And so let us play a round of The Secret History bingo. An ungainly cipher of a narrator; check. A sleek clique of gorgeously broken young people; check. An ethereal bubble of unfettered privilege; check. A quest for transcendent oblivion that turns menacing; bingo. There is even a cheeky suggestion in the book’s final pages that Temple’s floating fairytale exists in a similar universe to Tartt’s New England Greek tragedy. But while The Secret History was a novel of soul-curdling aftermaths, bisected by its murder, The Lightness is simply a novel of a looming bad thing. And we know the rough shape the bad thing will take from the novel’s very first page.