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Though known to be an intensely private person, much of Donna Tartt’s life has been in the spotlight. Born in Greenwood, Mississippi on December 23, 1963 and raised in Grenada, Mississippi, Tartt was an especially precocious child. First published at the age of 13 in a Mississippi literary review, Tartt began writing poetry at 5.

Her work extended to short stories and essays, and in her second year at college she began work on what would become her first novel, The Secret History. Deeply influenced by the author's time at Bennington College, the novel was published in 1992 and cemented Tartt as part of the “Literary Brat Pack” with fellow members Bret Easton Ellis, Jill Eisenstadt, Jay McInerney, and Tama Janowitz.

Tartt’s close friends at Bennington included Bret Easton Ellis and Jill Eisenstadt. Of Tartt’s writing, Eisenstadt said, “Donna's stories were very sophisticated, very mysterious, very structurally sound. She was the only person I knew who'd studied Greek and Latin, who'd read all of Proust." Tog

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Donna Tartt

American novelist and writer

Donna Louise Tartt (born December 23, 1963)^[2] is an American novelist and essayist. She wrote the novels The Secret History (1992), The Little Friend (2002), and The Goldfinch (2013), which was adapted into a 2019 film of the same name.^[3] She was included in Time magazine's 2014 "100 Most Influential People" list.^[4]

Early life and education

Donna Louise Tartt was born in Greenwood, Mississippi, in the Mississippi Delta, the elder of two daughters. She was raised in the nearby town of Grenada. Her father, Don Tartt, was a rockabilly musician, turned freeway "service station owner-cum-local politician", while her mother, Taylor, was a secretary.^[5]^[6]^[7] Her parents were avid readers, and her mother would read while driving.^[8] As a child, Tartt memorized "really long poems by A. A. Milne", and described herself as a "horrible repository of doggerel verse."^[5]

Tartt wrote her first poem in 1968, when she was five years old.^[9]

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“Willie told me she was very good, and, man, she sure was,” says fellow third-waver Barry Hannah, who admitted Tartt, as a freshman, to his graduate short-story course. “She was way out ahead of all those graduate students.” Hannah and I are sitting in the courtyard of an Oxford bar, a college hangout. Drink in one hand, Marlboro in the other, Tartt is at the other end of the table, being talked to by an intense man in a yellow suit and yellow golf hat. If she looked twelve then, she looks perhaps sixteen now. At the same time, she seems infinitely older than the college kids around us.

Inside the bar, the band crashes and booms; out here, the big frat boys and blonde coeds, their shining faces as un-complex as the music, pack the terrace, smiling. Overhead, the purple-brown sky erupts periodically with the most amazing heat lightning I’ve ever seen: gigantic, reticulate, like something out of a particularly unsubtle horror movie. Mississippi summer. “People call me a star-maker,” the handsome gray-haired Hannah says, sipping his tonic. “Shit, Donna made herself.”

Later on, Ta