The thing that struck me while reading this book : How easy it is for some people to fall in love. How easy for that love to envelop them...and before long they become not much more than that. 
 The story started with a suffocating feeling of summer, while the protagonists Lucy and Owen was trapped in an elevator in their New York apartment. Then a deep(-ish) conversation ensued. And insta-love. Because when everything is dull around you it is easier to see the blips of light. Or something. 
 Then the suffocating summer feeling lingers throughout the book. It still feels like that summer in New York, even though Lucy traveled to Edinburgh and several other places. It still feels like that summer in New York, even though Owen moved to Lake Tahoe and several other places. It is like we never move from that one place and time. Rather than growth, this is a story about wishing so hard for things to stay the same. 
 This is not a story about Lucy and Owen. This is a story about Lucy thinking about Owen, and Owen thinking about Lucy. Not necessarily a bad thing, but I think I just expected more. So much more. 
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 Also, I think I might gave an extra point for Bartleby the turtle.