By Kat Johnson, Audible Editor

THE SECRET HISTORY WAS ALWAYS ABOUT THE AESTHETICS

I’m old enough to remember the publication of The Secret History, back in 1992. Like Zadie Smith’s White Teeth almost a decade later, it was one of those rare Publishing Events, when a debut author and novel arrived so authentically entwined that everyone agreed—a literary star was born. Tartt, in men’s pajamas or a necktie and sleek bob, commanded attention. So did the novel, with its premise of murder among classics students at an elite liberal arts college. The Secret History was instantly heralded as an icon of its era. Who knew that, 30 years later, it would perform the same feat for a new generation?

I tore through The Secret History as soon as it came out. Like its narrator Richard Papen, I was a middle-class teenager thrust into a rarified academic world—in my case, a Swiss boarding school instead of a Vermont college—populated by the rich international set. I also wanted to be a writer, and The Secret History set a bar that seemed impossibly high. It’s not one of those novels that makes you think "I can do that"—quite the opposite. It’s simultaneously a complex inverted mystery (like Columbo, it starts with whodunit and then tantalizingly drips out the why and how) and a modern Greek tragedy with characters and prose so compelling, it’s positively hypnotic. I was envious and smitten, and I couldn’t stop reading.

Richard is a California native who is new to both the East Coast and Hampden College, where he’s trying to hide a mediocre background and lack of wealth. In a stroke of luck, he’s invited to join the school’s selective Ancient Greek program, run by charismatic professor Julian Morrow and comprised of five other students. Bunny Corcoran is an all-American preppy type, at home with money and privilege in the style of the Kennedys. Cecilia and Charles are beautiful blond twins with a mysterious relationship and, despite Richard’s love for them, a predilection for offhand cruelty. Henry Winter, tall and reserved, is a polymath and polyglot who’s the smartest and most complicated of the bunch. And there’s red-headed Francis, always wearing a billowing cloak or a pince-nez, who likes boys but is essentially closeted due to the times and his extremely traditional, wealthy family.

These are the main players in a murder that ends with Bunny dead at the bottom of a cliff and buried by snow—hardly a spoiler, since Tartt provides this information in the novel’s exquisitely chilling prologue. In part one, the novel rebuilds beautifully to the climax of the deadly event, while the second part deals with its aftermath, its meditations on beauty, ecstasy, morality, and the taint of murder so seductive that it demands and rewards multiple readings.

Continue reading Kat's review >