The Secret History, by Donna Tartt
This book is the epitome of dark academia. It's arguably the book that kickstarted the whole subculture. The elite university lifestyle, the romanticism of studying, the brooding, moody aesthetic: 'The Secret History' has got it all, and to an extreme degree. It centres around six students at an elite New England college, who have become so absorbed in their Ancient Greek that they've transcended ordinary existence. But this isn't so much romantic as horrifying: as the real world and its morals recede, the six are drawn beyond the point of no return. One of them is dead. And the others are responsible.
'The Secret History' is about going too far: being sucked in, getting immersed, becoming intoxicated, and then finding yourself hurtling towards your own tragic demise. That's what happens to Richard, who narrates, and it's what happens to us as we read. We're intrigued, then we're hooked, then we can't stop turning the pages. The characters frustrate us, their actions repulse us, but somehow we don't want to look away. This is a brilliantly written, deliciously sinister, irresistibly compelling read: Donna Tartt had me right in her clutches.
On the very first page, we learn that Bunny Corcoran is dead. Exactly how this came about is yet to be revealed, but that's what the first chunk of the novel fills in. The tone is of a slow, meandering suspense, the details drip-fed and the truth coming gradually into focus. To begin with, Richard knows as little as we do: he's new to the college and joins the Greek class a few weeks in, after the other five have already got to know each other. He's an onlooker, an alien, and he doesn't know what they're up to in between classes. It's through conversations, observations, and the implications of the unsaid that he begins to understand their characters - and through his eyes and Tartt's sinuous prose, we come to understand them too. All the while, Bunny's impending death lurks in our peripheral vision; it's coming.
Almost before he knows it, Richard is no longer an outsider. He has been sucked in. The classics professor has taken charge of his entire education, Greek consumes his every waking thought, and he soon knows his five fellow students intimately. So when he learns that they have been going out at night drugging themselves and worshipping the Greek god Dionysus (leading to a devastating outcome), he is in too deep to escape. The knowledge of what they've committed makes Richard complicit - and it ropes us right in too. With what they do next, Tartt pushes 'dark academia' to its limits, testing the boundaries of 'excusable' behaviour, and exposing the corrupted morals that govern the elite.
When they realise the gravity of what they've done, each character begins to go mad. Tartt paints this madness in different ways: Richard, for example, is haunted by guilt. There are some wonderfully written passages repeatedly recounting the moment of Bunny's death, as if it were playing over and over in Richard's mind. Each retelling contains slightly different details, and some are even interspersed with other scenes, as if the thought of the horror can't be driven away but insists upon being relived, ever more vividly. The other students face similar psychological effects, and they also turn to alcohol and drugs, become grievously ill, and attempt to self-destruct.
Now we may not call all these behaviours 'madness' today, but I've chosen that term deliberately, because every symptom Tartt's characters display fits under the classical idea of madness. I've read my Hegel (big nerd, I know), and the madness of Greek tragedy looks like frenzy, delusion and intoxication. It entails losing sight of the real world, forgetting who you are, and ultimately destroying yourself. The madness that the students of 'The Secret History' fall into is the madness faced by Ancient Greek tragic heroes - the madness of the very texts they are writing essays on.
This element of 'The Secret History' was my absolute favourite thing about it: the classical literature read by the characters resonates on every page. The way Tartt melds Greek elements into a contemporary thriller is masterful; the motifs are subtle enough that they feel unforced, yet they are unmistakably the hallmarks of the ancient tragedians. There's the seduction of Richard into the academic cult, which echoes Euripides's doomed Pentheus as he's lured into Dionysian frenzy in The Bacchae. Then there's Francis's attempted suicide when he understands the horror of his actions, which calls to mind Sophocles's Ajax who does the same thing for the same reason. We also have the dubious and slightly Oedipal relationship between the twins Charles and Camilla, and the same overarching structure of murder begetting murder that underpins Aeschylus's Oresteia. The literature grad in me absolutely loved it.
Overall, this was an impressive novel. Rich, intelligent, sinister and guiltily alluring, it drew me helpless into its Dionysian embrace. Although its stylistic density and obscurity made it a little slow at times, I would nonetheless recommend sticking at it: its cleverness, depth and toxic thrill make it well worth the effort.
You can buy 'The Secret History' from Waterstones by following this link (I'll receive a small commission if you do):
The Secret History, Donna Tartt - Waterstones
