i never thought when i was reading this cover to cover and starting again dozens of times so many people would care about this book. nobody in my actual life has ever understood my love for it. i am so grateful for all of you. live forever.
Hell yea, I am reading this for the first time at age 30 and wish I had found it much earlier. It’s everything I could ask for in a great novel and more!
I'm one of those fall-somewhat-in-love-with-everyone-you-meet types, and I'm...well, smitten. Donna Tartt is an astounding author, and picturing her setting out on this project at NINETEEN blows my mind, because I myself was a mere homunculus at that age. I knew this was going to be an amazing experience when part one started with quotes from Plato and Nietzsche.
The choppy part at 15:25 He was sitting on the side of the fold out bed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a game of solitaire spread out on the blanket at the foot. His hair had fallen to the wrong side and I could see the long scar at his hairline, all dented and puckered, with ridges of white flesh cutting across it to the browbone. He looked up at me. “Will you do a favor for me?“ He said. “Sure.” He took a deep breath through the nostrils and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “Will you call Bunny and ask him if he’d like to come over for a few minutes?” he said. I was so surprised that I didn’t say anything for half a second. Then I said: “sure. Fine. I’ll be glad to.“ he closed his eyes and rubbed his temple with his fingertips. Then he blinked at me. “Thank you,” he said. “No, really.” “If you want to take some of your things back to school this afternoon, you’re more than welcome to borrow the car,“ he said evenly. I got his drift. “Sure, “I said, and it was only after I’d loaded my suitcases in the car and driven them to Monmouth and got security to unlock my room that I called Bunny from the payphone downstairs, a safe half hour later. CHAPTER 4 Somehow I thought that when the twins returned, when we were settled in again, when we were back at our Liddell and Scotts and had suffered through two or three Greek Prose Composition assignments together, we would all fall back into the comfortable routine of the previous term and everything would be the same as it had been before. Resume at 16:16
2:49:50 missing part. “-I didn't see this crucial moment then forwhat it was; I suppose we never do. Instead, I only yawned, and shookmyself from the momentary daze that had come upon me, and went on myway down the stairs.Back in my room, dizzy and exhausted”
3:40:00 -even Bunny’s own hallowed Saint Jerome’s was really only an expensive remedial school, the sort of place you see advertised in the back of Town and Country as offering specialized attention for the academic underachiever. My own school was not particularly shameful in this context, yet I evaded the question long as I could till finally, cornered and desperate, I had told him I’d gone to Renfrew Hall, which is a tennis-y, indifferent sort of boys’ school near San Francisco. That had seemed to satisfy him, but then, to my immense discomfort, and in front of everybody, he brought it up again. “So you were at Renfrew,” he said chummily, turning to me and popping a handful of pistachios in his mouth. “Yes.” “When’d ya graduate?” I offered the date of my real high school graduation. “Ah,” he said, chomping busily on his nuts. “So you were there with Von Raumer.” “What?” “Alec. Alec Von Raumer. From San Fran. Friend of Cloke’s. He was in the room the other day and we got talking. Lots of old Renfrew boys at Hampden, he says.” I said nothing, hoping he’d leave it at that. “So you know Alec and all.” “Uh, slightly,” I said. “Funny, he said he didn’t remember you,” said Bunny, reaching over for another handful of pistachios without taking his eyes off me. “Not at all.” “It’s a big school.” He cleared his throat. “Think so?” “Yes.” “Von Raumer said it was tiny. Only about two hundred people.” He paused and threw another handful of pistachios into his mouth, and chewed as he talked. “What dormitory did you say you were in?” “You wouldn’t know it.” “Von Raumer told me to make a point of asking you.” “What difference does it make?” “Oh, it’s nothing, nothing at all, old horse,” said Bunny pleasantly. “Just that it’s pretty damn peculiar, n’est-ce pas? You and Alec being there together for four years, in a tiny place like Renfrew, and he never laid eyes on you even once?” “I was only there for two years.” “How come you’re not in the yearbook?” “I am in the yearbook.” “No you’re not.” The twins looked stricken. Henry had his back turned, pretending not to listen. Now he said, quite suddenly and without turning around: “How do you know if he was in the yearbook or not?” “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a yearbook in my life,” said Francis nervously. “I can’t stand to have my picture taken. Whenever I try to-” Bunny paid no attention. He leaned back in his chair. “Come on,” he said to me. “I’ll give you five dollars if you can tell me the name of the dorm you lived in.” His eyes were riveted on mine; they were bright with a horrible relish. I said something incoherent and then in consternation got up and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Leaning on the sink, I held the glass to my temple; from the living room, Francis whispered something indistinct but angry, and then Bunny laughed harshly. I poured the water down the sink and turned on the tap so I wouldn’t have to listen. How was it that a complex, a nervous and delicately calibrated mind like my own, was able to adjust itself perfectly after a shock like the murder, while Bunny’s eminently more sturdy and ordinary one was knocked out of kilter? I still think about this sometimes. If what Bunny really wanted was revenge, he could have had it easily enough and without putting himself at risk. What did he imagine was to be gained from this slow and potentially explosive kind of torture, had it, in his mind, some purpose, some goal? Or were his own actions as inexplicable to him as they were to us? Or perhaps they weren’t so inexplicable as that. Because the worst thing about all of this, as Camilla once remarked, was not that Bunny had suffered some total change of personality, some schizophrenic break, but rather that various unpleasant elements of his personality which heretofore we had only glimpsed had orchestrated and magnified themselves to a startling level of potency. Distasteful as his behavior was, we had seen it all before, only in less concentrated and vitriolic form. Even in the happiest times he’d made fun of my California accent, my secondhand overcoat and my room barren of tasteful bibelots, but in such an ingenuous way I couldn’t possibly do anything but laugh. (“Good Lord, Richard,” he