This story chronicles Suzy Gersham’s move to Paris after her husbands death. I wanted, I tried, to like this novel. I, like her, grew up in San Antonio before Moving to Paris, although not permanently. The similarities end there. She apparently had money falling out of her pockets. She complains of shopping for mattresses and linen’s, but travels all the way back to the states for a Butterball Turkey! Quoi? She talks about spending a $1000 to get her extra luggage back from the US and goes on end about how to move large furniture upstairs fo the small Paris flat.
When she’s not talking about saving and throwing away money, she’s name dropping. This chef, or writer, this director or famous florist. Ughhh who cares? I swear this women never went to real Paris. Everyone in her story is French or American were if you’ve ever lived in Paris a good chunk of the people you would meet are immigrants from all places imaginable (not just american ex-pats). This story is a lot like the tv show friends, a bunch of people that hardly work, have tons of income, and lives in an all white New York city.
Also she only mentions her husband’s almost as a side note. It’s completely surface novel. She should stick to writing shopping manuals and leave the novels up to writers that can really dig into themselves rather than into a good linen sale.