This book has taken its place in the pantheon of my favorite books, alongside Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte), The Pickwick Papers (Charles Dickens), Outlander (Diana Gabaldon), and The Quincunx (Charles Palliser). The story is complex and compelling, the characters are unique and complicated, and Edoardo Ballerini has turned in one of the most accomplished performances I have ever heard. Serious readers owe it to themselves to listen.
I must vociferously disagree with the previous reviewers, which is unfortunate because I really wanted to like this book. The story is thin, the characters are caricatures, and the writing is hackneyed. To add insult to injury, the reader speaks in a monotone, pauses in odd places, and puts on a fake New York accent when he remembers that the characters are from the city. Perhaps this is juvenile literature and I missed the notice?
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