would say, picking up one of my old wingtips and poking his finger through the hole in the bottom. “What is it with you California kids? Richer you are, the more shoddy you look. Won’t even go to the barber. Before I know it, you’ll have hair down to your shoulders and be skulking around in rags like Howard Hughes.”) It never occurred to me to be offended; this was Bunny, my friend, who had even less pocket money than I did and a big rip in the seat of his trousers besides. A good deal of my horror at his new behavior sprang from the fact that it was so similar to the old and frankly endearing way he used to tease me, and I was as baffled and enraged at his sudden departure from the rules as though-if we had been in the habit of doing a little friendly sparring-he had boxed me into the corner and beaten me half to death. To compound this-all these unpleasant recollections to the contrary-so much remained of the old Bunny, the one I knew and loved. Sometimes when I saw him at a distance-fists in pockets, whistling, bobbing along with his springy old walk-I would have a strong pang of affection mixed with regret. I forgave him, a hundred times over, and never on the basis of anything more than this: a look, a gesture, a certain tilt of his head. It seemed impossible then that one could ever be angry at him, no matter what he did. Unfortunately, these were often the moments when he chose to attack. He would be amiable, charming, chatting in his old distracted manner when, in the same manner and without missing a beat, he would lean back in his chair and come out with something so horrendous, so backhanded, so unanswerable, that I would vow not to forget it, and never to forgive him again. I broke that promise many times. I was about to say that it was a promise I finally had to keep, but that’s not really true. Even today I cannot muster anything resembling anger for Bunny. In fact, I can’t think of much I’d like better than for him to step into the room right now, glasses fogged and smelling of damp wool, shaking the rain from his hair like an old dog and saying: “Dickie, my boy, what you got for a thirsty old man to drink tonight?” One likes to think there’s something in it, that old platitude amor vincit omnia. But if I’ve learned one thing in my short sad life, it is that that particular platitude is a lie. Love doesn’t conquer everything. And whoever thinks it does is a fool. Camilla he tormented-
3:43:50 “Being the only female in what was basically a boys’ club must have been difficult for her. Miraculously, she didn’t compensate by becoming hard or quarrelsome. She was still a girl, a slight lovely girl who lay in bed and ate chocolates, a girl whose hair smelled like hyacinth and whose scarves fluttered jauntily in the breeze. But strange and marvelous as she was, a wisp of silk in a forest of black wool, she was not the fragile creature one would have her seem.”
2:57:33 the missing part “Hah. I picked one of the racy ones myself. Ever been to France, Richard?” “No,” I said. “Then you better come with us this summer.” “Us? Who?” “Henry and me.” I was so taken aback that all I could do was blink at him. “France?” I said. “May wee. Two-month tour. A real doozy. Have a look.” He tossed me the magazine, which I now saw was a glossy brochure. I glanced through it. It was a lollapalooza of a tour, all right-a “luxury hotel barge cruise” which began in the Champagne country and then went, via hot air balloon, to Burgundy for more barging, through Beaujolais, to the Riviera and Cannes and Monte Carlo-it was lavishly illustrated, full of brightly colored pictures of gourmet meals, flower-decked barges, happy tourists popping champagne corks and waving from the basket of their balloon at the disgruntled old peasants in the fields below. “Looks great, doesn’t it?” said Bunny. “Fabulous.” “Rome was all right but actually it was kind of a sinkhole when you get right down to it. Besides, I like to gad about a little more myself. Stay on the move, see a few of the native customs. Just between you and me, I bet Henry’s going to have a ball with this.” I bet he will, too, I thought, staring at a picture of a woman holding up a stick of French bread at the camera and grinning like a maniac. The twins were studiously avoiding my eye, Camilla bent over Bunny’s shirt, Charles with his back to me and his elbows on the sideboard, looking out the kitchen window. “Of course, this balloon thing’s great,” Bunny said conversationally, “but you know, I’ve been wondering, where do you go to the bathroom? Off the side or something?” “Look here, I think this is going to take several minutes,” said Camilla abruptly. “It’s almost nine. Why don’t you go ahead with Richard, Charles. Tell Julian not to wait.” “Well, it’s not going to take you that much longer, is it?” said Bunny crossly, craning over to see. “What’s the big problem? Where’d you learn how to iron, anyway?” “I never did. We send our shirts to the laundry.” Charles followed me out the door, a few paces behind. We walked through the hall and down the stairs without a word, but once downstairs he stepped close behind me and, catching my arm, pulled me into an empty card room. In the twenties and thirties, there had been a bridge fad at Hampden; when the enthusiasm faded, the rooms were never subsequently put to any function and no one used them now except for drug deals, or typing, or illicit romantic trysts. He shut the door. I found myself looking at the ancient card table-inlaid at its four corners with a diamond, a heart, a club and a spade. “Henry called us,” said Charles. He was scratching at the raised edge of the diamond with his thumb, his head studiously down. “When?” “Early this morning.” Neither of us said anything for a moment. “I’m sorry,” said Charles, glancing up. “Sorry for what?” “Sorry he told you. Sorry for everything. Camilla’s all upset.” He seemed calm enough, tired but calm, and his intelligent eyes met mine with a sad, quiet candor. All of a sudden I felt terribly upset. I was fond of Francis and Henry but it was unthinkable that anything should happen to the twins. I thought, with a pang, of how kind they had always been; of how sweet Camilla was in those first awkward weeks...
I’ve heard this fab audio three times. She’s wonderful. I guess we’re all wondering what Donna’s next book will be about, and WHEN it’ll come out. (Guesses, anyone?)
38:26 (page 155 - Classes started today, Thursday, but my first class with Julian wasn't ...) 1:38:27 (page 184 - Chapter 5) 2:29:09 (page 205 - Curiosly, Bunny had little to say...) 4:03:00 (page 250 - 'Now,' he said. 'A single cap…)
1:06:43 "bei Nacht und Nebel" is a German term, literally "in night and fog". It suggests clandestine, cloak-and-dagger activity. ("I never thought you'd come back for it bei Nacht und Nebel.")
