The Secret History (Vintage Contemporaries)

I loved this book, and I think many readers miss the story it’s actually telling. Beneath the surface plot, there’s a deeper, more unsettling layer that completely changed the way I experienced it. Donna Tartt’s The Secret History begins as a campus novel about a small, insular group of classics students who seem, at first, almost impossibly elegant and self‑contained. Through the narrator’s eyes, they appear brilliant, mysterious, and slightly unreal — the kind of people who seem to belong to another world entirely. As the story unfolds, the book reveals a far more complex reality beneath that polished surface. Tartt gradually exposes the emotional fragility within the group: the insecurity, the fear, the immaturity, and the way their carefully constructed world depends on everyone maintaining the same delicate illusion. One of the novel’s most striking elements is the presence of a character whose energy is chaotic, disruptive, and strangely vital. He brings warmth, unpredictability, and a kind of unruly life into the group — and the way the others respond to him reveals far more about their own vulnerabilities than about him. The group’s fascination with the ancient world occasionally slips into moments that feel ritualistic — not in a literal sense, but in the way youthful intensity can accidentally brush against something larger than itself. The classical imagery on the cover echoes this atmosphere without giving anything away. What makes The Secret History linger isn’t the plot itself, but the way Tartt uses atmosphere, psychology, and a subtly unreliable narrator to explore the dangers of wanting to belong too badly. It’s a novel about illusions — the ones we cast on others, and the ones we cast on ourselves — and what happens when those illusions begin to crack. Elegant, haunting, and quietly devastating, it’s a story that reveals its truest shape only to readers willing to look past the surface.

Published in 1992 this book is famous (infamous?) for providing impetus to the "dark academia" movement - if it can be called that. The story is, more or less, fashioned after a Greek tragedy with deeply flawed characters ultimately facing the consequences of their decisions and actions. Indeed, the characters are grim - they aren't decent human beings at all. The story is not uplifting so it's not a good choice if you are looking for something to improve your mood. There is a lot of alcohol, drugs, and perversity in the story - which is more or less required to get on the New York Times bestselling list. In that respect the story hits all the right notes. There are a few things that are unrealistic - one is the sway one of the characters has over the others, another is that the story takes place at a university, but the "students" seem to study or attend class very little and still manage to matriculate term after term. Of course, writing about students studying would not be interesting reading. Finally, if any college student consumed as much alcohol as depicted by the characters in this story, they would have died of alcohol poisoning before the second term. All that said, the prose is superb. Sooth as butter, the writing whisks you into the story and keeps you engrossed until the end. In fact, The Secret History is so well written that you almost forget you are reading. So, did I like the story? No. Was I entertained and captivated? Yes. I'd have preferred at least one decent, incorruptible, semi-Tom Bombadil type character to shed some light and hope. As it is, Francis was right when he said, "I am looking forward to asking him why the hell he didn't just shoot us all and get it over with."

