Okay, let's talk about Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch. I devoured this 700+ page beast in two weeks flat - which says something because I haven't binge-read like that since college.

The good? Tartt's writing is like verbal heroin. There's this scene where Theo describes his grief after losing his mother that had me sobbing into my tea at 3 AM. And Boris? That chaotic Ukrainian disaster became my problematic fave by chapter five.

The bad? Vegas. Oh god, the Vegas section. I nearly DNF'd during those endless desert chapters. Tartt could've cut 100 pages and no one would've noticed except my sore wrists from holding this brick of a book.

Fun fact: I started Googling Dutch Golden Age paintings because of this novel. Now my Instagram algorithm thinks I'm an art history major. Thanks, Donna.

Final verdict: 4/5 stars for making me feel things I didn't know books could make you feel (and minus one star for making me Google 'what is antiques restoration' at 2 AM).