A couple of weeks ago after a delicious dinner at the home of good friends my husband and I settled in with the other couple, watching it rain, sipping wine, and chatting. Eventually the conversation came around to the final episode of Mad Men. We discussed it for fifteen minutes or so, sometimes agreeing, sometimes differing over the meaning of it all.
When Donna Tartt published her first novel, The Secret History, in 1992 I was smitten. For me, she had written the perfect book—one that appealed to me on every level—the setting (college in New England), the characters (intellectuals with a dark side), the plot (taught psychological drama), and exquisite language that made me read slowly to savor every word.