The moment I know I’ll love a book is when I’m going about my everyday life and, suddenly, tiny occurrences pleasantly jerk my mind back to the book’s world. It’s been days since I finished Donna Tartt’s The Secret History (1992) and I still find myself constantly daydreaming about this exquisite novel. The curious thing is that I didn’t love The Secret History the way I love most books I read. I didn’t sit in bed overnight reading just to reach the end and expecting a big twist or climax (which, to my pleasant surprise, it had), only to be momentarily relieved or disappointed before closing the book and returning to reality. As many readers have admitted before me, what kept me engrossed in this book was not what was going to happen, but how it would happen. Inexplicably, I wanted to live and breathe in that world, to stay in it for as long as possible and cling to every word and thought as much as I could. For that reason, I devoured it slowly—about three weeks passed until I’d read the book from start to finish. And still I can’t explain the emptiness after finishing, or the feeling that it’ll be hard to find a book that moves me in quite the same way this one did. The book centers on the recollections of Richard Papen regarding his dark experiences at the fictional Hampden College, a small liberal arts college in Vermont. Richard, a self-conscious and naïve student from a blue-collar background in Plano, California, arrives at Hampden with merely a suitcase and a desire to escape his miserable childhood home. At Hampden, Richard is, after some time and effort, accepted into the highly exclusive Classics major under the patriarchal and eccentric Professor Julian Morrow. Through the small group’s weekly meetings reminiscent of a secret society (there are merely 6 students in the major), he falls in with the cluster of seemingly unapproachable, picturesque scholars whose souls seem to have stepped out of an ancient Greek play. There’s group leader Henry Winter, tall and brooding, a clever linguist always sporting a suit. The others are red-haired and elegant Francis Abernathy, spritely and enigmatic twins Charles and Camilla Macaulay, and jovial, freeloading Edmund “Bunny” Corcoran. To fit in, Richard invents a backstory packed with Californian wealth, despite being the only one without family connections or a stable financial background. While submersed in the intellectual beauty of his studies and peers, combined with their frequent visits to Francis’ family’s empty, historic, relic-filled country house, Richard seems to be living a Classic dream come true. But after a bizarre, Dionysian bacchanal (basically a drug-induced, spiritual orgy in the woods) ends in both an accidental and, eventually, a premeditated murder, Richard begins to realize that his childish and somewhat shallow infatuation with the group may not be enough for him to swallow their treasure chest of dark secrets. After reading merely the first sentence, we are told (what we believe to be) the book’s climax. But what we don’t know is why or how their lives will fall apart, one by one, as if on the Devil’s very own hit list, as a result of a single moment in time. Ultimately, Richard’s superficial obsession to fit in, his “morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs,” proves to be not only his fatal flaw, as he himself admits, but his doorway into a dark, living, breathing world of heartache, melancholy, and never-ending nightmares. I’ll start by saying that I am by no means proficient in or even familiar with the Classics. I’m aware of the basics, of the idea of a “fatal flaw” and such, but not enough to feel comfortable writing about them with confidence. Therefore, for those of you debating whether to read this book because of this element, I can tell you now—the substance is not in this aspect, but in the character development and plot. The book does in many ways parallel a Greek tragedy, and those who are familiar with Classics will likely have an enhanced reading experience. However, by no means does it exclude readers without this background. The emphasis is strongly on the deterioration of a group of friends, not on Greek philosophy. Now, most critics of the book are quick to attack its seemingly pretentious aura, claiming that real 90’s college students would never talk like these do (“For a few minutes—goodness, how confusing this was—I thought of digging a grave but then I realized it would be madness” is an actual quote from a student) dress in European suits, or smoke 500 cigarette packs a day while they throw back expensive whiskey like its water. They’d never skip a college party of free-flowing beer, fluorescent lights, and sticky floors to sit in a country house and practice the box step, or discuss “whether Hesiod’s primordial Chaos was simply empty space or chaos in the sense of the modern world” while they play cards. But in a sense, I beg to differ. Yes, these characters can be slightly exaggerated, mostly in the first half of the book, which details their frequent gatherings and esoteric conversations (towards the end they notably start speaking in more colloquial terms). Yes, they can be irritating, despicable, and downright disturbing at times. But to be honest, this never bothered me as I was reading—in fact, it made the book even more fascinating. If you can’t handle some deliciously evil characters that pose as charming members of society, you probably won’t like many books out there. I see this pompousness as merely a way of cynically showing us that these students, with superficially beautiful minds and faces, with a seemingly supreme moral compass, are not only flawed and human, but often much worse than that. The premature deification of the group only serves to make their fall from grace that much more powerful, sad, and disquieting. Another point of contention regarding the novel is its tendency to ramble, to spend precious time illustrating minute details of the characters’ personalities, surroundings, thoughts, etc. Once again, this is true to a certain extent. This book is not written as an action novel or crime thriller, where everything is based on people running around solving things or shooting guns. If you can’t stand description and only want action, this book may not be for you. But to me, Tartt creates a world that’s tangible, where every description explains things so poignantly that you often feel you couldn’t have worded it better yourself. Yes, there are many words, but every word is there for a reason if you stop to examine it. And Tartt’s talent shines not only in her prose, but in her timing and in her ability to develop tension such that each secret revealed seems like a bomb dropped, no matter how small. It’s is the juxtaposition of the realistic ambiance and the perfectly timed reveals that, for me, makes The Secret History so moving and so difficult to leave. As a reader, you feel Richard’s nostalgia the way you recall your own sharp childhood memories that you long to go back to, and the way you often stop to consider the other paths that your life could’ve taken if only things had been different. I rarely experience emotions this strong when reading any book, and as much as I’d like to I can’t put my finger on what exactly about this book did it for me—and in that same way, I can’t guarantee the same for every reader. But I can say that if you’re looking for an intellectual, modern classic, a haunting psychological thriller, a mix between Lord of the Flies, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and Dead Poets Society, or simply a book that will linger in your mind as you lay in bed each night — it’s sitting right in front of you.

