It's been a long time since I've read a book that disappointed me so much. The novel started out promising, especially with the story of the family history and background of Lancelot's childhood. However, the beautiful language which at first was a pleasure to read became more and more pretentious and self-aware. As I read more and more, I found that the writing was this wall that stopped me from being immersed in the world of the story. It was like the writer and all her beautiful sentences were this brittle, beautiful and yet tedious shell covering incredibly empty characters. The words were beautiful but they made me feel nothing. I've read novels that said more with less and conveyed more emotion with less.
It also became very redundant. I get it! Lotto is so perfect, and beautiful and everyone loves him. The times Mathilde would go on and on about how much people loved Lotto and how much she loved him were so numerous it became obvious the writer had nothing new to say about Lotto's character. It got boring, quite frankly.
And the "twist" in the story was so predictable and forced.
The only good thing which I wish the novel was more about, is the story of Lotto's mother, Antoinette. Her story in how she met Lotto's father really drew me in in the beginning, and her story would have made for a much more interesting novel.