The two main characters are: an educated woman doing PR work which she hates, but which affords her a lot of independence, with two great kids, an accomodating "ex", many good friends; a young woman who has had an unspeakable childhood, which has deeply scarred her, but has left her with an innate cheerfulness and interest in and ability to relate to people. Unfortunately, it is the former who is the narrator, and she is depressed and depressing. Prose is good, often simple, but with occasional flashes of fine imagery.

This is one of the most gentle narratives I've yet read, with Desplechin's ability to handle the complexities of her subject matter with a deft touch leaving the distinct feeling that the same material, in other writer's hands, could become more melodramtic and infinitely less effective. The novel focuses on two Parisian women, one a rehabilitating drug addict and the other a seperated successful freelance writer and mother-of-two, and the ups and downs of their relationship. What I really liked about the novel was the downplayment of the narration, which contains within it a very left-of-centre sense of humour, very cynical in its way, but ultimately very warming. Overall I found the book swift to read, and a novel that I would defy you not to enjoy.

I first came across French writer Desplechin in the XCités anthology of new French writing, which had an excerpt from her story "Haiku" (which appears in full in this collection). One gets the sense that the eight stories here are all intensely personal, as each features a Parisian female protagonist of the late 20s to late 30s persuasion, and most are written from a first-person perspective. The characters and stories get a little repetitive when read all in one go, I would suggest reading perhaps one a week or so to really do them justice. The women (some married, most single) are all looking for love, but not in that fun and frantic Nick Hornby way, but with a more quiet and aimless approach that underlines their inability to identify what or who it is that will make them happy-or at least keep them from becoming bored. These women don't lack for men, rather they can't really determine which they prefer, however, it's worth nothing that the two best stories deviate from this template.

In "Haiku", Christiane has plenty of men in her environs, but despairs at how to meet them. When her friend Anne-Marie gets her interested in haiku, she discovers a world that she can truly love and understand. This leads to a hilarious dinner party, and the one truly conventional happy ending of the book. The story "Joy" is a chatty first-person account of a young girl's genesis as a writer, culminating in a confessional memoir. It's the most self-conscious and witty of the bunch, and perhaps the most enjoyable. The six other stories are all well-written, but failed to move me, however perhaps young urban female readers may find some level of connection in these tales of their Parisian counterparts. In any event, if you enjoy the stories, she also has a novel, Sans Moi, in translation, which I have not read.