I can honestly say, this is the worst book I have ever read. Not only is the writing flowery and annoying, the "put all genres into the story" reads more like a spoof Saturday Night Live piece, except this story isn't humorous, only laughable (if Evans was writing it today, he would have added some CSI blood and forensics to boot). Whoops, I am sorry, I don't recall any shooting guns; only the colors of Annie's various dresses (that list comes after her self-gratification, but basically around the time of her selfless act on her husband). I stuck it out till the end, which made me equally upset at myself as I was at Evans and everyone under the influence who rated this higher than a ONE. I can't summarize it any better than another reviewer, who states "The fact that this many people actually liked it says something about our morality as well as our literary sense."