It's a Donna Tartt thread. I finished The Secret History

>The sun came suddenly from behind a rain cloud, flooding the room with glorious light that wavered on the walls like water.
>Camilla's face burst into glowing bloom. A terrible sweetness boiled up in me. Everything, for a moment – mirror, ceiling, floor – was unstable and radiant as a dream. I felt a fierce, nearly irresistible desire to seize Camilla by her bruised wrist, twist her arm behind her back until she cried out, throw her on my bed: strangle her, rape her, I don't know what. And then the cloud passed over the sun again, and the life went out of everything.

How does Donna understand the male mind so well?

>>9601563
huh
really makes you think

Bump. I know there are Secret History fags lurking.

I've encountered the criticism that much like how Henry manipulates Richard by appealing to his intellectual vanity, the novel, with its references and quotations and general literariness, gets the reader on side by making you feel smart for enjoying it. I don't agree but it's a nice thought.

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You will never be Donna Tartt's pug.

I'm a secret history fag. Comfy as fuck. The bit after the murder (not the first few pages) was really funny in how farcical it was

>an up-and-coming southern novelist with dusky eyes and a dominant air will never sit on your face

>>9604179
Yeah, especially when stay over at the Corcorans' for the funeral.

>>9601429
>You're not allowed to talk about The Little Friend because I have not read it,

well hurry the fuck up

>>9601429
And just remember, when she wrote it, she was still hot. While EVERY WORD YOU READ was being fashioned, she had a moist young beautiful pussy. Every little shift in her chair, probably even every single keystroke made her pussy move and squish around just a little bit inside her, her boobs jiggle and sway and mush together sexily. You are reading something that caused a beautiful young woman's big fucking tits and hot wet pussy to move, constantly, endlessly, for hundreds if not thousands of hours. You are reading a manifesto of blood, sweat, and pussy juice. You're taking an engine of sustained pussy perturbation, turning it inside out, and painstakingly inscribing every single constituent letter of it onto the deepest regions of your mind, intimately associating the pleasure of reading it with the process of constant tit jiggling it created. You're practically making love to an eternally young Donna Tartt every time you turn a page of The Secret History. They say if you are truly careful, if you truly savour it, you can sometimes smell hints of her perfume, or feel her thigh brush against your hand.

>>9606803

Uh, okay.

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>>9606803

>>9606803
Umm?? Okay??? Like uhh alright??

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>>9606803
ass-sweat so sweet it taste like capri-sun

>>9604111

Who wants to be a deformed pug anyway>>9604179