One of the worst books I have EVER read (and seeing what I've occasionally read, that's saying something). When one writes a sequel, one is bound to be compared with the original, but even to mention Hugo's masterpiece in the same sentence with this appaling garbage is sacriledge. And even if one comes to the novel without the previous knoweledge of the predecessor, it still stands proudly as a poster child for dull, ininspired, cardboard writing.
The characters and situations are so flat they almost seem to dissapear off the page (and how one wishes they did). In the original novel, besides the spendid figure of Valjean, the world is populated with fascinating, breathing COMPLEX human beings such as Marius, Enjolras, Eponine, Javert and Cosette herself. They are unbelievably transformed here. Whiny, uninspired and oh-so-20th-century. And of course, one ought to congratulate Ms Kalpakian on having enough nerve to rewrite the last third of the book. Obviously Victor Hugo wasn't good enough! She did not have enough decency to at least start the book where he ended. The good thing is that Hugo's writing shines all the more when contrasted with such pedestrian and pitiful attempt. There have been wonderful attempts to adapt Hugo to modern times - for example, the musical adaptation necessarily changes the letter but not the spirit of the story. The author should have taken a leaf from their book. The real mystery is someone actually published this!