Oh, how I wanted to love Marilyn Brant's "A Summer In Europe." In theory, it had everything I love in a book: a love story, a setting that's magical and romantic, a contemplative tone. The novel is set all over Europe, in places I have loved, like Rome, Florence, Venice, London. It even excites me that it also features some places I will be visiting soon, like Budapest, and Vienna. But I think it is just one of those things. I gave the book more than a million chances - it took me three weeks to finish it and as I turned a page (well, metaphorically, as I read it on my Kindle) I kept on hoping it would get better, and for me, it just never did. I thought the main character, Gwen, was a miserable fool, it seemed she was never happy even in some of the most beautiful places in the world. She went on one of those European multi-city bus tours, a la Globus Gateway, and that just seems a little dated nowadays. And she is wooed by these sophisticated Brits who would never go travel in those things. In and out of cities, and I never discovered anything new, and all the characters are as flat as ever. I cannot eve begin to describe how I was so extremely disappointed by this book.