This book began beautifully, with strong prose and likable characters. I would like to rate it a bit more specifically, at a 3.75, because I am torn between "liking it" and "really liking it". It was one of those that seemed magical and lovely, but I found long stretches of prose that seemed to fall flat, as though D'Erasmo was over-editing herself, or being over-edited. The story itself is unique, but it became bogged down in places with over-wrought sentimentality and forced metaphors. Personally, I like to be in the stratosphere with books like this, grasping at reasons, only to find some subtle epiphany that strikes me suddenly, like gravity. There is so much beautiful about this book, I wanted more from it.