himself at the mercy of fate and Children’s Services.  There are so many memorable characters:  the wealthy family he first stays with;  the partner (business?  lover?  we never really know) of the dying man at the museum, who runs an antique store; his father, who resurfaces in Las Vegas with Xander, his somewhat shopworn new girlfriend; and most of all, the Ukrainian Boris, who becomes both his best friend and his nemesis.  Even the doormen at the Park Avenue apartment are memorable.  I didn’t get much done during the days it took me to savor this book.  771 pp.