3:41:54 more precisely, text here: [...] ; but the twins had only gone to a little country day school in Roanoke, and even Bunny's own hallowed Saint Jerome's was really only an expensive remedial school, the sort of place you see advertised in the back of Town and Country as offering specialized attention for the academic underachiever. My own school was not particularly shameful in this context, yet I evaded the question long as I could till finally, cornered and desperate, I had told him I'd gone to Renfrew Hall, which is a tennis-y, indifferent sort of boys' school near San Francisco. That had seemed to satisfy him, but then, to my immense discomfort, and in front of everybody, he brought it up again. 'So you were at Renfrew,' he said chummily, turning to me and popping a handful of pistachios in his mouth. 'Yes.' 'When'd ya graduate?' I offered the date of my real high school graduation. 'Ah,' he said, chomping busily on his nuts. 'So you were there with Von Raumer.' 'What?' 'Alec. Alec Von Raumer. From San Fran. Friend of Cloke's. He was in the room the other day and we got talking. Lots of old Renfrew boys at Hampden, he says,' I said nothing, hoping he'd leave it at that. 'So you know Alec and all.' 'Uh, slightly,' I said. 'Funny, he said he didn't remember you,' said Bunny, reaching over for another handful of pistachios without taking his eyes off me. 'Not at all.' 'It's a big school.' He cleared his throat. Think so?' 'Yes.' 'Von Raumer said it was tiny. Only about two hundred people.' He paused and threw another handful of pistachios into his mouth, and chewed as he talked. 'What dormitory did you say you were in?' 'You wouldn't know it.' 'Von Raumer told me to make a point of asking you.' 'What difference does it make?' 'Oh, it's nothing, nothing at all, old horse,' said Bunny pleasantly. 'Just that it's pretty damn peculiar, n'est-ce pas'? You and Alec being there together for four years, in a tiny place like Renfrew, and he never laid eyes on you even once?' 'I was only there for two years.' 'How come you're not in the yearbook?' 'I am in the yearbook.' 'No you're not.' The twins looked stricken. Henry had his back turned, pretending not to listen. Now he said, quite suddenly and without turning around: 'How do you know if he was in the yearbook or not?' 'I don't think I've ever been in a yearbook in my life,' said Francis nervously. 'I can't stand to have my picture taken. Whenever I try to ' Bunny paid no attention. He leaned back in his chair. 'Come on,' he said to me. I'll give you five dollars if you can tell me the name of the dorm you lived in.' His eyes were riveted on mine; they were bright with a horrible relish. I said something incoherent and then in consternation got up and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Leaning on the sink, I held the glass to my temple; from the living room, Francis whispered something indistinct but angry, and then Bunny laughed harshly. I poured the water down the sink and turned on the tap so I wouldn't have to listen. How was it that a complex, a nervous and delicately calibrated mind like my own, was able to adjust itself perfectly after a shock like the murder, while Bunny's eminently more sturdy and ordinary one was knocked out of kilter? I still think about this sometimes. If what Bunny really wanted was revenge, he could have had it easily enough and without putting himself at risk. What did he imagine was to be gained from this slow and potentially explosive kind of torture, had it, in his mind, some purpose, some goal? Or were his own actions as inexplicable to him as they were to us? Or perhaps they weren't so inexplicable as that. Because the worst thing about all of this, as Camilla once remarked, was not that Bunny had suffered some total change of personality, some schizophrenic break, but rather that various unpleasant elements of his personality which heretofore we had only glimpsed had orchestrated and magnified themselves to a startling level of potency. Distasteful as his behavior was, we had seen it all before, only in less concentrated and vitriolic form. Even in the happiest times he'd made ran of my California accent, my secondhand overcoat and my room barren of tasteful bibelots, but in such an ingenuous way I couldn't possibly do anything but laugh. ('Good Lord, Richard,' he would say, picking up one of my old wingtips and poking his finger through the hole in the bottom. 'What is it with you California kids? Richer you are, the more shoddy you look. Won't even go to the barber. Before I know it, you'll have hair down to your shoulders and be skulking around in rags like Howard Hughes.') It never occurred to me to be offended; this was Bunny, my friend, who had even less pocket money than I did and a big rip in the seat of his trousers besides. A good deal of my horror at his new behavior sprang from the fact that it was so similar to the old and frankly endearing way he used to tease me, and I was as baffled and enraged at his sudden departure from the rules as though - if we had been in the habit of doing a little friendly sparring - he had boxed me into the corner and beaten me half to death. To compound this - all these unpleasant recollections to the contrary - so much remained of the old Bunny, the one I knew and loved. Sometimes when I saw him at a distance - fists in pockets, whistling, bobbing along with his springy old walk - I would have a strong pang of affection mixed with regret. I forgave him, a hundred times over, and never on the basis of anything more than this: a look, a gesture, a certain tilt of his head. It seemed impossible then that one could ever be angry at him, no matter what he did. Unfortunately, these were often the moments when he chose to attack. He would be amiable, charming, chatting in his old distracted manner when, in the same manner and without missing a beat, he would lean back in his chair and come out with something so horrendous, so backhanded, so unanswerable, that I would vow not to forget it, and never to forgive him again. I broke that promise many times. I was about to say that it was a promise I finally had to keep, but that's not I really true. Even today I cannot muster anything resembling anger for Bunny. In fact, I can't think of much I'd like better than for him to step into the room right now, glasses fogged and smelling of damp wool, shaking the rain from his hair like an old dog and saying: 'Dickie, my boy, what you got for a thirsty old man to drink tonight?' One likes to think there's something in it, that old platitude amor vincit omnia. But if I've learned one thing in my short sad life, it is that that particular platitude is a lie. Love doesn't conquer everything. And whoever thinks it does is a fool. Camilla he tormented simply because she was a girl.
