The Secret History

By Donna Tartt (1992)

I feel some ambivalence about this book. It’s similar in many ways to Tartt’s novel, The Goldfinch, which I mostly liked. Both are about the development of a young man following a traumatic event. Goldfinch’s Theo is a bit more likeable than History’s Richard, although both are rather passive participants in their life stories. The writing style is similar – in fact, some sections, like the ones when the protagonists fall into a dreamy, prolonged illness could almost be interchangeable. Both have a cast of colourful characters, although these are more fully drawn in Goldfinch. Perhaps what I’m feeling is just a sense that Tartt has grown as a writer in the 20-odd years between writing the two books.

Yet it seems to me that there is more to Goldfinch than to History. If Goldfinch is broadly about the ability of art and beauty to heal and guide, what is History about? A group of students work with a charismatic professor who tries to teach them about life by studying Greek philosophy and literature. They see themselves as an elite, in a different world from most of their contemporaries. Yet their Greek guidance leads them to a series of heinous acts, despair, emptiness and suicide. Their mentor turns out to be shallow and self-protective, and he abandons them without even pausing to say good bye. (This is not a total surprise as, for all that the students esteem him, there’s little evidence of his character in the story.) So the takeaway from the book seems to be that friendship, mentorship and an elite education in the classics doesn’t help young people dealing with their lives – not that their contemporaries at their university seem to be doing much better.

My dissatisfaction with The Secret History may arise from this nihilistic tone, which leaves little to enjoy at the end of the story. In fact, the most memorable part is the satire about Bunny’s middle-class parents and their ghastly work to put on a memorial service. Here, Richard’s picture of the utter incomprehension among the students as they are compelled take a role in the suburban lifestyle of Bunny’s family reminds me of mid-century stories like The Graduate. The older and younger generations simply can’t comprehend the values of each other, whether they are in the late 1950s in The Graduate or the late 1960s here.

What makes the story work is mystery: we know there will be a death, we’re not sure how it is going to happen or what the outcome will be. Richard is sympathetic as a narrator, so we root for him, although he seems to be a directionless follower, so I’m not sure why we do. The setting, a minor eastern college in the late 1960s, doesn’t have a lot of intrinsic interest.

Although the characters start out as interesting types, I found that most were very thinly drawn with little to distinguish them from each other and little depth. The rich kids, Francis and Henry, are practically interchangeable, and Camilla and Charles are only distinguished by their being twins. Only Bunny has much personality, and it is not a pleasant one. Perhaps this is because Richard, the narrator, doesn’t know them, but it feels more like Tartt not having drawn in their characters. And of course, Richard is, he tells us, a practiced liar who is justifying his role in the story. There are many deceptions and secrets throughout. This is part of Tartt’s trick in keeping readers engaged over 500 pages – while none of the characters is very sympathetic, Bunny’s character is so unpleasant that we come to empathize with the others who want to get rid of him. In fact, Bunny is so much more fully drawn that most readers can probably recognize someone in their lives that they would like to get rid of.

I’m not sure what keeps the story readable for over 500 pages, but I was intrigued enough to keep going. I think I was hoping for some resolution in the dynamic between the Greek philosophies and the contemporary situation. There’s no real resolution, so that may be the reason for my ambivalence. Tartt is an interesting writer whose style can make an interesting novel even if the storyline itself is not really compelling.