Phew. Dud is right. I read this book on Brie's recommendation, but she wasn't too keen on it either, so I don't feel bad slamming it.
This book was a hit when it came out in 1958, but perhaps it doesn't quite translate to today. It's about an American girl who goes to live it up in Paris, sort of Sex in the City in Paris in the 50s. Early chick-lit, like. But really irritating. For someone who just graduated from college, the heroine, Sally Jay Gorce, is a total idiot. She's running around nightclubs all night, losing pearl necklaces without concern, and getting involved with creeps. I was interested in parts, particularly her time summering in Biarritz. But then the way too tidy ending made the book lose any redemption it may have earned in the good bits. Sally Jay had already proven to be an immature, fickle lover, as if that ending had any real future! *grr*
I would suggest you just read Bridget Jones' Diary for the tenth time instead.