@@jonathangeddes9786 Yeah, the hell of dealing with people not smart enough to stay out of the comments and other discussion boards until they finish the book. 🤡
🔖 4:42:30 quotes: 50:34 2:10:52 “Eventually I got him to drop it . . .” 2:52:54 “They, too, knew this beautiful and harrowing landscape . . .” 3:44:48 “Things would have been terribly strange and unbalanced without her.”
Missing part 43:51 “Well, Richard,' she said when she finally figured out who I was. 'Darling. How nice of you to call us. I thought you were going to come spend Christmas with us in New York. Where are you, dear? Can I send somebody to pick you up?' 'No, thank you. I'm in Hampden,' I said. 'Is Francis there?' 'Dear, he's at school, isn't he?' 'Excuse me,' I said, suddenly flustered; it had been a mistake to call like this, without planning what to say. 'I'm sorry. I think I've made a mistake.' 'I beg your pardon?' 'I thought he'd said something about going to Boston today.' 'Well, if he's here, sweetheart, I haven't seen him. Where did you say you were? Are you sure you don't want me to send Chris around to get you?' 'No thank you. I'm not in Boston. I'm -' 'You're calling all the way from school? she said, alarmed. 'Is anything wrong, dear?' 'No, ma'am, of course not,' I said; for a moment I had my customary impulse to hang up but it was too late for that now. 'He came by last night while I was really sleepy, and I could've sworn he said he was going down to Boston - oh! Here he is now!' I said stupidly, hoping she wouldn't call my bluff.”
Simultaneously appalling and enrapturing. Even her audio gets under my skin. Not how it sounded in my head when I read it, but a perfectly beguiling companion at work.
At around 15:40 when Henry calls Richard to come to talk to him it starts speeding up and skipping. I'm missing the gist. I hope this doesn't go on too much longer as it's completely unintelligible. 😵💫☹️ I will report back if it does, I love this story so far, it's so interesting and mysterious❣️EDIT: It stopped sp far!🤞😀
Bunny stealing Jenny Driscoll’s cheesecake was the final straw for me. I hate you Bunny.
made me so upset actually. "low income student pls dont steal my food"
and the guy on financial aid is right next to him 😂
@@AhsasA-x4z pleaseee exactly
I know right? My first thought was 'that cheesecake is probably one of very few joys Jenny can afford and this pricks just gonna steal it, huh?'
i never thought when i was reading this cover to cover and starting again dozens of times so many people would care about this book. nobody in my actual life has ever understood my love for it. i am so grateful for all of you. live forever.
Hell yea, I am reading this for the first time at age 30 and wish I had found it much earlier. It’s everything I could ask for in a great novel and more!
3:46:24
@@Zzzsleepzzz 0
@@Zzzsleepzzz 0(0
live forever. 🥂
Shout to all the people providing the missing sections
Yes thank you!!
I love the voice Donna gave Bunny.
He’s repulsive perfection.
@@MFTH-cam683 I can't agree more.
yeah it’s so good. Def gave Bunny a new characteristics the second time reading/listening to this :)
@@Kadeebee089 I got this book half a life ago at 16. I’ve reread it so many times. Never lost its magic
Really? I thought it was gay.
I'm one of those fall-somewhat-in-love-with-everyone-you-meet types, and I'm...well, smitten. Donna Tartt is an astounding author, and picturing her setting out on this project at NINETEEN blows my mind, because I myself was a mere homunculus at that age. I knew this was going to be an amazing experience when part one started with quotes from Plato and Nietzsche.
😊l😊😊😊😊😊l
16:02 - start of chapter 4
1:38:27 - start of chapter 5
3:03:35 - page 231
I am savoring this book, so many levels the characters are alive! The language is so true! Easy to suspend disbelief and fall in!
The choppy part at 15:25
He was sitting on the side of the fold out bed, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a game of solitaire spread out on the blanket at the foot. His hair had fallen to the wrong side and I could see the long scar at his hairline, all dented and puckered, with ridges of white flesh cutting across it to the browbone.
He looked up at me. “Will you do a favor for me?“ He said.
“Sure.”
He took a deep breath through the nostrils and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “Will you call Bunny and ask him if he’d like to come over for a few minutes?” he said.
I was so surprised that I didn’t say anything for half a second. Then I said: “sure. Fine. I’ll be glad to.“
he closed his eyes and rubbed his temple with his fingertips. Then he blinked at me. “Thank you,” he said.
“No, really.”
“If you want to take some of your things back to school this afternoon, you’re more than welcome to borrow the car,“ he said evenly.
I got his drift. “Sure, “I said, and it was only after I’d loaded my suitcases in the car and driven them to Monmouth and got security to unlock my room that I called Bunny from the payphone downstairs, a safe half hour later.
CHAPTER 4
Somehow I thought that when the twins returned, when we were settled in again, when we were back at our Liddell and Scotts and had suffered through two or three Greek Prose Composition assignments together, we would all fall back into the comfortable routine of the previous term and everything would be the same as it had been before.
Resume at 16:16
God bless u
thank you!! you are amazing
tysm!!!
Thank youu
thank u
2:49:50 missing part.
“-I didn't see this crucial moment then forwhat it was; I suppose we never do. Instead, I only yawned, and shookmyself from the momentary daze that had come upon me, and went on myway down the stairs.Back in my room, dizzy and exhausted”
3:40:00
-even Bunny’s own hallowed Saint Jerome’s was really only an expensive remedial school, the sort of place you see advertised in the back of Town and Country as offering specialized attention for the academic underachiever. My own school was not particularly shameful in this context, yet I evaded the question long as I could till finally, cornered and desperate, I had told him I’d gone to Renfrew Hall, which is a tennis-y, indifferent sort of boys’ school near San Francisco. That had seemed to satisfy him, but then, to my immense discomfort, and in front of everybody, he brought it up again.
“So you were at Renfrew,” he said chummily, turning to me and popping a handful of pistachios in his mouth.
“Yes.”