Donna Tartt's novel, The Secret History, is the story of an academically elite group of college students, who all exhibit varying degrees of sociopathic behavior and find common bond in the murder of a friend. We are told about that murder, victim and perpetrators, in the first sentences of the prologue. The rest of the book is the telling of how it came to be, and of its aftermath on the lives of these "friends." This seems to be one of those polarizing books--you love it or you hate it--based on the reviews it has received. I got it (Kindle edition) based on one glowing review I read. My judgment is middle of the road. There are aspects of the novel that I appreciated and that were well done, and others I really didn't like. I thought Ms Tartt did a great job with passages describing the allure of classical Greek, the language and culture, to current day scholars. She tells us that a part of the fascination with another language, especially a "dead" one (and death is a major symbol in the book), is understanding the use of it in self-expression. That is, some languages are better than others at expressing certain concepts and so can lead the student to find new modes of thought. Classical Greek, for instance, is very action oriented (Ms Tartt tells us), making the speaker's points through chains of cause-and-effect. I don't how true that is, but it's an interesting aside in this book. And then there are passes of just well-written prose. In terms of setting description and establishing ambiance, they would be textbook examples for writing students. For example: "The sun was low, burning gold through the trees, casting our shadows before us on the ground, long and distorted. We walked for a long time without saying anything. The air was musty with far-off bonfires, sharp with the edge of a twilight chill. There was no noise but the crunch of our shoes on the gravel path, the whistle of wind in the pines; I was sleepy and my head hurt and there was something not quite real about any of it, something like a dream. I felt that at any second I might start, my head on a pile of books at my desk, and find myself in a darkening room, alone." As for her storytelling, Ms Tartt does a technically good job there. She keeps tension going throughout the long book, although at times, I felt it dragging. Like in the first part of the book where Henry (the driving, sociopathic force of the story and the best scholar of the group) tells the protagonist, Richard, about the first murder (actually, a near accident). His narration leads through a good quarter of the book in getting to his desire and plans for a second murder. This progression is described in that character's materialistically brutal, self-absorbed manner and is interesting in that regard, but it goes on for too long. There are other similarly long passages that required some effort to get through. This book could probably have been half the length with no loss to story. The biggest drawback for me, however, was the lack of sympathetic characters. I mean, none. Even the protagonist (and this story is told in first person). They are all selfish and most are drunk or stoned all the time. They are selfish users, or gutless followers. Some of it is interesting, like the building plans to murder Bunny that become, to the student scholars, as little more than academic considerations up until their plan's execution. And there's a dynamic there of the group following Henry (the brilliant psychopath) in plotting this crime, mostly because Bunny was just obnoxious and he pissed-off everybody (so obviously, he didn't deserve to live). After the second murder, the group goes from relief that it's over, to wild concern it will be discovered. As with sociopaths, their emotions stem not from guilt or remorse, but from fear of consequences (prison). So I never felt much pity for any of them. The protag offers some sage comments on the story (his "secret history") and indicates his life was basically ruined by it all. There is even a sense of "reform" on his part towards the end where he is seen drinking iced tea rather than booze. I saw that as far more development than in any of the other characters, but it was not, to me, enough to redeem him. Now it may be that many people see this story as a "realistic" depiction of life and the way people are, and that is the story's attraction for them. If that's the case for you, then you may really like this book, especially with the author's considerable writing skills. But I like my stories with at least a little bit of hope and inspiration thrown in. For that reason, I can't recommend this book beyond an example of well written prose. All that said, however, I did like the way Ms Tartt ended her story. It is done with an "after death" scene in the gray area of "is this real or illusion?". If the whole book had been like that, I would have liked it better.

