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The problem with this book is that it doesn't quite know what it is. Is it a novel, a piece of social commentary, or a chance for the author to expand on Art-with-a-capital-A, philosophy, and the world in general?

There are enough reviews of the book to have a general idea of the storyline and who the main characters are, so I'll spare you another summation. They are both annoying in their hypocrisy and self-obsession, but just interesting enough for the reader to want to finish the book to see what happens.

Mme Michel is a concierge who inexplicably wants the world to see her as a stereotype. She loves literature, great works of art, philosophy, she has little formal schooling but is a self-proclaimed autodidact, yet buys a second television to run in the front room of her home so the residents of the building will think she does nothing but watch mindless programs all day. She is as scornful of the residents of her building as she imagines they are of her.

Paloma is a 50-year old world-weary elitist written in what the author imagines is the style of a 12-year old prodigy. Unsatisfied with what she imagines her life will eventually become, she decides to kill herself and set fire to her apartment on her next birthday. The reasons for this decision seem to be so her family would better understand African poverty and so they would be miserable because of her the way she is miserable because of them. She, too, is scornful and prejudiced towards others who may or may not be scornful towards her.

Throughout both these characters' storylines is a constant stream of rhapsodizing and rumination over everything and everyone, and it makes the flow of the novel comparable to a sludgy mess.

I'm afraid it was all a bit too absurd for me. Had Ms Barbery uncluttered this piece and stripped of the running philosophical, artistic, and social ruminations of the characters, the basic story would have been lovely, and the loftier philosophical questions would have been raised and pondered by the reader on their own. Had she allowed this to happen organically, we would have gotten the point without all the frustration. But combining a novel with a textbook is annoying and frustrating, and makes for an unpleasant read.