So it starts out as a story about pretentious privileged teenagers in New York, and I'm like "whatever", and then... we fall down the rabbit hole into Paris, and there are coincidences and catacombs and mysterious keys and old diaries and dusty archive libraries and grief and magical realism and theatre and fireworks like stars shattering and masquerade and revolution and love and historical cross-dressing and slippage between centuries and timey-wimey doppelgangers and a layered look at mental illness and fuckingmeds and the bottled heart of a king (or is it?) and laugh-out-loud one-liners and and a smoking hot romantic interest called Virgil and sunrise and the music that beats through the soul of the story.Don't expect absolute realistic contemporary from this - this book is a spirited romp with just enough spoonfuls of silliness to leaven some of the more melancholy and grim themes.