I finished The Red Leather Diary by Lily Koppel last night and, for the most part, I liked it. It was a very interesting look at life in New York as a brilliant, rather privileged teen-aged girl named Florence in the period from 1929-1934. It is also the story of how the author found her diary and then her, a ninety year old woman.
I loved the glimpses of old New York and the artistic circles Florence moved in. Her personal story was interesting. However, I found myself not liking her very much. I grew impatient with her self-centeredness and lack of morals. However, I didn't dislike her enough to make me dislike the book.