I developed my love for reading from my mother.
Every couple of weeks my mom visited Doubleday (a stunning glass building at 724 Fifth Avenue (now Prada) in New York City) and bought ten hardcover books. She loved biographies, literary fiction, and non-fiction. Her passion for crime and thrillers was piled on her nightstand.
“The Goldfinch” by Donna Tartt
While reading The Goldfinch, I coincidentally visited the Frick Museum and saw Carel Fabririus’ (1622-1654) masterpiece. Lines of people, many of whom had come to see Vermeer’s The Girl With a Pearl Earring crowded around Fabririus’ The Goldfinch.
Donna Tartt weaves her Pulitzer Prize winning novel around Fabririus’ painting:
“It was a small picture…and the simplest: a yellow finch, against a plain, pale ground, chained to a perch by its fig of an ankle. He was Rembrandt’s pupil, Vermeer’s teacher, “ my mother said. “And this one little painting is really the missing link between the two of them — that clear pure daylight, you can see where Vermeer got his quality of life from…”
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