I am a terrible combination of “whatever happens, happens” and “If everything doesn’t go according to plan, I will vaporize”
Entering my Henry Winter era (I have constant migraines and I want to commit crimes)
Ocean Vuong, Night Sky With Exit Wounds.
― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot
what if richard just died during the whole pneumonia/frostbite plotline. and the rest of the story is followed by him as an unreconciled ghost, haunting and influencing his classmates until he gets a resolved ending to their story at Hampden. when he sees henry's ghost at the end of the novel he's not actually dreaming, he's on the plain of the dead with him where dead souls trap themselves by obsessing over their past lives. and ever since henry died, he hasn't yet moved on to the afterlife; he's been waiting for the moment richard finally lets go of his life on earth so they can leave together. and when richard, after haunting each individual classmate for years, finally accepts there's nothing more left to the fantasy of his greek class other than misery, he decides that he's finally done, and moves on with henry to the afterlife.
What I thought TSH was going to be:
Spilled wine; burning love letters; dainty breakfasts; pristine bookshelves; philosophy debates; romanticised elitism; riches beyond comprehension; red lipstick; quiet; poetry novels laying open on desks.
What is actually is:
Champagne in a teapot; wearing bedsheet togas; cocaine in a burger king parking lot; cutting hair with nail scissors; drinking in a country house; fucking at a funeral; sleeping in a warehouse or a giant snail; running out of money; "cubitum eamus"; homoerotic everything; finishing assignments before the professor shows up.
Today I discovered that a couple of TSH characters were based on actual people Donna Tartt knew at Bennington College- amongst them were students Todd O'Neal and Matt Jacobsen, who were the inspiration for Henry and Bunny respectively.
Here's the source
my holy trinity: me, my playlist, and my coffee
"If reincarnation is real I wonder how many people stare at their own art in museums, listen to their own music they made in a different life and read books they don't remember writing"
~ Unknown
Perhaps I romanticize this state of loneliness so much that it becomes too beautiful.
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