Secret history, the

Greek Tragedy meets Comedy of Manners. Crime and Punishment meets The Great Gatsby. In Cold Blood (the movie, not the book) meets A Night at the Opera (the movie, not the album). Donna Tartt’s The Secret History is a novel of breathtaking ambition, mixing literary genres the way a chemist mixes unstable compounds—carefully, brilliantly, and with the occasional explosion. At its core, this is a Greek tragedy in tweed and cashmere: a tale of hubris, fate, and the long, echoing consequences of a single act. But it’s also a darkly comedic study in pretension and privilege, a Comedy of Manners set in a cloistered college where everyone seems to have a martini in one hand and a Euripides quote in the other. Tartt’s prose is crisp, ornate without being showy, and often chilling in its control. The narrator, Richard Papen, is a West Coast outsider seduced by an elite circle of classics students at a small Vermont college—a clique so rarefied they feel less like classmates and more like decadent aristocrats teleported in from a lost Fitzgerald novel. (Crime and Punishment meets The Great Gatsby, indeed—where moral rot hides beneath sophistication, and where beauty and lofty ideals walk hand-in-hand with Dyonisian violence.) The book operates on a slow burn, turning up the psychological temperature degree by degree. By the time blood is spilled, you feel complicit. Tartt isn’t writing a whodunit so much as a whydunit—and then a what-happens-to-everyone-after. Stylistically, the novel blends gothic dread with drawing-room wit. It’s In Cold Blood (the film, with its bleak detachment of rain shadows for tears) filtered through the off-kilter absurdity of A Night at the Opera—though in this case, Groucho’s anti-aristocratic quips are replaced by Bunny’s provocations. Beneath all this, The Secret History is a meditation on elitism—not just academic elitism, but the dangerous, intoxicating belief that intelligence, taste, and beauty can lift one above consequence. Tartt shows us how that illusion of detachment leads not to enlightenment, but to moral collapse. It’s a book that feels like a warning, a confession, and a dare. It reminds us that brilliance without grounding is just a more elegant kind of madness.

Published in 1992 this book is famous (infamous?) for providing impetus to the "dark academia" movement - if it can be called that. The story is, more or less, fashioned after a Greek tragedy with deeply flawed characters ultimately facing the consequences of their decisions and actions. Indeed, the characters are grim - they aren't decent human beings at all. The story is not uplifting so it's not a good choice if you are looking for something to improve your mood. There is a lot of alcohol, drugs, and perversity in the story - which is more or less required to get on the New York Times bestselling list. In that respect the story hits all the right notes. There are a few things that are unrealistic - one is the sway one of the characters has over the others, another is that the story takes place at a university, but the "students" seem to study or attend class very little and still manage to matriculate term after term. Of course, writing about students studying would not be interesting reading. Finally, if any college student consumed as much alcohol as depicted by the characters in this story, they would have died of alcohol poisoning before the second term. All that said, the prose is superb. Sooth as butter, the writing whisks you into the story and keeps you engrossed until the end. In fact, The Secret History is so well written that you almost forget you are reading. So, did I like the story? No. Was I entertained and captivated? Yes. I'd have preferred at least one decent, incorruptible, semi-Tom Bombadil type character to shed some light and hope. As it is, Francis was right when he said, "I am looking forward to asking him why the hell he didn't just shoot us all and get it over with."

Tartt’s creative masterpiece is a must to read if creative intrigue, extremely developed characters and an imaginative storyline appeal to you. I’ve read her other novels, equally deserving, but this is the only one I’ve read three times. Each time I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it and picked up details I may have glossed over before. Very enjoyable—it’s hard to put this book down.

