Andi Alpers is broken. Reeling from her little brother's death, living with a half-sane mother, and furious with her absent father, she'd rather disappear in music most days. On a forced trip to Paris with her father (sucks huh?), Andi discovers Alexandrine's diary and is sucked into her world - literally.
I think Jennifer Donnelly might be of French descent because there was a definitely feeling of "maybe one day we'll get to the point" with this story for me. Or maybe it was just poor descriptions of the the plot that had me annoyed because I kept asking myself when this Certain Thing about the story was going to happen and it didn't happen until way into the second half of the book. By which time I kinda didn't care any more. Oh and there was the fact that Paris was rarely painted as a place I would want to go - between the bitter cold of winter break during the Andi parts and the stinky excrement, sweat, and rivers of blood-filled descriptions of Alexandrine's parts, Paris has never seemed less appealing. I was happy to finish the book and thankful to move on to lighter fare.