It was late last night that I decided I will either force myself to finish this book or I never will. I started skimming and scanning through the last 200 pages, not giving a damn anymore to the endless, frivolous, minutely detailed descriptions, or facts for that matter. Ms. Kostova is just in love with every word she types, and in doing so, she sacrifices tempo and momentum in such a plot, where flipping through pages as fast and breathless as one can should be the prime concern with a brick novel as this one.

Also, ms. Kostova seems to be quite under the effect of her Bulgarian husband when it comes to formulating a stand point for the region's history and politics.