Donna Tartt's novel, The Secret History, is the story of an academically elite group of college students, who all exhibit varying degrees of sociopathic behavior and find common bond in the murder of a friend. We are told about that murder, victim and perpetrators, in the first sentences of the prologue. The rest of the book is the telling of how it came to be, and of its aftermath on the lives of these "friends." This seems to be one of those polarizing books--you love it or you hate it--based on the reviews it has received. I got it (Kindle edition) based on one glowing review I read. My judgment is middle of the road. There are aspects of the novel that I appreciated and that were well done, and others I really didn't like. I thought Ms Tartt did a great job with passages describing the allure of classical Greek, the language and culture, to current day scholars. She tells us that a part of the fascination with another language, especially a "dead" one (and death is a major symbol in the book), is understanding the use of it in self-expression. That is, some languages are better than others at expressing certain concepts and so can lead the student to find new modes of thought. Classical Greek, for instance, is very action oriented (Ms Tartt tells us), making the speaker's points through chains of cause-and-effect. I don't how true that is, but it's an interesting aside in this book. And then there are passes of just well-written prose. In terms of setting description and establishing ambiance, they would be textbook examples for writing students. For example: "The sun was low, burning gold through the trees, casting our shadows before us on the ground, long and distorted. We walked for a long time without saying anything. The air was musty with far-off bonfires, sharp with the edge of a twilight chill. There was no noise but the crunch of our shoes on the gravel path, the whistle of wind in the pines; I was sleepy and my head hurt and there was something not quite real about any of it, something like a dream. I felt that at any second I might start, my head on a pile of books at my desk, and find myself in a darkening room, alone." As for her storytelling, Ms Tartt does a technically good job there. She keeps tension going throughout the long book, although at times, I felt it dragging. Like in the first part of the book where Henry (the driving, sociopathic force of the story and the best scholar of the group) tells the protagonist, Richard, about the first murder (actually, a near accident). His narration leads through a good quarter of the book in getting to his desire and plans for a second murder. This progression is described in that character's materialistically brutal, self-absorbed manner and is interesting in that regard, but it goes on for too long. There are other similarly long passages that required some effort to get through. This book could probably have been half the length with no loss to story. The biggest drawback for me, however, was the lack of sympathetic characters. I mean, none. Even the protagonist (and this story is told in first person). They are all selfish and most are drunk or stoned all the time. They are selfish users, or gutless followers. Some of it is interesting, like the building plans to murder Bunny that become, to the student scholars, as little more than academic considerations up until their plan's execution. And there's a dynamic there of the group following Henry (the brilliant psychopath) in plotting this crime, mostly because Bunny was just obnoxious and he pissed-off everybody (so obviously, he didn't deserve to live). After the second murder, the group goes from relief that it's over, to wild concern it will be discovered. As with sociopaths, their emotions stem not from guilt or remorse, but from fear of consequences (prison). So I never felt much pity for any of them. The protag offers some sage comments on the story (his "secret history") and indicates his life was basically ruined by it all. There is even a sense of "reform" on his part towards the end where he is seen drinking iced tea rather than booze. I saw that as far more development than in any of the other characters, but it was not, to me, enough to redeem him. Now it may be that many people see this story as a "realistic" depiction of life and the way people are, and that is the story's attraction for them. If that's the case for you, then you may really like this book, especially with the author's considerable writing skills. But I like my stories with at least a little bit of hope and inspiration thrown in. For that reason, I can't recommend this book beyond an example of well written prose. All that said, however, I did like the way Ms Tartt ended her story. It is done with an "after death" scene in the gray area of "is this real or illusion?". If the whole book had been like that, I would have liked it better.

