The Goldfinch begins with 13-year-old Theo Decker and his mother, whom he adores, on the way to his New York school for a meeting with the principal. Theo has been suspended for a small infraction.

They are early for the appointment and, after exiting a very smelly cab in nauseous disgust, (the description will leave you wondering if the book has piped in smellavision) take a detour during a rainstorm and find themselves outside the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The Met is featuring a huge exhibition of Dutch Art and Theo's mother, trained in art history, decides they should pop in for a quick visit. During the quick spin through the Dutch Masters, Theo spies a striking redheaded girl of his own age and is immediately drawn to her.

Theo's Mom goes to the gift shop and they are separated; there is then a massive explosion. When Theo regains consciousness, he finds himself in a gallery with the mortally wounded body of the stooped white-haired man who was accompanying the redheaded girl.

The moment that will propels the novel occurs.

The themes of the novel weave in and out through the 774 pages, but follow anything but a steady, straight-forward course. The Goldfinch plot unfolds in a series of lengthy, widely divergent episodes.

Donna Tartt pens a novel every 10 years or so, her first in 1992, The Secret History, crowned her a literary darling. Eagerly awaiting her second novel, the devoted cult cooed when Little Friends was released a full 10 years later. She is today's version of J.D Salinger, literary silences a little more calculated. Her third novel, The Goldfinch, arrived 11 years later to grab the Pulitzer and set the literary world ablaze with, accolades, criticism, genre speculation and jealously.

Written over a 10-year span, you can almost feel when she takes the equivalent of a writing daydream and perhaps her characters accompany her; they wander off a bit. Oh but what characters they are; you're invested in them and gladly follow. Donna Tartt has superb ability to cascade wonderfully crafted sentences and paragraphs with such detail, sometimes too much detail. I'm not attacking her for this. I'm really just astonished at her mad skill set in weaving ornate, wandering tales.

Her appeal is not unlike that of Carel Fabritius. With only 12 paintings to his name, his works are rare. I would guess we would, in theory, wait another 10 years for a follow up to The Goldfinch in both mediums... if only!!

Doesn't that alone peak your curiosity enough to jaunt down to your local bookstore? I mean, the Pulitzer? Open it up, quietly gush over the cover, read a few pages, sidle up to the cash register and bring it home. Decide for yourself what all the fuss is about. Is this truly the Bosphorus of the literary world? See you when you return from your Goldfinch stupor.

For a much more in depth review on both the literary merits and detractions check out the link to Vanity Fair. vanityfair.com/culture/2014/07/goldfinch-donna-tartt-literary-criticism

It is a tome. An undertaking and still in hardcover, if it comes down on your head as you read in bed, you can say you were Goldfinched.

Bridget Conway lives in Camden.