Theo's mother dies in a terrorist attack and the thirteen-year-old is forced to rely on the kindness of strangers to get by in life. The one constant for him is a beautiful painting of a goldfinch which he stole from the museum before fleeing the aftermath of the bomb.

The book traces Theo's early years, his friendships and difficulties, and follows him into a life of deceit and addiction.

It is a stunning, enthralling book which is vivid in its depiction of New York and Las Vegas, of wealth and privilege and of an underworld of crime and exploitation. Characters, whether likeable or not, are compelling and intriguing.

The blurb reads: "it is a beautiful, addictive triumph - a sweeping story of loss and obsession, of survival and self-invention, of the deepest mysteries of love, identity and fate". I couldn't agree more. However, some reviews claim that this can be called a 'great American novel' and that Tartt is now an equal of Salinger etc. I'm not sure I'd go that far. But, despite its 771 pages, I didn't want this book to end.