The moment I know I’ll love a book is when I’m going about my everyday life and, suddenly, tiny occurrences pleasantly jerk my mind back to the book’s world. It’s been days since I finished Donna Tartt’s The Secret History (1992) and I still find myself constantly daydreaming about this exquisite novel. The curious thing is that I didn’t love The Secret History the way I love most books I read. I didn’t sit in bed overnight reading just to reach the end and expecting a big twist or climax (which, to my pleasant surprise, it had), only to be momentarily relieved or disappointed before closing the book and returning to reality. As many readers have admitted before me, what kept me engrossed in this book was not what was going to happen, but how it would happen. Inexplicably, I wanted to live and breathe in that world, to stay in it for as long as possible and cling to every word and thought as much as I could. For that reason, I devoured it slowly—about three weeks passed until I’d read the book from start to finish. And still I can’t explain the emptiness after finishing, or the feeling that it’ll be hard to find a book that moves me in quite the same way this one did. The book centers on the recollections of Richard Papen regarding his dark experiences at the fictional Hampden College, a small liberal arts college in Vermont. Richard, a self-conscious and naïve student from a blue-collar background in Plano, California, arrives at Hampden with merely a suitcase and a desire to escape his miserable childhood home. At Hampden, Richard is, after some time and effort, accepted into the highly exclusive Classics major under the patriarchal and eccentric Professor Julian Morrow. Through the small group’s weekly meetings reminiscent of a secret society (there are merely 6 students in the major), he falls in with the cluster of seemingly unapproachable, picturesque scholars whose souls seem to have stepped out of an ancient Greek play. There’s group leader Henry Winter, tall and brooding, a clever linguist always sporting a suit. The others are red-haired and elegant Francis Abernathy, spritely and enigmatic twins Charles and Camilla Macaulay, and jovial, freeloading Edmund “Bunny” Corcoran. To fit in, Richard invents a backstory packed with Californian wealth, despite being the only one without family connections or a stable financial background. While submersed in the intellectual beauty of his studies and peers, combined with their frequent visits to Francis’ family’s empty, historic, relic-filled country house, Richard seems to be living a Classic dream come true. But after a bizarre, Dionysian bacchanal (basically a drug-induced, spiritual orgy in the woods) ends in both an accidental and, eventually, a premeditated murder, Richard begins to realize that his childish and somewhat shallow infatuation with the group may not be enough for him to swallow their treasure chest of dark secrets. After reading merely the first sentence, we are told (what we believe to be) the book’s climax. But what we don’t know is why or how their lives will fall apart, one by one, as if on the Devil’s very own hit list, as a result of a single moment in time. Ultimately, Richard’s superficial obsession to fit in, his “morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs,” proves to be not only his fatal flaw, as he himself admits, but his doorway into a dark, living, breathing world of heartache, melancholy, and never-ending nightmares. I’ll start by saying that I am by no means proficient in or even familiar with the Classics. I’m aware of the basics, of the idea of a “fatal flaw” and such, but not enough to feel comfortable writing about them with confidence. Therefore, for those of you debating whether to read this book because of this element, I can tell you now—the substance is not in this aspect, but in the character development and plot. The book does in many ways parallel a Greek tragedy, and those who are familiar with Classics will likely have an enhanced reading experience. However, by no means does it exclude readers without this background. The emphasis is strongly on the deterioration of a group of friends, not on Greek philosophy. Now, most critics of the book are quick to attack its seemingly pretentious aura, claiming that real 90’s college students would never talk like these do (“For a few minutes—goodness, how confusing this was—I thought of digging a grave but then I realized it would be madness” is an actual quote from a student) dress in European suits, or smoke 500 cigarette packs a day while they throw back expensive whiskey like its water. They’d never skip a college party of free-flowing beer, fluorescent lights, and sticky floors to sit in a country house and practice the box step, or discuss “whether Hesiod’s primordial Chaos was simply empty space or chaos in the sense of the modern world” while they play cards. But in a sense, I beg to differ. Yes, these characters can be slightly exaggerated, mostly in the first half of the book, which details their frequent gatherings and esoteric conversations (towards the end they notably start speaking in more colloquial terms). Yes, they can be irritating, despicable, and downright disturbing at times. But to be honest, this never bothered me as I was reading—in fact, it made the book even more fascinating. If you can’t handle some deliciously evil characters that pose as charming members of society, you probably won’t like many books out there. I see this pompousness as merely a way of cynically showing us that these students, with superficially beautiful minds and faces, with a seemingly supreme moral compass, are not only flawed and human, but often much worse than that. The premature deification of the group only serves to make their fall from grace that much more powerful, sad, and disquieting. Another point of contention regarding the novel is its tendency to ramble, to spend precious time illustrating minute details of the characters’ personalities, surroundings, thoughts, etc. Once again, this is true to a certain extent. This book is not written as an action novel or crime thriller, where everything is based on people running around solving things or shooting guns. If you can’t stand description and only want action, this book may not be for you. But to me, Tartt creates a world that’s tangible, where every description explains things so poignantly that you often feel you couldn’t have worded it better yourself. Yes, there are many words, but every word is there for a reason if you stop to examine it. And Tartt’s talent shines not only in her prose, but in her timing and in her ability to develop tension such that each secret revealed seems like a bomb dropped, no matter how small. It’s is the juxtaposition of the realistic ambiance and the perfectly timed reveals that, for me, makes The Secret History so moving and so difficult to leave. As a reader, you feel Richard’s nostalgia the way you recall your own sharp childhood memories that you long to go back to, and the way you often stop to consider the other paths that your life could’ve taken if only things had been different. I rarely experience emotions this strong when reading any book, and as much as I’d like to I can’t put my finger on what exactly about this book did it for me—and in that same way, I can’t guarantee the same for every reader. But I can say that if you’re looking for an intellectual, modern classic, a haunting psychological thriller, a mix between Lord of the Flies, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and Dead Poets Society, or simply a book that will linger in your mind as you lay in bed each night — it’s sitting right in front of you.