“When’d ya graduate?”
I offered the date of my real high school graduation.
“Ah,” he said, chomping busily on his nuts. “So you were there with Von Raumer.”
“What?”
“Alec. Alec Von Raumer. From San Fran. Friend of Cloke’s. He was in the room the other day and we got talking. Lots of old Renfrew boys at Hampden, he says.”
I said nothing, hoping he’d leave it at that.
“So you know Alec and all.”
“Uh, slightly,” I said.
“Funny, he said he didn’t remember you,” said Bunny, reaching over for another handful of pistachios without taking his eyes off me. “Not at all.”
“It’s a big school.”
He cleared his throat. “Think so?”
“Yes.”
“Von Raumer said it was tiny. Only about two hundred people.” He paused and threw another handful of pistachios into his mouth, and chewed as he talked. “What dormitory did you say you were in?”
“You wouldn’t know it.”
“Von Raumer told me to make a point of asking you.”
“What difference does it make?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing at all, old horse,” said Bunny pleasantly. “Just that it’s pretty damn peculiar, n’est-ce pas? You and Alec being there together for four years, in a tiny place like Renfrew, and he never laid eyes on you even once?”
“I was only there for two years.”
“How come you’re not in the yearbook?”
“I am in the yearbook.”
“No you’re not.”
The twins looked stricken. Henry had his back turned, pretending not to listen. Now he said, quite suddenly and without turning around: “How do you know if he was in the yearbook or not?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in a yearbook in my life,” said Francis nervously. “I can’t stand to have my picture taken. Whenever I try to-”
Bunny paid no attention. He leaned back in his chair.
“Come on,” he said to me. “I’ll give you five dollars if you can tell me the name of the dorm you lived in.”
His eyes were riveted on mine; they were bright with a horrible relish. I said something incoherent and then in consternation got up and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Leaning on the sink, I held the glass to my temple; from the living room, Francis whispered something indistinct but angry, and then Bunny laughed harshly. I poured the water down the sink and turned on the tap so I wouldn’t have to listen.
How was it that a complex, a nervous and delicately calibrated mind like my own, was able to adjust itself perfectly after a shock like the murder, while Bunny’s eminently more sturdy and ordinary one was knocked out of kilter? I still think about this sometimes. If what Bunny really wanted was revenge, he could have had it easily enough and without putting himself at risk. What did he imagine was to be gained from this slow and potentially explosive kind of torture, had it, in his mind, some purpose, some goal? Or were his own actions as inexplicable to him as they were to us?
Or perhaps they weren’t so inexplicable as that. Because the worst thing about all of this, as Camilla once remarked, was not that Bunny had suffered some total change of personality, some schizophrenic break, but rather that various unpleasant elements of his personality which heretofore we had only glimpsed had orchestrated and magnified themselves to a startling level of potency. Distasteful as his behavior was, we had seen it all before, only in less concentrated and vitriolic form. Even in the happiest times he’d made fun of my California accent, my secondhand overcoat and my room barren of tasteful bibelots, but in such an ingenuous way I couldn’t possibly do anything but laugh. (“Good Lord, Richard,” he would say, picking up one of my old wingtips and poking his finger through the hole in the bottom. “What is it with you California kids? Richer you are, the more shoddy you look. Won’t even go to the barber. Before I know it, you’ll have hair down to your shoulders and be skulking around in rags like Howard Hughes.”) It never occurred to me to be offended; this was Bunny, my friend, who had even less pocket money than I did and a big rip in the seat of his trousers besides. A good deal of my horror at his new behavior sprang from the fact that it was so similar to the old and frankly endearing way he used to tease me, and I was as baffled and enraged at his sudden departure from the rules as though-if we had been in the habit of doing a little friendly sparring-he had boxed me into the corner and beaten me half to death.
To compound this-all these unpleasant recollections to the contrary-so much remained of the old Bunny, the one I knew and loved. Sometimes when I saw him at a distance-fists in pockets, whistling, bobbing along with his springy old walk-I would have a strong pang of affection mixed with regret. I forgave him, a hundred times over, and never on the basis of anything more than this: a look, a gesture, a certain tilt of his head. It seemed impossible then that one could ever be angry at him, no matter what he did. Unfortunately, these were often the moments when he chose to attack. He would be amiable, charming, chatting in his old distracted manner when, in the same manner and without missing a beat, he would lean back in his chair and come out with something so horrendous, so backhanded, so unanswerable, that I would vow not to forget it, and never to forgive him again. I broke that promise many times. I was about to say that it was a promise I finally had to keep, but that’s not really true. Even today I cannot muster anything resembling anger for Bunny. In fact, I can’t think of much I’d like better than for him to step into the room right now, glasses fogged and smelling of damp wool, shaking the rain from his hair like an old dog and saying: “Dickie, my boy, what you got for a thirsty old man to drink tonight?”
One likes to think there’s something in it, that old platitude amor vincit omnia. But if I’ve learned one thing in my short sad life, it is that that particular platitude is a lie. Love doesn’t conquer everything. And whoever thinks it does is a fool.
Camilla he tormented-
thank you for this
THANK YOU, this was such a large important part ty for typing it out
*THANK YOU* so much, really appreciate this ❤
The timing is 3:42:00 I think, it does make a drastic change into explaining how Bunny behaved towards Camilla
your the 🐐
3:43:50 “Being the only female in what was basically a boys’ club must have been difficult for her. Miraculously, she didn’t compensate by becoming hard or quarrelsome. She was still a girl, a slight lovely girl who lay in bed and ate chocolates, a girl whose hair smelled like hyacinth and whose scarves fluttered jauntily in the breeze. But strange and marvelous as she was, a wisp of silk in a forest of black wool, she was not the fragile creature one would have her seem.”
2:57:33 the missing part
“Hah. I picked one of the racy ones myself. Ever been to France, Richard?”
“No,” I said.
“Then you better come with us this summer.”
