A charming and moving a table to not brilliant novel, boring or depressing

Americans are very strong in marketing, and once more with this novel, we were then demonstrated: Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 2014, international rave reviews in the media almost unanimously ....... Close bestseller, but how many critics have actually read through this indigestible pad?
Donna Tartt must like Proust, but is not Proust who wants ...... His style is really soporific while terribly long sentences curiously intertwined, dotted with many incongruous parentheses and rotating about a story that don ' advance not black and confused thoughts expressed equally confused.
The construction of the novel is confusing with combos seized, countless setbacks and circumstances not really clear reversals.
But the worst are the dialogues: You have to try several times to get to decipher as they are very poorly articulated, combining words, gestures and thoughts around parentheses excessive and not really punctuated by question marks their place.
As for the story, although that "preposterous"; it could have been exciting if it had been told more dynamically and less focused on alcoholics and drug addicts ramblings of all kinds ..... A promising start quickly dimmed by long paragraphs as long descriptions that unnecessary, then, after 500 pages, are finally a little animation with birth of a plot, settling of accounts, and after 760 pages, one end of the sloppy story that gives pride to a strange conclusion. Indeed, while we are treated to a pseudo convoluted philosophical reflection that turns in circles without ever really take off, like the goldfinch unfortunate history, one made of flesh and feathers, which, chained to its perch can not s' fly away.