It was a roller coaster of a book. It went from three seemingly mismatched tales to this one solid, amazing story. To be honest, the book started with this old man, Leo Gursky, and I didn't like him very much. He seemed down right crazy, and one of those old people that I never want to become. The fact that his old childhood friend from Poland lived in the apartment above him was charming though.
The girl Alma, daughter to the woman whose husband died, wasn't as deep as I would have hoped. She seemed like someone who you started to truly know by the end of the book, which is probably why I didn't want the book to end. Don't get me wrong, I really enjoyed her, but for my own curiosity I want to know what ended up happening between her and Misha, her immigrant friend whom she figured out she was falling in love with, again, at the END of the book. Yarg!
And the author of the book "The History of Love" within the book "The History of Love" (how complicated is that!?), Litvinoff. What a warped man he turned out to be. I could never print a good friend's work under my name, even if I did have their eulogy at the very end.
The parallels in this book were great. Essentially, Krauss' "The History of Love" was Litvinoff/Gursky's "The History of Love", complete with Leo's eulogy at the very end. It was spectacular, unexpected, and I just know that I want to read it again to catch all the things that I missed.