Though antique furniture is not my "bailiwick" and though Donna Tartt's picaresque novel occasionally "maunders" along in the metaphysical voice of the narrator (Theo Decker, a.k.a "Potter" according to his Russian buddy Boris, a nickname that is highly apropos) the book is mainly a Dickensian roller-coaster ride through disaster, friendship, a terrorist attack on the Met, art theft, the seedy underside of Vegas, drug addiction, alcoholism, furniture restoration, coincidence, and unrequited love . . . it is ambitious, well-written, and plotted to keep you turning pages, or in my case, increasing the font size of my Kindle so I could finish the book in an insane marathon session (it is nearly 800 pages long and it is worth the commitment).
2 comments:
I will not read anything described as Dickensian.
how about picaresque?
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