Book Lovers

Valentine's Day is almost here and I recently watched a YouTube video describing Book Lovers as two “grumpy little gremlins” so I had to read it immediately.

I am picky with romance. I prefer it with a side of mental health crises or hellish family dynamics—something that feels more true to real life. But I also think the romance genre should be idealistic and fun. I want to have a fluffy good time. That is a difficult balance to strike. On top of that, it's tricky to make pessimistic control freaks who won't shut up about living in New York relatable and sympathetic. And yet, Emily Henry did all of it, and did it well. It was so good.

At the risk of oversharing on Goodreads of all places, the struggles Nora had with prioritizing younger siblings over herself and feeling like she was singularly responsible for holding her family together felt pretty real. The deep conviction that certain concessions are necessary for the people you care about to be okay, and that your own happiness must perpetually take a backseat. Trapping yourself in a role that others are begging you to abandon because they just want you to be happy, yet resenting the pattern you refuse to stop reinforcing. Uh oh, it's me. In all, this is a silly book about vulnerability, change, grief, and being brave enough to go after what you want and let your loved ones do the same. It is well-written and the stakes feel high enough without being overly dramatic. I am quick to find emotionally unavailable male characters insufferable emotionally unavailable women, on the other hand..., but Charlie is somehow okay. He does that straight romance thing of not being furious when a woman changes her mind. Extremely hot behavior, but also the barest minimum. The hets are fascinating.

Reasons I cannot rate this five stars:
• Nora and Charlie come pretty close to having sex in a public library study room. As a public library employee, this is truly one of the worst things that could happen to me at work.
• There were references at different points to “fizzing” and “caramelized” blood. Gross. Did not provoke romantic mental imagery for me.
• This is just personal preference, but I prefer fade to black sex scenes because I am a prude.
• Stop putting epilogues in romance novels. Let my stupid little brain fill in the cheesy gaps myself. It is my right to do so.