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I was only 3 when Patty Hearst showed up on TV toting a semi automatic weapon looking bewildered and stylish in a ¾ length leather belted coat. Do I remember this? Hell no, I was three, but later� you know when I was like eight or nine and I would think it was so cool that she was brainwashed---what an interesting word--- and I’d have Barbie kidnap Skipper and force her to drop her frumpy ways and really live the lie�, I mean life. Sorry.

So, what does that have to do with this? Well, I guess you could say that I was intrigued with the whole idea of Stockholm Syndrome way before I knew it had a name. Just imagine becoming emotionally attached to people that held you hostage. Isn’t that a bit fucked up? Duh. (As my 4 year old would say)

So, Bel Canto, while the characters and events are mostly fictionalized, was based on an actual hostage situation in Peru in 1996. Where 72 people men were held up in the Japanese Ambassador’s home for 126 days. I must have been living under a rock, because I do not remember this� you think that something like this would have stuck, you know? I’m sure I was too wrapped up in my glee that Judge Judy was now being syndicated. Whoo.

Can you imagine living with terrorists for 4 and ½ months? My god, I can’t imagine that the same level of fear is maintained. I would think that you would start to develop a relationship with these kids (yes, they were basically children) and start to feel that this is what your life has become. And so it goes in Bel Canto , these characters, hostages and terrorists are introduced systematically throughout the beginning of the ordeal and Patchett does a good job of fleshing them out and getting us attached. To a point. I think that this is one of those books where your opinion of it will vary depending on where you are in your life. I can see this book leaving different impressions on someone who maybe has just found new love and someone who is jaded by relationships. Moreover, I think that this could determine just how much you liked this book. I’ve teetered between 2, 3 and 4 starts in just the few days since I’ve finished it.

This is most definitely a chick lit book. You’ve got the Soprano who has men falling at her feet (almost literally) every time she belts one out, you’ve got the young idealists who, of course, are beautiful and destined for a tragic outcome� and you’ve got the older, more elegant group of men, pining for love lost and all that. Something for every taste, I suppose.

The appeal of a good book is how long and hard it stays with you. When I finished this, I was eager to share the story with my friends and family but as the days wore on, the shine was lost and I started to see the faults and the hackneyed plot. I miss the first day when I was caught up in the story and lamenting the outcome.

Why can’t it always be like that?