Review 3: ‘The Secret History’ by Donna Tartt

When my sister recommended The Secret History as a good starter book for Review Thirty-Six I initially had no idea that it was a) so venerable and well respected (venerable probably isn’t the right word here, but it’s certainly older than I was expecting it to be) and b) it’s absolutely flipping everywhere!  Seriously, over the last month this book has sprung from the woodwork and suddenly everyone is talking about it.  I’m pretty sure it’s just another case of me falling victim to the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, but in the last two weeks alone I have seen The Secret History mentioned on Twitter as part of a much more ambitious year-long reading challenge (52 books in 52 weeks… yeesh), on at least three of those “Books to Read to Prove You’re an Intellectual” lists, and featured on a table in W H Smith.

Seriously? I gave money to Amazon for you and you were available in SMITHS???

Apparently, everyone but me knew about this book, and I must say, I’m glad I’ve started paying attention because it is undeniably a good read.  For anyone who doesn’t know, The Secret History, written by Donna Tartt and published in 1992, takes an interesting and not oft explored crack at a murder mystery story, sort of.  Only in this case, the mystery is not who perpetrated the murder (we know this by the end of the first page), but rather why the murder has taken place.  This isn’t to say that there are no surprises or plot twists to be found in The Secret History (and I will do my best not to ruin any of them), but for me, it was was this knowledge that made the story so engaging.  I am not the most patient of people at the best of times, and I tend to find traditional murder mysteries frustrating and nonsensical.  Knowing right from the start who killed Bunny Corcoran (even though I didn’t even know who Bunny Corcoran was) allowed me to set aside that part of the narrative and focus on the bit I really enjoy, a deeper dive into the motives behind a murder and the permanent scars it has left behind… goody.

The story is told from the perspective of Richard Papen, an impoverished yet proud student who is seemingly writing down the book’s events many years into his future.  While not usually a fan of first person narratives it felt particularly effective and appropriate here as the reader can’t help be aware (especially in the latter part of the book where fourth wall breaks appear more frequently) that this is being written as a confession.  So much of the book’s drama revolves around characters and situations presenting themselves as something they’re not – groups of students desperately trying to pass as rich intellectuals to impress each other; a murder made to look like a hiking accident; the constant attempts of the principle characters to disguise their upset at the unfolding events.  The style of the narrative acts as a constant reminder that despite these many facades the narrator, at least, is truly consumed by guilt over his actions which adds a new perspective to his character we wouldn’t otherwise get to see.

This is a theme that is carefully managed and expanded upon throughout the book.  While I would not necessarily choose to be friends with any of the main characters of The Secret History (seriously, they are all terrible, petty people way too concerned with how they are viewed by everyone else), I do certainly feel sympathy for them by the end of the novel.  They are by and large normal people (normal-ish), and they react to situations in a normal way.  I don’t agree with their actions but, thanks to our unique insight into them, they are framed to seem the most logical solution to an increasingly difficult and untenable problem.  Part of the beauty of this book, however, is that while the people are normal (I say again, normal-ish) the situations they find themselves in are very much not, and it is thanks to the strength of Donna Tartt’s writing that some of the frankly, wacky and outlandish circumstances in the book feel plausible and relatable.

I must admit, I did, at times, see shades of university-aged me in the main cast of characters.  I frequently wanted to be left alone to my thoughts like Henry, and yet I also remember the narrator, Richard’s, desire to be liked and respected by his classmates to the exclusion of all else.  Even Francis’ hypochondria is familiar.  None of these are particularly flattering traits, and I’d like to think that I balanced them out with something better, but they are all recognisable to me.  This made for quite an enjoyable, if rather chilling in places, reading experience.  It also left me with one nagging thought.  I don’t agree with what they did or with how that handled the aftermath (neither do some of the characters by the end, so at least there is that), but placed in a similar situation who’s to say that I wouldn’t panic and end up trying to murder my way out too?  I mean… I really hope I wouldn’t, but there’s always a chance right?

It’s all academic anyway.  I’m far too scared of heights to ever get near enough to a drop to push someone and make it look like an accident.

“Not quite what one expected, but once it happened one realized it couldn’t be any other way.”

Donna Tartt, The Secret History

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