So I just finished reading Paris in Love, by Eloisa James. And it's just bugging the hell out of me.
For one thing, she's got a great marriage, and that title just screams single woman, so I feel a little cheated right there. But that's okay, I loves me some Paris, so there was lots to enjoy. Except the format.
Now, I hate to bash another writer, especially one who teaches at my alma mater (though I never took one of her classes). But. She states in the beginning that the book is based on her Facebook notes (oh, spare me) and tweets posted during her year living in Paris. And that she mostly kept the short, choppy format. Saints preserve us.
Now, I get that she and her publisher are trying a thing here. And they may be on to something, I guess. Apparently, scientists say that we can remember blog posts better than novels. But scientist say a lot of things, so let's not overhaul the modern novel just yet.
It's one thing to snack on tweets, blog posts and FB notes (is that really what people do instead of blog? Is it even a thing, really?) throughout the day. But when I pick up a book (on the subway, on the couch at the end of the day) I'm ready for a meal. I get that she's playing with new modes of communication and not just being sloppy to meet a deadline. But this reads like one of those trivia books meant to be read on the toilet, a couple of pages at a time.