My Review:Kat Lind, an American expatriate living in London with her entrepreneur husband and their young son, attends an opening at a prestigious Mayfair art gallery and is astonished to find her own face on the walls. The portraits are evidence of a long-ago love affair with the artist, Daniel Blake. Unbeknownst to her, he has continued to paint her ever since. Kat is seduced by her reflection on canvas and when Daniel appears in London, she finds herself drawn back into the sins and solace of a past that suddenly no longer seems so far away.
When the portraits catch the attention of the public, threatening to reveal not only her identity, but all that lies beyond the edges of the canvases, Kat comes face to face with the true price of their beauty and with all that she now could lose.
Moving between the glamour of the London art world and the sensuous days of a love affair in a dusty Paris studio, life and art bleed together as Daniel and Kat's lives spin out of control, leading to a conclusion that is anything but inevitable.
I really liked the first half of this one -- it flipped back and forth between the past and the present -- between Paris and London -- and it was intriguing. And then the past and the present slam together and I was still intrigued -- a bit put off by some of the ethical dilemma and choices made by Kat but still intrigued -- and then the book just completely jumped the shark. I'm not sure if the author was just going for shock and awe at this point but, although I was shocked, I was not awed. The "twist" just seemed contrived -- like it was just mean to mess with your mind than to actually tell the story. It was also sort of a cop out ending that almost felt like it was just added because the author didn't know how to end the book. It felt severely divergent from the rest of the book and I was not satisfied.
"It's just that I remember everything." Kat let the words tumble out of her. "I remember every moment. Every day. Every night. I remember every inch of his body, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the smell of his skin. But even more than all of that, and even more clearly, I remember the girl in the paintings. Who she was and what she wanted and what she knew for sure. And I don't know that anymore. Not lately, anyhow."