"The Girl Who Reads on the Métro" by Christine Féret-Fleury

This is another little perfectly-sized book. I love the look of it, and I love the feel of it--the weight of it in my hand, and the velvety smooth dust jacket--but as far as the actual reading of it      . . . meh. 

The tone of the story is mostly light-hearted and quirky, and utterly French, all of which makes me think of the movie Amélie (even though it's been so long since I watched it that I really don't remember anything about it). And it's all about books, and loving books, and reading books, which is of course right up my alley. But it kind of gave me the impression that it's also intended to be deep and meaningful, like some sort of parable, though really it's just weird. And it never really hooked me. Case in point: I bought it (at Half Price Books!) last November and started reading it right away, then kind of forgot about it for a few months before rediscovering it and finishing it this week. 

This is the story of Juliette, who lives in Paris and works at an estate agent's and seems kind of bored with her life except when she reads. One day while on her way to work she happens upon a gate that is wedged open with a book, so of course she goes inside. And there she finds Soliman and his young daughter and piles and piles of books. Soliman supplies the passeurs of Paris: people who leave books throughout the city for passersby to take. Can you guess who then becomes a passeur? It all sounds magical, doesn't it? But unfortunately somehow, for me, the whole was lesser than the sum of its parts.