“Us? Who?”
“Henry and me.”
I was so taken aback that all I could do was blink at him.
“France?” I said.
“May wee. Two-month tour. A real doozy. Have a look.” He tossed me the magazine, which I now saw was a glossy brochure.
I glanced through it. It was a lollapalooza of a tour, all right-a “luxury hotel barge cruise” which began in the Champagne country and then went, via hot air balloon, to
Burgundy for more barging, through Beaujolais, to the Riviera and Cannes and Monte Carlo-it was lavishly illustrated, full of brightly colored pictures of gourmet meals,
flower-decked barges, happy tourists popping champagne corks and waving from the basket of their balloon at the disgruntled old peasants in the fields below.
“Looks great, doesn’t it?” said Bunny.
“Fabulous.”
“Rome was all right but actually it was kind of a sinkhole when you get right down to it. Besides, I like to gad about a little more myself. Stay on the move, see a few of the
native customs. Just between you and me, I bet Henry’s going to have a ball with this.”
I bet he will, too, I thought, staring at a picture of a woman holding up a stick of French bread at the camera and grinning like a maniac.
The twins were studiously avoiding my eye, Camilla bent over Bunny’s shirt, Charles with his back to me and his elbows on the sideboard, looking out the kitchen window.
“Of course, this balloon thing’s great,” Bunny said conversationally, “but you know, I’ve been wondering, where do you go to the bathroom? Off the side or something?”
“Look here, I think this is going to take several minutes,” said Camilla abruptly. “It’s almost nine. Why don’t you go ahead with Richard, Charles. Tell Julian not to wait.”
“Well, it’s not going to take you that much longer, is it?” said Bunny crossly, craning over to see. “What’s the big problem? Where’d you learn how to iron, anyway?”
“I never did. We send our shirts to the laundry.”
Charles followed me out the door, a few paces behind. We walked through the hall and down the stairs without a word, but once downstairs he stepped close behind me
and, catching my arm, pulled me into an empty card room. In the twenties and thirties, there had been a bridge fad at Hampden; when the enthusiasm faded, the rooms
were never subsequently put to any function and no one used them now except for drug deals, or typing, or illicit romantic trysts.
He shut the door. I found myself looking at the ancient card table-inlaid at its four corners with a diamond, a heart, a club and a spade.
“Henry called us,” said Charles. He was scratching at the raised edge of the diamond with his thumb, his head studiously down.
“When?”
“Early this morning.”
Neither of us said anything for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” said Charles, glancing up.
“Sorry for what?”
“Sorry he told you. Sorry for everything. Camilla’s all upset.”
He seemed calm enough, tired but calm, and his intelligent eyes met mine with a sad, quiet candor. All of a sudden I felt terribly upset. I was fond of Francis and Henry
but it was unthinkable that anything should happen to the twins. I thought, with a pang, of how kind they had always been; of how sweet Camilla was in those first
awkward weeks...
Any other missing part
Ty y. Y y
Y. YOh y.
T Y
@@dhananjaysingh-in9go Yes. 3:40:56 - its pg 220-223
I recently finished listening to this, & now I'm listening again! This is terrific, I'm so glad I found it. Thank you!
I’ve heard this fab audio three times. She’s wonderful. I guess we’re all wondering what Donna’s next book will be about, and WHEN it’ll come out. (Guesses, anyone?)
38:26 (page 155 - Classes started today, Thursday, but my first class with Julian wasn't ...)
1:38:27 (page 184 - Chapter 5)
2:29:09 (page 205 - Curiosly, Bunny had little to say...)
4:03:00 (page 250 - 'Now,' he said. 'A single cap…)
1:06:43 "bei Nacht und Nebel" is a German term, literally "in night and fog". It suggests clandestine, cloak-and-dagger activity. ("I never thought you'd come back for it bei Nacht und Nebel.")
I've decided that the author has truly turned us against Bunny. He tortures everybody with his caustic talk. You want him...removed.
The author, Donna Tart, is actually a woman! I agree her voice makes Bunny seem quite irritating.
I can’t wait for them to kill Bunny already I can’t believe he even lasted this long
That was so evil 💀💀💀
lmao true he's insufferable
Soon as I heard he blasted Sousa marches on school nights, I was like, "so, it was justifiable homicide."
yes, that's evil but highkey same
He’s so cartoonishly unpleasant that I too wondered how he lasted *that* long!😂😂
15:30- end of chapter 3 (Richard's winter)
01:38:20- end of chapter 4 (The murder of a man)
+
At 3:40:00 it skips from halfway down 220 to bottom of 223, just so people can read the missing bit
3:41:54 more precisely, text here:
[...] ; but the twins had only gone to a little country day school in Roanoke, and even Bunny's own hallowed Saint Jerome's was really only an expensive remedial school, the sort of place you see advertised in the back of Town and Country as offering specialized attention for the academic underachiever.
My own school was not particularly shameful in this context, yet I evaded the question long as I could till finally, cornered and desperate, I had told him I'd gone to Renfrew Hall, which is a tennis-y, indifferent sort of boys' school near San Francisco. That had seemed to satisfy him, but then, to my immense discomfort, and in front of everybody, he brought it up again.
'So you were at Renfrew,' he said chummily, turning to me and popping a handful of pistachios in his mouth.
'Yes.'
'When'd ya graduate?'
I offered the date of my real high school graduation.
'Ah,' he said, chomping busily on his nuts. 'So you were there with Von Raumer.'
'What?'
'Alec. Alec Von Raumer. From San Fran. Friend of Cloke's.
He was in the room the other day and we got talking. Lots of old Renfrew boys at Hampden, he says,' I said nothing, hoping he'd leave it at that.
'So you know Alec and all.'
'Uh, slightly,' I said.
'Funny, he said he didn't remember you,' said Bunny, reaching over for another handful of pistachios without taking his eyes off me. 'Not at all.'
'It's a big school.'
