According to the blow-by-blow in The New York Times -- a 1992 article recounting the fantastically successful media frenzy ignited by Knopf over its publication of The Secret History, a first novel by a 28-year-old former Bennington student -- Tina Brown, then the editor of Vanity Fair, leaned across a lunch table in July of that year and asked legendary book agent Amanda Binky Urban what happened to be hot. Donna Tartt, Binky replied.
And, lo, Tartt was hot: In the fall of 1992, she was profiled in Vanity Fair, Elle, Esquire and Newsweek; her novel -- picked up by Knopf for $450,000, by foreign publishers for an additional $500,000 and optioned by the late film director Alan J. Pakula -- sold out its initial print run of 75,000 and kept selling (a million copies are now in print); it was translated into 23 languages; her book tour encompassed 20 U.S. cities. Just the same, reviews were mixed. Michiko Kakutani, in The New York Times, found the novel enthralling and remarkably powerful; James Kaplan, in Vanity Fair, gravely considered it an extremely serious book; Londons Weekly Standard called it a gussied up trash novel.
Tartt herself became, if briefly, the subject of feverish attention, with the media fondling her teeny doll-like form and Mississippi childhood like a shiny new toy. Ms. Tartt cuts a charming and sophisticated figure at interviews, the Times gushed. She arrived at one in a tailored scarlet jacket with faux leopard collar, cuffs and gloves, and lipstick deep as the waistcoat punctuating her pale face, and she steadily quoted literary works that ranged from The Iliad to The Wizard of Oz. Vanity Fair also noted her propensity to quote from Thomas Aquinas, Cardinal Newman, Buddha, and Plato, as well as her obsession with T.S. Eliot and J.D. Salinger. I know a ton of poetry by heart, she told the magazine:
When I was a little kid, first thing I memorized were really long poems by A.A. Milne. Then I went through a Kipling phase. I could say Gunga Din for you. Then I went into sort of a Shakespeare phase, when I was about in sixth grade. In high school, I loved loved loved Edgar Allan Poe. Still love him. I could say Annabel Lee for you now. I used to know even some of the shorter stories by heart. The Tell-Tale Heart -- I used to be able to say that . . . Im sort of this horrible repository of doggerel verse.
Tartt was, indeed, a precocious child. Born in Greenwood, Mississippi, in 1963, she published her first poem at 13 in the Mississippi Literary Review. Shortly after arriving at the University of Mississippi in 1981, she was approached in a bar by novelist and writer in residence Willie Morris, who had seen some of her short stories. He introduced himself by saying, My name is Willie Morris, and I think youre a genius. On his recommendation, she was accepted into Barry Hannahs graduate writing course. The following year, she transferred to Bennington College in Vermont.
There, her classmates and friends included Bret Easton Ellis and Jill Eisenstadt, and she joined an exclusive coterie studying Greek with the scholar Claude Fredericks, a former lover of James Merrills, known for limiting his classes to a chosen few. During her second year, she began work on what would become The Secret History, about an exclusive coterie studying Greek with the scholar Julian Morrow, at Hampden College, a thinly veiled Bennington. After committing murder during a Dionysian orgy, her protagonists -- led by Henry Winter, dark-suited linguistic genius and moral relativist -- plan and execute the murder of one of their own, Edmund Bunny Corcoran, fearing his betrayal of their dark secret.
Told in the first person by one of the student murderers, albeit the only outsider, an arriviste from California named Richard Papen, The Secret History is a fairly good read, essentially a genre novel overlaid by a patina of Culture, in the form of quotations from the classics. But it is obviously a first novel, and a not-economically-edited one at that. Cut down from an 866-page manuscript, The Secret History is still 524 pages, with extraneous scenes and characters; we follow Papen coming and going from his dorm room many repetitious times. Some reviewers correctly faulted the characterization: Tartt has a lazy tendency to rely on tag descriptions (Plano . . . conjures up drive-ins, tract homes, waves of heat rising from the blacktop) and intensifiers (Francis Abernathy was . . . quite wealthy; I was somewhat annoyed).
But the most jarring impression made by The Secret History is how derivative it is, as if the authors head had been colonized by her favorite writers. It isnt unusual for early work to reveal influences, but Tartts novel is something of a Frankensteins monster, with great gobbets of portentous foreshadowing stitched into it, and a voice-over narration straight from Hollywood noir. Other characters -- Bunny and his treacherous WASP friends -- are spare parts from Salinger; their fussy WASP prep-school elocutions and affectations -- tea drinking, card playing, pince-nez wearing -- are pure Glass family; Bunny punctuates his conversations with wouldja this and old man that; the twins Charles and Camilla (yes, Charles and Camilla, get it?)are a perverted take on Walt and Waker Glass; and Henrys hotel suicide seems weirdly inspired by Seymours in A Perfect Day for Bananafish.