This is easily my least favorite Schwab book. I thought the Villains series was great, and the Shades of Magic series was mid, for context. 

I think Schwab has great ideas, decent prose, and a good sense of adventure. Unfortunately, I think her taste meter is built to a different scale than mine. 

I disliked this book, not because of what it did, but because of what it didn't do, as well as the egregious proliferation of telling instead of showing. 

I was loving this book in the beginning. I saw its potential and had high hopes for what was possible. I wanted to feel like a bystander to the past and present. Instead, I was forced into contemplating a shallow romantic relationship. This isn't labeled as romance. Why couldn't they just be friends? Why does this have to be a some young adult vibe romance? Is it only because Henry has literally no options and Addie can't get over herself enough to admit she loves the devil? I would have even preferred a more introspective take on being forgettable, even though it spent enough time on that topic in my opinion. 

I think it would have benefited from focusing more on art throughout the years: artists and muses, or lost masterpieces. Instead of exploring the transient or perpetual nature of time and art, I was served clichés. 

Maybe this was just too much story to try to fit into this one standalone. It's as if the good parts are missing, erased just like Addie LaRue. As if they were never there. 

Additionally, I'm convinced this could have been improved, at least slightly, with a simple name change. Addie might as well be a hamster's name for all the gravitas it brings to this story. If you're going to put so much emphasis on a name, you have to pick a good one. Maybe it should have leaned more heavily into the French aesthetic, in name and history. It would have given the book the focus I think it needed.