He cleared his throat. Think so?'
'Yes.'
'Von Raumer said it was tiny. Only about two hundred people.'
He paused and threw another handful of pistachios into his mouth, and chewed as he talked. 'What dormitory did you say you were in?'
'You wouldn't know it.'
'Von Raumer told me to make a point of asking you.'
'What difference does it make?'
'Oh, it's nothing, nothing at all, old horse,' said Bunny pleasantly.
'Just that it's pretty damn peculiar, n'est-ce pas'? You and Alec being there together for four years, in a tiny place like Renfrew, and he never laid eyes on you even once?'
'I was only there for two years.'
'How come you're not in the yearbook?'
'I am in the yearbook.'
'No you're not.'
The twins looked stricken. Henry had his back turned, pretending not to listen. Now he said, quite suddenly and without turning around: 'How do you know if he was in the yearbook or not?'
'I don't think I've ever been in a yearbook in my life,' said Francis nervously. 'I can't stand to have my picture taken. Whenever I try to '
Bunny paid no attention. He leaned back in his chair.
'Come on,' he said to me. I'll give you five dollars if you can tell me the name of the dorm you lived in.'
His eyes were riveted on mine; they were bright with a horrible relish. I said something incoherent and then in consternation got up and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Leaning on the sink, I held the glass to my temple; from the living room, Francis whispered something indistinct but angry, and then Bunny laughed harshly. I poured the water down the sink and turned on the tap so I wouldn't have to listen.
How was it that a complex, a nervous and delicately calibrated mind like my own, was able to adjust itself perfectly after a shock like the murder, while Bunny's eminently more sturdy and ordinary one was knocked out of kilter? I still think about this sometimes. If what Bunny really wanted was revenge, he could have had it easily enough and without putting himself at risk.
What did he imagine was to be gained from this slow and potentially explosive kind of torture, had it, in his mind, some purpose, some goal? Or were his own actions as inexplicable to him as they were to us?
Or perhaps they weren't so inexplicable as that. Because the worst thing about all of this, as Camilla once remarked, was not that Bunny had suffered some total change of personality, some schizophrenic break, but rather that various unpleasant elements of his personality which heretofore we had only glimpsed had orchestrated and magnified themselves to a startling level of potency. Distasteful as his behavior was, we had seen it all before, only in less concentrated and vitriolic form. Even in the happiest times he'd made ran of my California accent, my secondhand overcoat and my room barren of tasteful bibelots, but in such an ingenuous way I couldn't possibly do anything but laugh. ('Good Lord, Richard,' he would say, picking up one of my old wingtips and poking his finger through the hole in the bottom. 'What is it with you California kids? Richer you are, the more shoddy you look. Won't even go to the barber. Before I know it, you'll have hair down to your shoulders and be skulking around in rags like Howard Hughes.') It never occurred to me to be offended; this was Bunny, my friend, who had even less pocket money than I did and a big rip in the seat of his trousers besides. A good deal of my horror at his new behavior sprang from the fact that it was so similar to the old and frankly endearing way he used to tease me, and I was as baffled and enraged at his sudden departure from the rules as though - if we had been in the habit of doing a little friendly sparring - he had boxed me into the corner and beaten me half to death.
To compound this - all these unpleasant recollections to the contrary - so much remained of the old Bunny, the one I knew and loved. Sometimes when I saw him at a distance - fists in pockets, whistling, bobbing along with his springy old walk - I would have a strong pang of affection mixed with regret. I forgave him, a hundred times over, and never on the basis of anything more than this: a look, a gesture, a certain tilt of his head. It seemed impossible then that one could ever be angry at him, no matter what he did. Unfortunately, these were often the moments when he chose to attack. He would be amiable, charming, chatting in his old distracted manner when, in the same manner and without missing a beat, he would lean back in his chair and come out with something so horrendous, so backhanded, so unanswerable, that I would vow not to forget it, and never to forgive him again. I broke that promise many times. I was about to say that it was a promise I finally had to keep, but that's not I really true. Even today I cannot muster anything resembling anger for Bunny. In fact, I can't think of much I'd like better than for him to step into the room right now, glasses fogged and smelling of damp wool, shaking the rain from his hair like an old dog and saying: 'Dickie, my boy, what you got for a thirsty old man to drink tonight?'
One likes to think there's something in it, that old platitude amor vincit omnia. But if I've learned one thing in my short sad life, it is that that particular platitude is a lie. Love doesn't conquer everything. And whoever thinks it does is a fool.
Camilla he tormented simply because she was a girl.
@@thomaslarochelle9297 ur an angel
Thanks man!
Those of you posting SPOILERS in the comments……there’s a place in hell for you.
A good place?
@@jonathangeddes9786 Yeah, the hell of dealing with people not smart enough to stay out of the comments and other discussion boards until they finish the book. 🤡
To me Bunny's voice sounds like a privileged frat boy like Dan Akroyd in "Trading Places."
Bunny is such an annoying character, I don’t know how they didn’t kill him in the first quarter.
Bookmarks 📖
16:25
1:56:30
2:54:00
3:44:02
Bunny is nevel papperman from icarly.
27:53 Richard be like: “omg is Henry gay?👀 OMG does Henry like…. Bunny?????🤮🤮”
i have a feeling Henry and Frances have a friends who hook up once in a while type of relationship
Chapter 3 page 141: 00:00:00
Chapter 4: 16:05
Chapter 5: 1:38:28
+
3:52:32 hearing her say Free Bird is terrible music hurts 😭
RIGHT
I love this book but I think The Goldfinch is her masterpiece
Came here cause chapter 5 is too long so I'd rather listen to it 😂😂💀
But ugghh bunny....since chapter 2 I was feeling sth was off with him
🔖 4:42:30
quotes:
50:34
2:10:52 “Eventually I got him to drop it . . .”
2:52:54 “They, too, knew this beautiful and harrowing landscape . . .”
