I recently finished Donna Tartt’s The Little Friend, and I love it (that’s present tense) so much that it’s high time I wrote about it. (When I loaned it to Ezra–who gobbled it up–I told him to be especially kind to it, as I plan to tie it with a ribbon and keep it my prized possession.)

I was completely enthralled by it from start to finish. The descriptions of characters and their surroundings are so rich and she includes just the right details; for example, the foods they prepare for a Mother’s Day celebration–all appropriate to where they live, their social standing, and their personalities–with the important note that these foods are a departure from their usual Mother’s Day fare. The author draws the characters through funny little stories that add too much to the book to be considered ancillary. I love the characters so much, and the events of the book unfold to draw the reader ever deeper into understanding them and their relationships. As I read the book, I thought that it was not so much what happened that mattered to me–though of course that is very important, and it is a great story–but the way it is written, who the characters are, and what they do.

In particular, I identify with the main character, Harriet. Tartt begins her introduction of Harriet with the following sentence (which I’ve now repeated often), “Harriet, the baby, was neither pretty nor sweet. Harriet was smart.” When I first read them, those eleven words in all their simplicity shot right into me in their to-the-point (much like Harriet) perfection. I always admire authors who can have that effect on me with language–not using the biggest or most impressive words, but the right ones. I don’t know–that sentence probably doesn’t mean a damn thing to most people who read it, but I love it.

If you don’t want to hear a word more about the book until you read it yourself, stop here. If you don’t mind some minor character points that probably don’t have a whole lot of significance plot-wise but that mean something to me, read on.

Harriet is wonderfully real. I see myself in little things she says and does, and her daring is an inspiration. Early in the book, she makes her small friends–all younger boys, all sort of her minions–act out biblical scenes in costume in the yard (which reminds me of Ez). She makes lists. Lots of people do, but her lists sound like my lists–lists that I still make. I guess some of these kinds of details are supposed to be a part of showing her as an adolescent female, beginning to form a more adult identity. Maybe I am just still living in that adolescent world, but I do that stuff. I reach back for those instinctual tools. Harriet and I make plans.

I could discuss The Little Friend further, and I probablly will. I feel that my connection with this book is somehow very personal. Though I can’t stop talking about it, I’m not sure that my experience is typical. Ezra really liked it though, so I’ll go ahead and make this an official recommendation.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 25th, 2006 at 11:00 am and is filed under Blather, me and my brain, the written word. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.