My impression of the seemingly unending Neapolitan novels took a nose dive with this dud of the final book. I adored My Brilliant Friend (book 1), liked book 2, tolerated book 3 (calling it soap opera) and loathed book 4, wondering why I kept reading this garbage. Unedited dross that clunked across a page, smug stories of success in writing and love followed by failure in relationships. I’m not even interested enough to recap the plot line here, hoping that it sinks quickly beneath my consciousness. Probably one of the worst books I read in its entirety this year, almost 500 wasted pages.