The Godmother takes you to a France that most Americans don't see depicted in books or movies: far from glamorous, not especially chic, no lingering in sidewalk cafés. Yet it couldn't be anything but French, from the thoughtful pacing to the willingness to have the narrator—a middle-aged, financially strapped woman—not only be unlikable but to also acknowledge that unlikability. There's not a single wasted word, and every scene is almost cinematically visual. If this review seems vague, that's because The Godmother is kind of difficult to describe; in tone it reminds me a bit of the Thomas Ripley novels, though the narrator is no soulless sociopath. I think you have to—and should—experience it for yourself (especially before seeing the upcoming French movie or the inevitable Americanized-for-the-worse remake).

Thank you, NetGalley and ECW Press, for providing me with a free copy in exchange for an honest review.