The first half of this book is charmingly quirky, full of humor, youthful energy, and lighthearted moments that draw you into its world. But as the story unfolds, it transforms into something deeply moving and heartbreaking.
Set in the mid-1960s, it tells the love story of a young woman and a man who happens to be a gangster. Their relationship is a constant dance between tenderness and danger, between the warmth of love and the chill of uncertainty. Reading it brought me back to my own past because I dated someone like this for three years, so I know exactly what it feels like to love someone who lives outside the law. You never truly know if they’re dead or alive, and you live with the quiet ache of wondering if you’ll ever see them again.
Beyond the romance, the novel is layered with rich atmosphere: French colonial nostalgia, smoky jazz bars, well-worn books, and lingering traces of art and culture. It’s a backdrop that makes the emotions hit even harder.
By the final chapters, I was in tears, the kind of tears that don’t stop until the last page is turned. The ending offers a bittersweet sort of happiness, enough to make you exhale but not enough to keep you from fearing what lies ahead in the sequel.