A review of SEVEN LETTERS FROM PARIS by Pam Ferderbar
Firstly, I have to say that I know Samantha Verant. Her parents and I go way back. I knew her when she was married before , I knew her when she was divorced, and I am getting to know her now, as a happy, fulfilled, romantic and completely beloved woman. Any time a friend writes a book I figure I’ll enjoy it because I obviously like that person well enough to call her or him friend. So it stands to reason I’ll like what he or she writes. Then along comes a book like Seven Letters From Paris , and it’s a revelation. An eye-opener. An utter joy. Although I adored Samantha since the day we met, I mostly viewed her through the lens of being friends with her parents. I knew her stories through them. Her sadness was their sadness. Her heartbreak, theirs. I’ve only come to really know the person of Samantha through her exquisite memoir, and as a result she has taken shape as the guardian angel of second chances, and a living testament to the idea that we deserve true, deep, soul-m...