The Lollipop Shoes

It was a huge sigh of regret that I finished reading Joanne Harris's The Lollipop Shoes two nights ago. Every night for a fortnight, I had crept off to bed as early as possible in order to read another couple of chapters of this delectable novel. Just as Zozie cast her glamours over Vianne Rocher's chocolaterie in Montmartre, so Harris had cast a spell on this book, making it as tempting and delectable as one of Vianne's chocolates that whispered, try me, taste me to the customer. I simply could not get enough of this book, its pages packed with intrigue, humour, magic, mouthwatering descriptions and vivid, unforgettable characters. Only one of the latter did not come up to scratch and that was the rather faded and insubstantial character of Vianne's real mother, who I felt should have been more multi-layered as befitting a woman who had given birth to someone of Vianne's extra-sensory talents.

If you read Chocolat, this is even better. And even if you didn't, The Lollipop Shoes provides enough glimpses into Vianne, Anouk and Rosette's past for it not to matter. Try it, taste it, read it. I can't wait for Harris's next offering.