On the one hand, I did have some fun with this one. But on the other hand, shouldn't these characters be in therapy instead of a romcom?
Let me preface this by saying that my opinion here is decidedly in the minority. I see so much love for this book, so I'm inclined to think this is probably a me-problem and not a book-problem. I'm getting to that cynical old age when I should stop reading romances about silly young 'uns and move onto more serious novels about geriatric leads.
But since you're still here, I might as well tell you my thoughts.
First, the good. The premise of this book is a lot of fun, about a romance author all romanced-out and pretending for her readers. There is a lot of trope awareness within the pages, so it almost feels a bit meta as you're reading it. I also thought the banter was top notch, and it definitely had me chuckling along.
But then, the not so good. I feel like this book took every possible minor issue that the characters could have had and laid it on so thick, it robbed any semblance of reality from the story. Find out your favorite romance author doesn't believe in happily ever after? Cancel her. Caring for an ill loved one? Why not make it almost Munchausen by proxy. Love someone but can't physically be in the same location? Don't even consider long distance, just call it quits and wallow in self-pity.
It's hard to take a story seriously when it's so over the top on everything. I understand that to have a story at all, there needs to be conflicts and resolutions. And yes, sometimes one has to stretch the conflicts a bit in order to have a story last the requisite 300 pages to be called a book. But this one went so hard to town with just about everything, it started to feel vaguely farcical.
And this nuttiness extended to the characters too. At the center is Margot, the most beautiful and successful female lead ever, yet so full of self-doubt that she needs constant reassurance from everyone around her, which she manifests as rudeness and brattiness and borderline harassment.
"No, Forrest, you listen. You gave me every indication that you were interested. I thought maybe we could have a little fun in this godforsaken place, but since that's obviously not something you're capable of, I'm happy to find it somewhere else."
Yikes, talk about a red flag! Then there is Forrest, yet another one of those doormat male leads, existing solely to fall in love with and bolster up our female lead, no matter how poorly she behaves. I cringed so hard in embarrassment for them both, my cheeks were permanently pink while reading this.
And the cherry on top? They were both caring for ill loved ones, but to a degree that was so extreme, these said loved ones had to formulate complicated plans to extricate themselves from this unwelcome, excessive style of smothering and guilt/self-conflagration. My eyes rolleth out of my head, my friends.
At its core, in order for me to buy into a romance, I have to believe that people can fall in love with the main characters, and it just didn't happen here. It's one thing to suspend disbelief, and I'm happy to do so for pretty much every book I read. But the way Margot and Forrest were written, they were just a step too far beyond disbelief for me.
Readaroo Rating: 3 stars
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