This novel starts so well that I wanted it to continue in its promise. What was I expecting? An American answer to "Crime and Punishment"? The set up is consistently good, but the second half is uneven. Some paragraphs seemed jumbled. Word salad. (Not unlike that.) But make no mistake. There are extremely good passages in the second half. The funeral is perfect. The college's contribution in Bunny's name to a well-known cause that he would certainly have "abhorred" if only he had known of it. The protagonist reduced in the end to seeing his college friends only in fantasies and dreams. Richard, though, never has agency. Things happen to him. The novel requires thought and wonder about the society we live in. Maybe all human society. Murder is a disruption of the social order as well as of the inner psychic order. The intellectuals in this story think they can get away with it. That it need not make a difference. But it has consequences nonetheless. Society does not want to believe that friends would murder friends, so people have remarkable capacities for fooling themselves by normalizing tragedy. Even law enforcement normalizes crime. A campus security officer looks directly at one of the murderers, but all he sees is a scoff law with outstanding parking tickets. A federal agent cannot detect foul play unless he can establish that it is drug-related. Otherwise any other motive for murder utterly escapes him. There is a subtext about parenting. The parents of the college students who populate "The Secret History" seem to range from incompetent to negligent to criminal. In their stead, the characters adopt inadequate substitutes from a cultured faculty member who is steeped in moral relativism to the seemingly most mature of the gang who is a rudderless copy of their faculty mentor. I wonder at the author's choice of a male protagonist. Much of the time, I do forget that Donna Tartt is taking the POV of the opposite sex. Of course, Richard's sexuality is slightly ambiguous. He identifies with Gatsby in several ways, and with Nick, the narrator of "The Great Gatsby" in that Richard pretends to be wealthier than he is (although his friends catch on to this deception and forgive him). All of this acknowledged, I must note nevertheless that at one point, Richard is obsessing over his physical attraction to Daisy--er, Camilla in a manner more suited to a would-be portrait painter than to a man with even a smidgen of lust. For example, A man tends to lust after curves of the soft anatomy, not after those of the bone structure as does Richard in Tartt's fantasy of him.

This book kept me hooked all throughout. The writing is beautiful with so many sentences that I want to remember forever. Character development is top notch. There are some disturbing scenes but they are crucial to the story. Highly recommend reading it.

This could have been titled, The Lost Years. The storyline, the vivid descriptions of location and place are masterful. Have never read a book where alcohol is more prominent, and for college students.

