I love the long sequences of dialogue that mainly comprise the book, but the descriptions of all these streets in Paris and locations our characters walk by drive me up the wall—I have no idea whatsoever what these places are or what they look like, and kind of feel like I need a tour book or something.

Hemingway’s novels always makes me want to say fuck it all and pick up and move to Paris. Except I know there’s no way I could enjoy it the way he did—I’m not rich, and I’m not white, which makes it relatively tough to blend into the crowd and have real, un-self-conscious fun in it.

I love Paris in books; I liked it okay in real life - though I did really love the nutella crepes and put on a few pounds while there a few years ago -