I have been trying to pinpoint what it is about Kristin Hannah’s writing that made this sort of boring to read. I was reminded of how I feel about certain romance novels: they meet the general requirements of the genre but in a sort of diligent way without any flair or passion. Oddly, I keep thinking of the book anyway because the details of every day French people surviving the Nazi occupation are harrowing. Nothing romantic about it. Devastation. So, Ms. Hannah, I guess you got to me!
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