Star rating: ★✰✰✰✰
Alright, I have to be honest before I start this review: I didn’t finish this book. That’s only happened twice before: Moby Dick and Love in the Time of Cholera, both of which bored me to tears (unpopular opinions, I know, but here we are). So all of the following opinions are based on only reading half of The Lost Girl. Read on if you want, I hope I don’t bore you as much as this book did me.
Kurtiz Ross sits in a bar in Paris waiting for her ex-husband to walk through the door with their daughter, who went missing four years ago. As she waits she talks to the woman at the table beside her. An elderly actress with a past of her own.
But neither woman is prepared for the horror that happens next. Terrorist attacks rock Paris and Kurtiz finds out that her daughter and husband might be in the middle of it all.
As she waits to hear news of her family, she reminisces about her life as a photographer in Israel and listens as the actress tells her about her own life and loves.
And that’s about as far as I got.
That’s all I know about this book because I didn’t read any more.
I was excited about this book when I picked it up. The premise sounded interesting: a missing girl who may or may not have been spotted in Paris and her parents trying to find her. And I was intrigued about reading a book set during a piece of history that I was actually around for; the Paris terror attacks in 2015.
But it just didn’t live up to the expectations, unfortunately. I was interested in seeing what was happening in Paris, but the story kept jumping to Israel and Kurtiz’s life there, and Marguerite’s (the actress) life in France after the Second World War.
I honestly just found these stories so damn boring. Kurtiz is a horrible and selfish person who I had no interest in getting to know better. And Marguerite is so naive and stupid that she makes me want to punch her.
All I wanted was to find out what happened to the daughter. But every time we got a glimpse of what was happening in Paris it was only for a page or two, and then we’d be shot back to Marguerite and her stupid love story or Kutiz and her selfish affair. It was so aggravating!
I stuck with this book much longer than I should have. I don’t like stopping books halfway through, especially when I so much wanted to find out what happened to the daughter. But there was one sentence that became the last straw.
Part of Marguerite’s story is the will-they-won’t-they between her and an AWOL soldier named Charlie (P.S. we already know they will because we’re told at the beginning). He finally professes his love for her at a pretty bad time (she’s just been sexually assaulted; he doesn’t know) and she rejects him. It should be a heartfelt and poignant moment, but the way the writer decided to describe his reactions is with this sentence …
‘He let out a foghorn moan.’
A foghorn moan.
I laughed for too long at that sentence. What an absolutely ridiculous way to describe a human sound. I couldn’t even imagine what noise he made, I just pictured him making a foghorn sound right in her face.
I couldn’t read on after that line, so I have no idea how Marguerite and Charlie finally get together, I don’t know if the daughter is ever found, and I don’t know if Kurtiz ever gets a smack in the face for being a selfish bitch.
I feel bad about this.
I don’t like writing bad reviews for books. I know so much work and effort and so much more goes into writing a book and it’s not fair for me to rip it apart. But I just didn’t enjoy any part of it. I’ve read other reviews and a lot of people did, so maybe I’m in the minority here. If you’ve read it and feel different than me, please let me know, I’d love to hear some other opinions on the foghorn moan.