conflicting feelings about this1
the first 14 chapters had me feeling breathless as I hungrily read them, taking in Fitch's prose like water. Her writing style was sensual and ritualistic: every memory felt like a knife in the throat or the graze of a soft wind. I was entirely taken in by Astrid who was sensitive, prententious and dreamy, yet still made human-like mistakes. This was exactly the book I would've loved at age 17.
And then chapter 15 happened. It was like a whole different author had started writing. Astrid was plunged into one ridiculous situation after another, almost as if she was living in the fake LA of the movies. Foster mothers became one-note villains and her real mother is reduced to a cackling witch rather than a complicated and flawed character. Astrid's hypnotic narrative voice takes a back seat as she becomes a secondary character to her new foster mother Claire's soapy melodrama. I could not give two shits about Claire. 
There's a return to form during the last 5 chapters perhaps but by then Fitch's spell had been broken. Within the first 10 chapters I was ready to name this one of my new favourites, but by the end I felt generous giving it 3/5 stars.