I am reading this book for the second time. Rarely do I do that. I really like the story. I like Addie. I could never be as brave and resourceful as she is. 

Addie is a woman who knows, back in 1714 small-town France, that she doesn't want the ordinary life of a wife and mother, especially the wife of someone she is being forced to marry. To escape, she sells her soul to the Devil and in return is given freedom to do as she pleases and take all the time she wants. But life isn't easy because of the form this freedom takes, and the Devil shows up in her life from time to time urging her to surrender her soul so she no longer has to face the grueling situation she is in. But as difficult as her life is, it is also filled with wonder and beauty. Think of all the things you might experience as a first if you lived for 300 years. Addie is a fighter and she won't surrender.

I found the story fascinating because history is something that happens real-time, and if you were to live through it and continue to live for hundreds of years, it would be a memory, a part of your life, not something separate from you in history books. Also, you would know that the events you are experiencing today will soon be history to someone not yet born.

I also love the ending of the book, but I won't go there.

When I check out the one-star reviews, I agree with the complaint about repetitiveness. And sometimes the descriptions are over-long and often too abstract or esoteric; you know, when a writer become enmeshed in their own choice of words. I want to be able to see the scene the author is painting, or at least feel it. The author didn't always get me there.

I don't mind the jumping back and forth between time periods, however, which some reviewers hate. I think it's rather clever, actually. The story wouldn't be nearly as engaging if it were simply linear.

So, I guess this book is a matter of taste and according to the reviews, most people love it. Count me as one who can ignore its shortcoming and get into Addie's experience. I love thought-provoking and this story is that for me.

Thank you to my niece, Hayley, for loaning me this book and sharing enough of its story so that I read it in the first place. 

 

So, what’s in a name? My name is Roberta. I was named after my dad, Robert. I’ve had a love-hate relationship with it all my life. First off, it’s a little awkward to say. The R then the er sound. But I like that it’s not super common and yet it is common enough. Still, when I was a kid I wanted a name like Susan or Kathy (popular when I was born). I also liked the names of all the girls my age on my street. Connie, Sherry, Nicki, Brenda.  Nice names, huh?
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A lot of Robertas get the nickname Bobbi or Bobby.  Not me. When I was in 6th grade I thought I’d like to be called Robbie.  But I wasn’t the take-charge type.  The best I could do was write Robbie as my first name on a school assignment. My teacher, Mrs. Simon, came after me perturbed. “Is your name Robbie or is it Roberta?! If it’s Robbie . . .blah, blah, blah.” I don’t remember what else she said. I went back to Roberta.

People don’t remember the name Roberta. They don’t even read it right sometimes when it is right in front of them. Most often people will call me Rebecca (starts with R, has three syllables, ends in A; makes sense). One day, though, I was called Rhonda. How’d they get that? Only two syllables.  Oh, starts with R, ends with A. Got it.

I’ve met women named Roberta who don’t use it. They go by their middle name. Just yesterday I was exercising in a therapy pool and two women were in a discussion. One of them evidently is named Roberta, but goes by her middle name, the name I know her by. She hates the name Roberta. The other woman told her, “Well, it’s not your fault you got that name.” I just smiled to myself. I guess the woman named Roberta realized my name was Roberta and sort of apologized to me later. Why apologize? If you don’t like a name, you don’t like a name.

There are some famous Robertas. One in particular is Roberta Flack. Yay! I love her song, “Killing Me Softly.” It’s beautiful! I guess Joni Mitchell’s first name is Roberta, but she must not like it either.
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So, my name is Roberta. I’m okay with it. I haven’t changed it. But for a long time now, my nieces and most of my family call me Berta. So I guess it’s been changed. But not by me. When I introduce myself, I still say, “Roberta.”