The Internal Chronology of The Goldfinch

We start with the tentative premise that the novel’s internal timeline makes sense. The premise may be proven wrong, but there’s no point in fussing over a novel’s chronology if you begin by assuming it doesn’t work. You can skip directly to the point where you excoriate the sloppy author and editors without trying to see whether the author might have been careful.

The first good clue to the chronology comes on p. 8, where we read that the explosion in the Met:

  • [It] happened in New York, April 10th, fourteen years ago. (Even my hand balks at the date; I had to push to write it down, just to keep the pen moving on the paper. It used to be a perfectly ordinary day but now it sticks up on the calendar like a rusty nail.)

Theo is writing in Amsterdam just prior to Christmas fourteen years after the explosion. Since April to December is eight months, we can hold open the possibilities that he is recollecting this thirteen years and eight months or fourteen years and eight months later.

The next good clue is that the Met explosion happens after 2001, based on the references to “Osama bin Laden” (p. 58) and the “shoe bomber” (p. 246). While some people knew of Osama before 2001, the shoe bomber’s attempt happened in December 2001.

But that is actually way too early, because by the time Theo arrives at the Barbours’ later that week after the explosion, there is a reference to “Andy’s iPhone” (p. 139). The iPhone was introduced in January 2007 and first sold in June of that year. Even a wealthy child in New York might not have gotten his first iPhone until months later. The first April that Andy could have an iPhone would be April 2008.

We also know that the day of the week that the explosion happened was Monday, Wednesday, or Friday, since Theo laments

  • If only I could go back and change what had happened, keep it from happening somehow. Why hadn’t I insisted we get breakfast instead of going to the museum? Why hadn’t Mr. Beeman asked us to come in on Tuesday, or Thursday?

p. 87. We need a year in which April 10 was a Monday, Wednesday, or Friday, so the explosion happened in 2002, 2006, 2009, 2013, 2015, 2017, 2019, or 2020.

We get another important clue to the timeline on p. 713:

  • “We close early today. Christmas Eve, you know? And we’re gone tomorrow, and the weekend. But we’ll be open again at eight-thirty a.m. on the Monday after Christmas.” “Monday?”  . . .  “That’s right. You get it all together by Monday the twenty-eighth. And then, yes, once the application is in we’ll process it for you as quickly as we can—sorry, will you excuse me a second?” Click.

From 2015 to 2030, there are only three December 28s that fall on a Monday – 2015, 2020 and 2026.

That means we should be looking at

  • Wednesday, 04/10/2002 + 13 years, 8 months, 18 days  = Monday, 12/28/2015
  • Monday, 04/10/2006 + 14 years, 8 months, 18 days = Monday, 12/28/2020
  • Wednesday, 04/10/2013 + 13 years, 8 months, 18 days = Monday, 12/28/2026

We know that the first two are too early, because of the iPhone issue. If Tartt considered such things carefully, only December 2026 works for her chronology.

So, tentatively, the Met explosion occurred on Wednesday, April 10, 2013 and Theo’s trip to Amsterdam must have occurred right before Christmas 2026.

That fits the reference to Osama, the shoe bomber, and the iPhone. What about the many other cultural references that Tartt works in? [1] Are there any true inconsistencies?

It is worth remembering that the book was published in 2013, with a release date of October 22, 2013. See https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/donna-tartt/the-goldfinch/ We can’t fault Tartt for failures of prognostication – she could only have known of events prior to publication. Complaints about the prevalence of newspapers and Blackberries during the novel’s later chapters aren’t her mistakes, any more than Arthur Clarke and Stanley Kubrick should have been held responsible for proposing that Pan Am would be a thriving space tourism business in 2001.


[1] One difficult piece of evidence is on page 743, Boris’ reference to “Everyone loves him—like that man who landed the plane in the river a few years back and saved everyone, remember him?” which is a clear reference to Jan. 15, 2009, when Capt. Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger makes an emergency landing in the Hudson River after his airliner strikes a flock of birds. That might be a few years ago from the perspective of Tartt, but it is 18 years ago from Boris’ viewpoint.

Uneasy reader

gardnerThus the value of great fiction, we begin to suspect, is not just that it entertains us or distracts us from our troubles, not just that it broadens our knowledge of people and places, but also that it helps us know what we believe, reinforces those qualities that are noblest in us, leads us to feel uneasy about our faults and limitations.

John Gardner, The Art of Fiction 31 (1983).

Of course Gardner does not hold this thought without reservation (notice the “we begin to suspect”), but he reasonably prompts us to add this to our internal lists of what fiction is for.  I had forgotten how enjoyable this book is.

A use of fiction

Fiction is, among other things, an aid to reflection: a means by which we can more vividly and rigorously encounter the world and try to make sense of it, to confront “the problems of being” as freshly as we can. But we vary in our interpretative needs: the questions that absorb some of us never occur to others. Each of us has her own labyrinth . Every genre of fiction puts certain questions in brackets, or takes their answers as given, in order to explore others. Not even the greatest of writers can keep all the balls in the air at once: some have to sit still on the ground while the others whirl. People who come to a book by Murakami, or Neal Stephenson, or even Ursula K. LeGuin with the questions they would put to a Marilynne Robinson novel are bound to be disappointed and frustrated. But if we readers attend closely to the kinds of questions a book is asking, the questions it invites from us, then our experience will be more valuable. And the more questions we can put to the books we read — in the most generous and charitable spirit we can manage — the richer becomes our encounter not just with the books themselves but with the world they point to.

Alan Jacobs, Reverting to Type: a Reader’s Story, loc. 561-570 (Kindle ed., 2012).