I would say The Bad Girl is a cheap sentimental thing, but it's more than that. It's a tribute to Flaubert, to Madame Bovary, to women who can't keep their place, and to the men who love them. (Oops, this is sounding a bit like a self-help review!)

Even though it's lusciously written, there is something irritating and unsatisfying about the whole read. Ricardo and his Peruvian girl are co-dependents, too caught up in themselves and their games to see the whole world. They are defined by their passions, and their passions are pretty limited. They are each other's heaven and hell. Ricardo says he can't help loving the bad girl. I say...what's love got to do with it?