The Secret History - Donna Tartt

Donna Tartt, in her mere twenties, crafted this brilliant, well written novel, The Secret History, which shot into fame almost immediately after its release. It follows the story of Richard Papen as he leaves his dreaded hometown for Hampden College in Vermont and joins an exclusive, aesthetic as hell clique that are absolutely obsessed with Ancient Greece. They also dapple in crime and have very great fashion sense.

This was the last Donna Tartt book that I read and it was not her most impressive (*cough* The Goldfinch *cough*). But the journey taken by these characters throughout the book, the sheer terror you feel for them and from them, it felt like I was mesmerised by them in the same with that Richard was. His narration allowed me to glorify their antics as classy, mysterious and secretive, and I was blinded by love and admiration until the obvious downward spiral they all faced in the end, which is why it was still such shocking ending to read, even though some of us may have seen it coming. In a very similar way, Tartt reveals the identity of the killer and circumstances of Bunny’s death right at the prologue, a characteristic that is anomalous to murder mysteries, and yet manages to retain a deep and intricate level of suspense throughout the narrative.

Francis Abernathy is probably my favourite character in the entire novel. In the immortal words of Henry Winter, “He is such a fruitcake.” I absolutely shipped him with Richard; those two were adorable together.

Bunny was written to be hated; and so he was. He was sexist, homophobic, seriously unlikeable and just downright dumb. For the longest time the personas of Charles and Francis seemed to be virtually the same to me and I couldn’t really differentiate between the two. Somehow, however, Charles morphed into this drunk, emasculating presence and soon became the antagonist of the story as it was revealed that he had physically abused his sister Camilla. We knew of his petty jealousy from earlier, where he visibly detests the idea of her going on a date with Cloke Rayburn, or the scene where he persists in asking her why she needed a secret sign to communicate with Henry late at night when he wasn’t picking up the phone. I don’t know what psychosexual issues lead to one being okay with fornicating with a sibling, especially in today’s modern society, but there definitely have to be big ones. His previous encounters with crime (i.e. the murders) may have normalised the idea of violence in his mind to a certain extent, to be able to express his trauma, anger and jealousy in such an aggressive manner. Furthermore Camilla seemed to be an easy target; she was always around (they shared an apartment together) and she was physically weaker than him (being a girl). While many people believe that her persona is simply the embodiment of the damsel in distress stereotype, I think it’s fair to say that Richard’s unreliable narration does her little justice and her character is grossly underdeveloped. Richard views her from the lens of an admirer, listing the beautiful aspects of her face often in the book, rather than noticing the possible hardships or tribulations in her life. He remains ignorant of her as a full, complete (and imperfect) human being but instead sees her as an object of desire as displayed in the scene where she finally tells him of her abuse, showing him her wounds:

“I felt a fierce, nearly irresistible desire to seize Camilla by her bruised wrist, twist her arm behind her back until she cried out, throw her on my bed: strangle her, rape her, I don’t know what.”

Richard’s delusion is not only limited to descriptions of Camilla’s character. Right in the beginning, he created a fictional personality for himself as well in order to to fit in better with this group of people, and lied about various aspects of his life that he wanted to redefine. It was also clear that, as the group got closer to him, they suspected him of being false and they didn’t say or comment much about it (with the exception of Bunny). This, to me, seems indicative of the toxicity of their relationships, both interpersonal and as a group (especially as a group). It highlights the general air of pretentiousness that each of them uphold and are therefore so cavalier about big lies such as this one. Other possible indicators of their highly dysfunctional relationship and psychological instability, is the sex rituals that they participated in; the act of downing themselves in animal blood at the word of their friend; and the double homicide they committed and covered up.

Henry was by far the most enigmatic character in the book. Clearly the ringleader of the group, he was the one who came up with the plan to murder his close friend Bunny and what remains scarier still is the fact that the rest of them, including Richard, followed him as he went through with it. Under his influence the group almost operated in a cult-like fashion, with blind loyalty and unquestioning obedience. I believe that a fraction of the façade that they maintained was their passion for Greek and academia in general, for otherwise they would have continued with it in the end after Henry died. This is implied by Richard, in the epilogue, where he states that both Camilla and him had had a greater love for English literature. Henry, on the other hand, practically had Ancient Greece as his personality trait, and long, descriptive paragraphs explain how he lived, breathed and dreamed in the language (‘He regarded me with a chill distaste. “I love Homer.”’ This scene made me instantly fall in love with him!) The reader only catches snippets of his relationship with Camilla which may have been foreshadowed in the scene where Camilla’s foot is pierced with glass, and Henry is the only one courageous enough to help her out of their group. It may have been founded on shared trauma over the deaths of Bunny and the farmer. Furthermore his relationship with Camilla brought out the most humane, affectionate and endearing moments from Henry, ranging from the ‘You think I’d hurt you?’ to the way he protected her from Charles. However I do not believe that his sacrifice at the end was only for her, but rather for the group as a whole, including and especially Charles, who would have been arrested when found by the hotel workers with a gun. It was Henry’s way of owning accountability for the crimes he had committed. Lastly, his sacrifice also was for you, the reader, who at this point either hated Henry or were scared of him; but death as it always does, acting as an equalizer, the grand karmic revenge, the moral score settler, made him a character forever enshrined in our hearts as one that was selfless, majestic and tragic as ever.