Although I can admit to a definite shift for the better between the first and second halves of the novel, I'm afraid that this often predictable tale did not satisfy me beyond the visceral appeal that a love story has for a hopeless romantic. I felt as though the story didn't "gel" as something realistic, or even probable. Not that fiction has to be painted in realism, but that spark that makes me care about characters was quite lacking. Swofford clearly has a hard time creating a coherent arrangement of events that he has not himself experienced, interpreting life through the lens of someone entirely not himself. It's unfortunate, given how powerful his interpretation of his experience in the Gulf War was.... sigh.