This was a weird one. There were places where it was as close to a 5 stars as romance ever gets for me, and several moments in the back third where it was way way too sappy and heavy-handed. It's doing rom com tropes really well, it's doing meta extremely well. I was grinning and laughing in public through the first 2/3 of this book. I enjoyed what it was saying about publishing and the horrible little details that you know are the authors' firsthand experience, or the experiences of her friends. This book also had what I go to Emily Henry for: a good dose of emotional realism (EMOTIONAL realism. no other kind of realism found.) and an emphasis on grief, especially long-term grief, as a normal element of life. I love that so much, and it'll keep me coming back.

As with the last Emily Henry I mostly read via audiobook while at the gym and en route to and from,
I got a lot out of the book in terms of personal introspection, which I certainly do not generally get from romance. This one helped me reconcile some thoughts I've been having about my personal intensity and my desire to have more and more casual relationships in my life—the contradictions inherent in that. Contradictions inherent in loneliness and holding personal passions very dearly which are overwhelmingly solitary. The costs of each. Trying to live well and true to myself, and how, lately, living well means not always being very true to myself.

On the flip side, also a frustrating book in this respect. Something I think romance sets people up poorly for is the idea that intensity in relationships is overwhelmingly desirable, and that the few intense personal relationships that the average book has room for are enough to make anyone happy. It behooves the reader not to take the fictional book as a coaching lesson, but this reading experience was so weird because it was as much a study in "this is why I don't read romance much anymore" as it was in "this is exactly what I want from a romance." I wanted the self-reflection I got. The self-knowledge and paradigm shifts I've gleaned from Emily Henry books in the last two months alone is plainly embarrassing. The fact I'm logging on to good reads dot edu to complain that this book of hot-and-heavy fictional events did not acknowledge ALL my real-life dilemmas is considerably more embarrassing again, but here we are.

Here is my beef. Men in het romance have a tendency to tell the women in their lives, it's okay to come to me when you are having [panic attacks/crying jags/angry negativity], I will absorb all the bad feelings and make you feel safe, and nothing MAKES me lose my mind faster. I don't think anyone should always or consistently do this for anyone else! It is absolutely good to have a support system and sometimes you just need someone to listen to you. Sometimes you do need someone to bring you down and say, look, this feeling isn't permanent, and it's okay to need that and to do that sometimes. But it's such a weird function of paternal masculinity for the MMC to just absorb Level 8-10 emotions like some kind of weird man sponge in this genre. Nora spends the book melting down every time anyone, ?including herself?, exhibits a degree of personal agency that she did not personally approve in advance, and it's unbelievably unhealthy to do this? Pot is legal in the state of New Jersey. Again, I am saying a fictional character who has been constructed specifically and expressly as a vehicle for interpersonal drama is doing things I don't think people should do in real life. I know what I sound like and I don't like it either.

When I used to write romance, what overwhelmingly interested me was to represent imperfect people trying to hammer out a flawed life that was theirs, that they loved. I love Emily Henry books generally for approaching romance in the same way I did. A main disappointment in this book, though, was how puzzle pieces just kind of fell into place without too much work on the main characters' parts; how little agency they exhibit on the circumstances of their own lives. Major things happen to both Nora and Charlie and they shrug/throw tantrums/smirk-frown and do not make choices that could change their outcomes. Charlie complains that he has to stay home to help his dad because his dad would never "let him" hire a nurse. It is noble and good to help your family long-term, it is good to help your father through a new disability, but if you are fucking miserable and losing your job and your apartment and what you believe to be the love of your life and you hate the town you're in and do not want to be there and you have the means—sorry! Hire a nurse anyway! Secondary characters solve this problem FOR him later in the book, offscreen, in such a haphazard, slaphappy way that my rating clunked down to a 3 for a while. Recognize your limits AND make your own choices! The whole book I was waiting for the drop that his dad was functionally comatose, but he appeared not even to have any trouble talking? He just had to use a walker? Charlie, go back to New York, dude, your problems are self-manufactured.

Nora's whole thing about Libby moving away is neurosis to such a high degree that I could not believe it was a plotpoint. She did not even try to have grace for Libby's joy. I think it was part of the Hallmark movie homage that was generally super well done, but I also think, that characters who react that way when someone shares good news with them about their future, should... encounter consequences?

Also insane to think that agenting to editing is a step UP in the world of publishing. Maybe it is, outside my experience. This woman cannot afford to live alone as a baby editor in New York City. I am once again asking this exercise in romantic fantasy to reflect reality. Unhinged behavior. Excited to look back on this review in six months and wonder what on earth I thought I wanted from this. It was very good except for when it was not very good. Swings and roundabouts. I will read another next week.