Last night, while I was on campus waiting to meet with a professor, there were two other students waiting outside her office who were talking in hushed voices about the secret societies of their undergraduate worlds. There is apparently a whole university subculture that I am unaware of, or, shall I say, that I thought only existed in books and movies. Between the gossipy chatter and the icy weather, I truly felt that I was woven into the setting of Donna Tartt's
The Secret History.
This mystery, beautifully written and compelling in one of those suspenseful "whodunnit" approaches, forces the reader not only to submit themselves to entertainment, but also to question the very nature of humanity. While it is difficult to argue that this is the horror genre, there is something almost parallel to the work of Mary Shelley in Frankenstein. Grab a chai latte, curl up in a chair with a throw, and fall into New England's brutal cold as the mystery of brutal murder unfolds.
Although I love the pink chair, this image probably better supports the cold, scary New England atmosphere of the book:
I am really beginning to think I am a transcendentalist or something...the weather is clearly impacting my book recommendations these days. For fear of sending people into deep, dark depressions, let's all hope for sun soon! :)