I have to say, this story was much more engaging than "The Goldfinch" was. I had mixed expectations going into this because I've heard great things about this book, but reading "The Goldfinch" felt like slogging through waist-deep mud in a snowsuit. If I had been on Goodreads when reading The Goldfinch, I would have given it a generous 2.5 stars. Richard is one of those people who, to me, represents the color gray. Bleary, muted, not very interesting, but interesting things happen TO him, not BECAUSE of him. Speaking of the characters, the only two who had any personality at all were Francis and Bunny, and Bunny ends up dead. Henry definitely has an undiagnosed personality disorder, Richard is depressed with substance abuse issues, the twins have an unnatural and disturbing relationship with each other, and all of them are slowly sliding into substance abuse disorders. They all have an almost flat affect with a seemingly difficult time connecting to other people. From a psychological point of view, they're all rather interesting, but I wouldn't go so far as to say they're likable. Do not ask me why but I was cracking up at the part where Charles smashes a wasp with a prayer book on the church pew during Bunny's funeral. This book started off slow but started to gain speed once Richard gets to Hampden College and starts hanging out with the others. I liked the way the book ending, with Richard talking about a dream he has where one of his dead friends tells him that he's not dead, he's just having trouble with his passport. The book was long but it didn't feel like it dragged on needlessly. My only complaint is that Bunny's murder, and the complicity of the other characters, is a central theme for the majority of this book, yet we don't get to witness it. The scene ends with all of them standing next to a ravine and Henry taking a step toward Bunny, and that's it. Through context, you can more or less piece together what happened, but I wish there would have been more to that scene. I understand that since this story is told through Richard's POV, that's why we don't get to experience what happened, because Richard says that he blacked out the act itself and he refuses to think about it. That's my only complaint.

The Secret History is haunting, brilliant, and completely absorbing. Donna Tartt’s writing is elegant and atmospheric, pulling you into a world of privilege, obsession, and moral decay. The slow unraveling of the story feels both inevitable and shocking, and the characters are so complex and flawed that you can’t look away from them. It’s a dark, intellectual thriller that lingers in your mind long after you close the book. A masterpiece of the Dark Academia genre and one that every literary fiction lover should experience.

I read The Secret History a while ago, and it is just one of those books that stays with you even long after you finish it. Donna Tartt’s writing pulls you into a world that is both beautiful and unsettling. The story follows a group of eccentric classics students at a small college in Vermont. From the beginning, you are aware that murder has taken place. Not the “who” but the “why” for murder is what kept me interested and the revealing of everything leading up to it. The book moves slower than a typical thriller, but the character's development and psychological depth are worth it. Each character is flawed, and watching how their secrets, arrogance, and obsession spiral into tragedy is both fascinating and disturbing. I liked how she wove in themes of morality, guilt, and the consequences of choices without ever feeling preachy. It can be a heavy read at times. There is a dark tone throughout the book. If you enjoy literary fiction that blends mystery with philosophy, then I recommend giving this book a try. It shows how fragile people become when they believe they are untouchable.