You Act Like Editors Are Actually Useful . . .

Nearly everyone who reads Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch says something along the lines of "that book sure needed an editor." I actually didn't mind how long it was (nearly 800 pages), and I say this as someone who really dislikes long books, or at least distrusts them and actively avoids them.

I will say that the thing I was curious about while reading Goldfinch is that middle part in Las Vegas — which was wonderful, don't get me wrong; I loved the ridiculousness of exurban post-real estate bubble (some bubble, at least) Las Vegas — seems tacked on. It obviously moves along the story, so it's not literally tacked on, but it does seem like a different kernel of an idea that was grafted onto the main idea.

Goober brought up an interesting point, which revolved around the supposed timelessness of the story — it's written like ten or fifteen years later, and since it takes place in a post-9/11 world, that means that it's sort of happening in the year 2025 maybe. Like the end of the universe, it's jarring if you think about it too much, so it's best not to think about it.

I am dimly aware of some bad reviews of the book; I don't get that at all and I don't much care either. It actually has an ending, for one, which most writers seem physically incapable of accomplishing. And although there's a sense in there of some kind of fun but maybe convoluted symbols/metaphors for "coming of age" (I think that's the point of the Las Vegas-New York-Europe contrasts and then maybe — maybe? — something about the way Americans grieve versus — maybe? — other people on the planet when it comes to national tragedies), it doesn't distract from what is actually a fun book to read. So whatever.