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I’m genuinely so confused by people and critics that went into the goldfinch thinking a movie based off of a book by Donna Tartt will play out as anything but an absolute fucking fever dream

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Me, sobbing, 300 pages in: Donna. Donna please. Just tell me what this book is about

Donna: Boris drank some more vodka. He was ugly, but like, in a hot way. My dad continued to be an asshole

Me, wiping the tears away: you’re right I’m sorry plots aren’t important

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To the person reading this, I hope tonight treats you gently, and that tomorrow looks brighter. 

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i love coming home at the end of the day and untying the ribbon around my neck that holds my head on

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okay girls let’s go to therapy

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donna tartt: *writes an entire cautionary book about the hubris of characters throwing a bacchanal and then going crazy, losing their friendships, falling apart and destroying the rest of their lives as a result of this decision*

me, immune to critical analysis: i want to throw a bacchanal

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how to be a donna tartt character

wear old-fashioned clothes in all black or all white, odd glasses are a bonus

have weird nicknames with your friends and only refer to each other by them

intellectualism™ is important. make sure everyone knows that you love homer more than them

moral ambiguity is slightly more important. wanna scam people with fake antiques? wanna murder a friend? wanna steal your stepmom’s dog and drugs and run away across america? wanna semi-accidentally steal a painting and worry about it for years? wanna get into an ecstatic state and murder some random farmer? no time like the present

speak a few languages, preferably dead ones or russian

embrace your angst. amplify your angst. worry

consume copious amounts of substances. smoke, develop a drug problem, get sick drinking as often as possible

forget having actual romantic relationships with people, instead opt for romanticizing someone and obsessing over them and then confessing your love unsuccessfully or being totally gay for your best friend and then denying it later when they try to bring it up

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the holy trinity of dark academia that is kill your darlings, dead poets society, and the secret history

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anonymously send me

to hell

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there’s not… nearly enough moss in my life 

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Source.

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A wolf howls at the full moon. Manabozho, the great white rabbit, and other Indian stories. 1918. 

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Sunflowers at Pike Place Market; August 24, 2013; Seattle, WA. (© Jason Novak, A Studio With A View). Buy this photo.

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