Why should I care about a young and attractive woman psychologist who leaves her boring husband, acquires two equally boring New Russian lovers neither of whom she loves, then finds another man with whom she falls in love? No reason whatsoever. But here I was, finishing this book in a transatlantic flight (Boston—London), worrying about its hapless heroine instead of having a well-deserved nap.
Not bad, not bad at all. I like the style. Not perfect though. If the author reads this, here’s my free and completely unsolicited advice: next time, lose the poetry.
I came across just one typo in a whole novel — for a post-Soviet book, a small miracle!
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