One of the things I continually appreciate about reading is the surprises it can give you. Not so much the twists and turns of story, but of how you react to that story. There are books that I know are flawed and silly and not that great objectively, but I still enjoy them anyway - the popcorn reads. Then there are ones, like this, that go the other way. The ones where I say "There's nothing wrong with it, but..." Because there isn't anything wrong with this one. It's well-written, and rises to genuinely observant at a few points. It's fairly thoughtful, if not perhaps as thoughtful as it thinks it is. I should like it better than I do. But the plain truth is I found Where My Heart Used to Beat a little bit boring. It improved slightly as it went on - the first third felt deathly slow - but though I finished it I simply could not connect with it. Worthy but dull is an accurate description, I think.