Beethoven scholar Sarah Weston travels to Prague to help catalog and prepare Beethoven's artifacts for the opening of a new museum there, picking up where her mentor had left off when he committed suicide. Once she gets there, however, she begins to suspect that he didn't actually kill himself, and that he may have been onto something (or at least on some wicked drugs that made him think he was onto something). She gets involved with a time-traveling prince and a 400-year-old dwarf, and gets on the wrong side of a powerful American senator with secrets to keep and — according to the blurbs on the cover — madcap hijinks and hilarity ensue.
Except that it's not hilarious. Sure, it's a quick read, and it's not the worst thing I've read (or even the worst thing I've read this month), but I definitely wouldn't use the word "madcap" or "hilarity" to describe it. This is a frothy version of A Discovery of Witches (minus the witches and vampires). Less character development, more sex. Kinda blah.
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