Unexpected Donna Tartt
Back in my Tumblr days, one of my mutuals really liked Donna Tartt. She would reblog pictures of Tartt quite a bit, and because I had a major crush on this girl, I tried to analyze what was so good about Tartt. I could see the appeal. There was something very striking about Tartt's small pale face, her strong nose, her neat yet severe dark bob, and her insistence on wearing sharp suits. I didn't get fully get it though, not until nearly a decade later, when I read The Goldfinch for the very first time. It was at the height of COVID-19 lockdowns and I spent a lot of time on my Kobo reader, taking e-books out from the library. I didn't even realise that Tartt was the author of The Goldfinch when I picked it up. It was a long read, but a satisfying one, and I loved it. So much so, that I took a chance on her other novel, The Secret History, and bought a physical copy without any hesitation.
I ended up carrying that copy of the book with me to and from the hospital. My dad had gotten heart surgery and things were touch and go for a bit. Our family rotated who would stand guard over his hospital bed, and while I was in the waiting room, or in the hospital cafeteria eating fries, I devoured The Secret History. For a short period, the Classics students in the book were my escape.
At one point, thing weren't looking so good and I found myself in the hospital chapel with my mother making a hasty promise. I prayed to God, if my dad makes it through this, I'll move back home. I'll even be Catholic again. My dad made it through. I eventually moved back home, but I neglected the second half of my promise for two years.
Now I'm trying to hold up my end of the bargain.
And because I'm easily susceptible to making one thing my personality, a few months ago, I searched up a list of Catholic authors. From what I've read so far (my small sample size of two: Bishop Erik Varden, and St. Francis de Sales), I'm convinced that Catholics are pretty good at writing non-fiction. But I thought to myself, surely Catholics aren't so boring as to be incapable of writing a good piece of fiction. Imagine my surprise when I saw Donna Tartt on the list.
In a 1992 Vanity Fair article, James Kaplan describes Tartt as, "in many ways, a figure from another decade: a small, hard-drinking, southern writer, a Catholic convert, witheringly smart, with an occluded past, sadness among the magnolias." 1992 is the year that The Secret History was published. So she must have converted at the very latest while the book was getting ready to be published.
There's something very American about Tartt and her writing, so it didn't really make sense to me why Tartt included as many Catholic references in The Secret History as she did. Like, surely Protestants have a stronger chokehold on Americans.
My favourite instance in the book is when the Classics professor expresses concern about a student's sudden interest in ethics and forgiveness. He wonders if the student is becoming religious, which is apparently terrible, but he also says that he wouldn't mind it so much if the student converted to Catholicism. Why? Because, "whatever one thinks of the Roman Church, it is a worthy and powerful foe." Honestly, it makes me laugh every time I read it. I guess the professor was right, because there aren't so many Classicists around anymore, but the Roman Catholic Church is still standing. Checkmate, atheists/Greek pagans.
Jokes aside, even after looking up that list of Catholic authors, it hasn't impacted my reading at all. Other than reading more Catholic non-fiction (all from recommendations outside of this list), I'm still slowly making my way through "the classics", and I still try to read diverse voices. I do feel a little vindicated knowing that my favourite living female author is Catholic, but really, it doesn't change anything.