Beauty Is Terror
“The Secret History” by Donna Tartt is one of those books that is good enough to pull you out of a reading slump: it is one of those books that will keep you up until five in the morning, regardless of what you have to do the next day. By the time I was done with it, the book had been branded with defects and imperfections caused by mishandling and food oil stains: when this happens, it is because the book has gone everywhere with you — a temporary extra limb. Having been to boarding school in New England myself and having become acquainted with all types of eccentric characters that somewhat resemble the characters in the story, this book was one that I could not stop reading. Now that I am attending the University of St Andrews, swarmed with ancient gothic buildings and centuries-old traditions, the dark academia aesthetic in “The Dark History” seemed less to me like a carefully-crafted Pinterest board but rather like a fictional and eerie extension of my own life.
The story focuses on six college-aged students in a Middlebury-like college who have been admitted into an elite ancient Greek major, taught exclusively by an eccentric and charming professor, Julian. The plot concerns the daily happenings in the young adults’ lives amidst things like murder, drugs, and sex. Richard, the protagonist, comes from a lower-middle-class background in California, and he is deeply insecure about his socioeconomic background amidst his wealthy and well-connected peers. He tries to adapt his mannerisms to theirs, and even burns his only picture of his mother because he was afraid that his classmates would see her in her cheap clothing. Richard is blinded by his admiration for his peers and teacher: he truly wishes to be like them. Bunny, who we learn in the prologue will be murdered, comes from a social-climbing family who lives extravagantly and above their means. His parents look contemptuously at work, and prefer to farm their children out to wealthier friends. Bunny is an “Anna Delvey” type, but one who is more transparent and makes it clear that he won’t pay you back. He is crude, vulgar, and prejudiced to the core. Francis is a red-haired trust-fund kid from New England. He is deeply insecure and rarely stands up for himself. He struggles with his attraction to males throughout the book. Henry is a wealthy young man for the south, who is a genius in the classics but who is probably a mixture of a narcissist and a sociopath. Camilla and Charles are twins, both especially attractive and from a good family in Virginia. A common trope is their inappropriate relationship — Richard seems to find himself playing “Siblings or Dating?” constantly throughout the novel.
Underneath the mesmerizing plot, the impressively vivid imagery, the cunning use of ancient greek epithets, and the well-crafted character development, the book is really about a boy coming of age and realizing that all that he finds beautiful: the beautiful campus, his peers, and his teacher, can also be horrific. It is a story about class, sexuality, and the loss of innocence and naïvité.
I implore you — read it.