I’ve had The Secret History in my TBR pile for…well, a long time now. But in the last two weeks, three separate students – with no connection between them – all brought up the book to me. And while I’m assuming that it has to do with BookTok (a thing that I know exists but which my age exempts me from having to learn about it), the fact that three different high schoolers all independently came up to me to talk about a thirty-year old book…well, it moved the book up to the top of my stack. So, having read it, I can certainly imagine a lot of why it’s appealing to a high school and/or college audience (beyond it being part of the “dark academia” trend right now)…but honestly, I have been thinking since I finished it about how I feel about the book, and I think I’ve yet to entirely decide. In its broadest strokes, The Secret History is about a young man named Richard Papen, who wants little more than to get out of his small town and away from his humble, working-class background. That’s how he ends up at Hampden College, a small liberal arts college in Vermont, where he finds himself drawn to an elite, exclusive, and small group of classics students – an invitation-only class focused on Greek translation but also a wider appreciation of classic literature and studies. Of course, that all seems fine, but it’s all colored a bit by the prologue, which informs us about the search for the body of one of the class’s members – killed by his classmates. To some degree, that’s really the whole plot of The Secret History, which spends about half of its length building up to that murder, and the rest of the book watching as the aftermath unfolds. There are some other key events here and there, but the major one takes place off-stage entirely and the other effectively serves as the book’s climax. Instead, this is a coming-of-age book of sorts, about a young man who finds an odd batch of kindred spirits and a chance to reinvent himself, and finds himself swept up in a group without connections to the larger community and with a deep sense of superiority about themselves, their knowledge, and their connections. Because make no mistake, these are upper-class students – well, apart from Richard, who is taking this chance to hide his working-class background and pretend that he’s part of their group. And the snobbery, the disdain, the self-righteousness and superiority of these characters…it’s a lot, and that’s before they commit a murder which often seems to be viewed almost entirely as an inconvenience for them as anything – a nuisance, rather than an act of evil. And this is where I struggle with the book. My initial reaction, as I read the book, was to view it much as I do the book The Great Gatsby – that it is a book about awful people, written from the point of view of one who’s almost as awful as the rest, but blissfully unaware of it. But as The Secret History goes on (and on – this is not a short book, and its prose and discussions can be longwinded at times), I struggled with that interpretation. Oh, there’s definitely at least one class member who we’re supposed to feel uneasy about…but more than anything, this book seems to pity these students, and never really pushes back against their ignorance or egos or snobbery. Then again, my English teacher brain chimes in, Nick Carraway doesn’t either, and you like that book just fine. It probably complicates my feelings on The Secret History to see it through the eyes of my students, too, because I know younger me would feel differently about these students, and I know some of them can see the great side of this – the sense of being better than the idiots you’re so often surrounded by, the sense of finding your peers and being able to have “real” conversations about things that matter, the desire to get to find yourself and to become something “intellectual.” And I can see it all being appealing, to where the book can be described as “incredibly sad” but not for the murder itself. But to see all of that and to not see the self-deceptions at the heart of The Secret History, I think, is to misread the book, because I think Tartt has to be viewing them through a lens of narcissism and self-involvement…because only that could justify how thinly drawn some of these characters are, and how ultimately thin the whole book is. For all of the length of The Secret History, I’m not sure it wears that weight well; by the time Tartt got to The Goldfinch, she was much better about her pacing and her story. (I do think that some – not all, but definitely some – of my issues with The Secret History come from it being a first novel.) Here, there are about three beats to hit, and the rest is sort of living in this world with these characters, which would be fine, I suppose, if there was all that much to them. I can live with them being awful people (see Gatsby, above)…but to be so empty, apart from Bunny and Henry? That’s a more disappointing flaw, even if it’s one that took me a bit into the book to realize. For all of that, though, I can’t deny losing myself in The Secret History‘s pages for hours at a time. I can’t really argue the tragic air that hangs over the back half of the book, or the way the book can nail the way that isolation from the “normal” world can cloud your judgment, or how repression and guilt can eat away at you. I can’t push back against the way it captures the feel of finding your “thing” at college and feeling like you’re with your peers and the world is ahead of you. Is the book too long? Is it pretentious at times (fittingly, given its characters and milieu)? Are the characters less developed than they seem, ultimately feeling more like pencil sketches rather than fully developed portraits? Yes, yes, and yes. But for all those flaws, The Secret History still kind of worked on me, and I can understand all too well why it would hit perfectly for a high school/college audience – and how for me, all I can feel is the same amused irritation we all have when dealing with younger people who just don’t quite know better yet.

الكتاب تحفة وصل سليم وبدون أي خدوش

I didn't read it myself but the recipient was happy with it.

Há muito tempo não pego uma edição de livro tão gostosa de ler. O livro tem um tamanho ótimo, a fonte e as margens são ótimas, a diagramação faz com que a leitura seja rápida e muito prazerora. A trama é fantástica, envolvente e através do narrador em primeira pessoa, faz com que o leitor se sinta parte da história. Pessoas ruins fazendo coisas ruins, que parecem justificadas quando observadas através dos "rose tinted glasses" que o narrador estende aos seus amigos, a quem ele quase idolatra durante o livro 1. É interessante perceber a mudança de tom no segundo livro, onde a realidade dos acontecimentos começa a quebrar a perfeição e a aura mágica do grupo e todos os personagens, a sua maneira, demonstram suas falhas e a humanidade da qual não conseguem escapar.

Have you ever felt you’re going to miss characters from a book? Well, that’s how how I feel… just finished it and I already miss them. No book has hooked me so quickly. From page 1 I was already captured. I didn’t want to stop reading, all I was thinking for days was the book (I even dreamed about it). The story is not too fast (she definitely doesn’t rush it) but not too slow either. It takes you through it at the perfect pace to want to know but enjoy each moment at the same time. You feel the spaces, the ambient, the places. She writes in a way that absorbs you into the story. The way she writes in the 1st person you are not reading it, you are living it. And you feel connected with Richard (the main character), instantly. And the end!! There’s only one way to describe it: WHAT!! Find a nice corner, dimmed light and a calm playlist (classical is a perfect match if you ask me)… and enjoy it.

Sad. Long. But definitely worth the invested time. For some reason, I couldn't put this book down. Enjoy and reflect.