3:44:48 “Things would have been terribly strange and unbalanced without her.”
About a page missing at 3:42:00 - talks about Richard's incident with Bunny
What incident???
Missing part 43:51
“Well, Richard,' she said when she finally figured out who I was. 'Darling. How nice of you to call us. I thought you were going to come spend Christmas with us in New York. Where are you, dear? Can I send somebody
to pick you up?'
'No, thank you. I'm in Hampden,' I said. 'Is Francis there?'
'Dear, he's at school, isn't he?'
'Excuse me,' I said, suddenly flustered; it had been a mistake to call like this, without planning what to say. 'I'm sorry. I think I've made a mistake.'
'I beg your pardon?'
'I thought he'd said something about going to Boston today.'
'Well, if he's here, sweetheart, I haven't seen him. Where did you say you were? Are you sure you don't want me to send Chris around to get you?'
'No thank you. I'm not in Boston. I'm -'
'You're calling all the way from school? she said, alarmed.
'Is anything wrong, dear?'
'No, ma'am, of course not,' I said; for a moment I had my
customary impulse to hang up but it was too late for that now.
'He came by last night while I was really sleepy, and I could've sworn he said he was going down to Boston - oh! Here he is now!' I said stupidly, hoping she wouldn't call my bluff.”
Touring Rome with Bunny is like visiting Bruge with Ray.
Simultaneously appalling and enrapturing. Even her audio gets under my skin. Not how it sounded in my head when I read it, but a perfectly beguiling companion at work.
I read this and was just wondering if it was available for listening. How well timed
Theres about 2.5 pages skipped at 3:42:00 or so, if you have a physical copy to consult.
3:17:53 end page 211
3:42:02 camila he tormented - page 223
4:11:22 Early the next afternoon - page 235
4:21:43 julian, of course... pag 239
around 15 mins in the audio becomes choppy
glad it’s not just me!
linked the choppy part in a separate comment if anyone still wanted it
2:17:35 is exactly when I started to hate bunny
End Of part 2 Character 3 16:02
End Of Character 4 1:38:27
End Of Character 4 part 2 4:50:56
Headbanging while listening to this
Bookmark: pg 235 3rd paragraph . 4:11:52
At around 15:40 when Henry calls Richard to come to talk to him it starts speeding up and skipping. I'm missing the gist. I hope this doesn't go on too much longer as it's completely unintelligible. 😵💫☹️ I will report back if it does, I love this story so far, it's so interesting and mysterious❣️EDIT: It stopped sp far!🤞😀
We see Henry's blue enamel pillbox twice.
I would love to know how Donna Tartt decided on that particular design. 🤔🤔 🤔
3:53:52 - 3:54:01 Lol I love Judy
Bookmarks :
1:49:30
3:13:00
3:36:20
4:20:00
There are a few paragraphs missing around 3:42 :)
I’m scared i don’t want henry my beloved to die or go to jail oh lord
realll
Lol
@@flask223 hope u enjoy it’s my favorite book still
This was so good. It reminded me of catcher in the rye.
bookmark
3:26:46
4:03:23
4:29:55
🥑bookmark
1:38:27
2:07:33
Personal timestamps:
50:29
1:38:27 ☠️
2:00:17
2:46:49
3:16:56
bookmark-
1:38:24
2:07:32
3:51:19
Bookmark
1:04:26
3:42:22
Bookmarks
29:06
50:30
1:01:32
1:16:41
2:47:26
3:54:35 break at 228
4:35:08 break at 245
chapter 4: 16:03
chapter 5: 1:38:28
Bookmark 2:03:51
Bookmark 4:35:00
Bookmark 🔖 2:29:59
3:33:16
4:21:26
3:15:40 book mark
i can’t wait for the next part! 💖
so glad youre enjoying the work
Personal bookmarks:
00:7:53
1:33:49
2:28:47
Chapter 5: 1:38:37
Bookmark: 2:00:54
🔖 bookmarks
4:27:55
Someone please tell me name of song at start of book1 and end of book. Please
3:22:00 bookmark
donna rlly channels winona ryder while reading this
Does anyone else think of ouran host club but much darker
I definitely do
Oh absolutely. The first thing that came to my mind.
yes!!!
This comment took me out lmao 🥴😭
WHAT
Anyone else picture Bugs Bunny when Bun is talking? 😂
bookmark
1:38:24
2:46:47
bookmark:
16:20
2:55:26
4:11:24
bookmark:
3:36:19 pg 218
4:21:06
Does anyone else picture Bunny as ( Phillip Seymour Hoffman) Freddy Miles from the Talented Mr Ripley?
Really I picture the obnoxious friend of Oliver Twist
Yes
Yes, pretty much exactly without even had seen Freddy miles until now
Holy crow- I just said that!!!YEEEESSSS!!!!
I always picture Bunny as a young James Spader 😅 (I'm thinking particularly in his Mannequin role!)
3:34:36 Page 218 “Though I liked Francis…”
3:19:50 Henry and Bunny's fight at Francis'
2:07:30 page 184
Bookmark 3:05:00
23:50
Bookmark: 4:18:55
1:38:28
Start of Chapter 5
1:54:53 - bookmark
What does it say at 15:27 ?
Bookmark
45:28 28/10
2:02:19 30/10
2:16:07 31/10
bookmark: 4:11:22
3:52:22 bookmark
0:42 page 128
1:38:30 chapter 5
2:13:10 page 208
bookmark 3:35:30
2:33:30 - bookmark for myself.
Bookmark - 42:26
Is the end of part 2 the start of book || ?
There is a horrid glitch near the beginning
anyone know what the missing bit was at 2:49:50 ?
4:20:01 dang, he knows everyone
bookmarks
1:35:49
3:54:00
23rd December 2024: 1:38:30
2:10:10
4:10:00
This bunny creature is far too odius to be tolerated by the others...😢
1:38:27 chapter 5
Bookmark
42:40
2:06:46