I loved this book. I read it in just over a day, and, while I am hesitant to write anything since at least one narrator is a grammar fanatic, I will try not to say too much. It is the kind of book you can’t stop reading, but you don’t want it to end. If I had to explain the plot, you might think it sounds ordinary and dull; but the very ordinariness of the characters, beautifully written, is what elevates this novel. I waited for the explanation of the title, and, when I read it, I was so satisfied with it that I read the entire paragraph to my eight-year-old daughter, (who loves hedgehogs, and was wondering about the book).
You can go to Amazon or any number of other places and read a nice summary of this and even some mediocre reviews, and you may wonder why I loved it so much. I can’t explain it. The two narrators, one, the frumpy concierge of an exclusive Paris apartment building, and the other, one of it’s younger and more precocious tenants, made me feel ignorant of the classics, and even, at times, of pop culture. Sort of like a Woody Allen movie, but nicer. I did not care. I made a mental movie-to-watch list, looked up words, and went along with them. There were, I admit, some rambling passages and philosophical meanderings. But how bad could these be, if I finished it in just over a day, on a holiday weekend that I spent with my husband and two small children, barely neglecting them all as I read? Give yourself an unexpected treat, and travel to Paris with Muriel Barbery for a little vacation.
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