This beautifully written book is the perfect stereotype of "literary" fiction: a depressed woman, financially well-off, mopes about early 20th century Paris and drinks herself silly. There are a couple of romantic flings as well. The mood is gloomy and the atmosphere dripping with psychic pain and dysfunction. Yet for all of this, I still come away with the impression that the book is beautiful. I have felt for this character, I feel as if I've weathered some of the storms she has. The novel has given me much to consider and even made me feel stronger for having read it. I understand if other people don't feel this way, and I also can't say what is it precisely that led me to such an emotional conclusion. Fortunately, it's a short one, and so it won't hurt anyone to go out of their way to find this book, give it a shot, and see if they feel as nourished by it as I do.