Historical fiction, especially the kind that follows a fiercely independent woman through the likes of Germany and New York between the 1920s and 1940s, can get generic after being done so many times. Which is why I sincerely applaud any author trying to mix it up and roll out the story in a creative way. I’ll admit I wasn’t initially sold on the two plotlines jumping around so much, moving simultaneously forward and backward to weave together the stories of Ana and Anastasia. But as we marched towards the tragic inevitable, all the emotions converged at the heartbreaking crux of both stories in one hell of a swoop. The book was slow to hook but made its point clear: when we want to believe, the truth becomes second to the myth.