It’s an 100-worder, people.
TSWOT is so well-bound that you almost miss its flaws. The matte, ink-seeped cover and rough-edged pages, together with its translated status and down-to-earth protagonist, initially keep you from noticing a far-fetched tale featuring voodoo, murder, schizophrenia, revenge… combined with chick-lit romance. It’s bizarre, and messily unsuccessful; threads and twists are weakly established before flying off into the ether. Combine this with an awkward translation from the French in which the over-formal dialogue gives every character the same tone and you get something dysfunctional. It NEARLY works – parallels with Marian Keyes aren’t laughable – but ultimately dissolves into its own silliness.