The only thing I can remember about Donna Tartt’s last book, The Little Friend, was that it was too long. Her new novel, The Goldfinch, is very good. There is no denying her descriptive powers, which work just as well whether she is writing about furniture or a character’s mental state. You really do feel Theo’s loss; in losing his mother he loses all sense of purpose and direction – there is no one there to anchor him – and this loss haunts him throughout the book. But, but, but . . . I still found it too long. Parts dragged. There were too many nights spent on drugs, which, as in real life, is fairly tedious when you are not joining in. Even the opening description of the explosion grew tiresome; I was desperate for Theo to get out and get on with the story.

For me, the book’s strength lay in the establishment and development of Theo’s relationships with the other characters: his mother; the Barbours; his father and Xandra; Boris; and Hobie. Only later in the book did I realise how fond I was of Andy Barbour, and how, like Mrs Barbour, I wanted Theo to be a part of her family. Theo’s involvement with Lucius Reeve was unnerving; in contrast, the final showdown in Amsterdam with Boris and his cronies felt a bit ridiculous and lacked any real tension.

Minor gripes aside, The Goldfinch is a great book, weaving a thoughtful contemplation of art, morality and loss into an absorbing narrative.