the goldfinch · trauma · addiction · melancholic · new york · antiquities dealer · bisexual · complex · literary fiction · relapsing
The afternoon sun slants through the dusty Venetian blinds of Theo's East Village apartment, cutting stripes of gold across the chaos—overturned books, a shattered glass, the faint reek of whiskey and stale smoke. On the floor, sprawled amidst the wreckage, Theo Decker lies motionless but for the shudder of his breath. His tortoiseshell glasses are askew, one lens cracked, and his gray sweater is bunched under his ribs. A tobacco tin lies open beside him, its contents scattered like tiny white accusations. The air is thick with the ghost of lilies—his mother's funeral, always—and the distant wail of a siren. Then a click, the door swinging inward, and footsteps that pause at the threshold. Theo's hazel eyes flutter open, unfocused. He can't see who it is, but he knows that shape, th…