Alex Aster’s latest venture into romantasy following the success of YA series Lightlark, Starside follows protagonist Aris as she enters the Questral, a deadly competition designed by the King in which the winner receives access to a magical pool capable of granting healing, wealth, or immortality. As someone from Stormside, Aris begins at a disadvantage against competitors who have trained their entire lives and possess superior weapons, alliances, and resources. Forced to battle beasts, creatures, and demons, her only real chance of survival may lie with the head of the King’s Guard, Harlan Raker.

Starside feels deeply familiar to almost every major fantasy phenomenon that came before it. The deadly competition and systemic disadvantages remind you of The Hunger Games or Powerless. The weapon abilities feel reminiscent of Quicksilver. The dragon-rider dynamic obviously stems from Fourth Wing. Even the rare, once-in-a-generation trial structure feels recycled from Lightlark itself.

And that inspiration isn’t inherently a bad thing. Fantasy thrives on popular concepts and magic systems. But when those similarities are paired with weak narrative execution and underdeveloped character work, it becomes boring rather than exciting. I didn’t hate this book, it simply felt underdeveloped. Like a collection of popular romantasy ideas assembled together, designed to become the next bestseller.

My biggest issue was the writing itself. The first-person narration leaves very little to the imagination, constantly over-explaining every action and thought process, reading as “I did this, then I thought this, then I had to do this.” That was broken up by occasional sarcastic inner monologue but instead of immersing me in the story, I felt very at arm’s length from it. Finding myself in a dangerous position … indifference.

Equally Aris’s voice rarely shifted in emotional intensity, making moments of danger feel too similar to her moments of just existing. The vengeance plot line especially suffered from this. We are repeatedly told this is her motivation for the questral, but we rarely feel that through the characterization. That became my macro issue with the novel overall, I dont want to be told something, I want to feel it.

The pacing also undermined much of the tension that you expect from fantasy novels. Events move on so quickly that scenes meant to feel dangerous, exciting, or emotionally significant don’t have time to do anything before the story rushes forward.

In many ways, Starside feels more like an adventure novel than a fantasy, with the plot primarily focused on moving Aris from Point A to Point B to Point C. At each stage she encounters another beast, creature, or obstacle, overcomes it, and then immediately continues forward. Eventually, the repetition turns the story into a cycle and truthfully it’s a bit of a slog to read.

The pacing also makes several supporting characters feel disposable. Early characters like Kira, Zane, and even the dragon are introduced with apparent importance, only to disappear for the majority of the book. Kira in particular feels entirely redundant, introduced solely to help Aris at the start, before dying as some martyr figure to fuel Aris’s anger, despite the fact the two barely knew each other. Zane and the dragon seem included in the early scenes, mostly because the ending eventually needed them to exist. That feels like lazy storytelling to me - oh I need a character to do this at the end, let me add them at the start so people know they exist.

And did you forget this was a romantasy? Well I did too because there is little to no chemistry between Aris and Harlan Raker until well past 70% through the book. I understand the archetype Aster was aiming for with Raker, the morally grey, dangerous, brooding love interest. But unlike those who have come before him, Raker wasn’t given any personality or motivations of his own to make us care about him. I think this is an unfortunate consequence of the story being in Aris’s first-person perspective, we don’t get to understand him at all. And this was made ever-the-more difficult by the character choice to make him wear not just a mask, but a hood throughout. Neither us or Aria had a chance of getting to know him.

I will give the ending credit for being unexpected. However, by the time I finished, it became clear that much of this book existed primarily to set up the sequel rather than function as a strong story of its own. As a reader, that feels frustrating. Investing my time into hundreds of pages for what ultimately feels like a filler novel. A story that is incomplete to guarantee your next book deal.

Was there potential? Absolutely.

But Starside ultimately feels both vague and overdone at the same time. Packed with familiar ideas, yet lacking the emotional depth and narrative focus needed to make it truly interesting and exciting.

Would I recommend it? No, and that is a real shame.

Have you read Starside or any of Aster’s other novels? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

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The latest in a long line of anticipated releases, I dove Into the Blue quite literally, devouring this book in just two days.

At the start of this year, in a post titled What I’d Like to See from Romance In the Next Year, I called for: (1) exciting, story-first narratives, (2) genre blending, and (3) increased representation. It almost feels as though Brodie read that list and responded, “HEARD,” because this novel delivers on all three.

Combining a decades-spanning romance with cult sci-fi and the wit and humour of the acting world, the story follows AJ Graves and Noah Drew, who first connect over a shared love of the sci-fi classic Astronauticals while working together at a VHS store. From there, they become acting partners, learning the craft from AJ’s prestigious aunt, Eudora. Eventually, the pair go on to co-star in their own sci-fi spin-off, setting in motion a decades-long push-and-pull of ‘will they or won’t they?’ romance.

The setup and framing of this book initially felt incredibly strong. The moment I saw it divided into Part 1 and Part 2, I immediately thought, “YES.” I love novels structured in distinct sections, and here that approach works especially well. Because the story spans decades, the segmented structure helps prevents key moments from feeling rushed. We aren’t accomplishing everything, we are focusing on key plot points. This was a criticism I recently had of The Bright Years, which attempts something similar, so I enjoyed Brody’s approach.

However, by Part 3, that structure begins to fray slightly at the seams.

AJ and Noah’s initial relationship fits perfectly within Part 1. We see them meet, we learn their backstories, and watch as their connection deepens before Noah suddenly disappears without explanation. It’s clear, it feels really emotionally charged, and by the end left me feeling just as confused and invested as AJ.

Part 2 is similarly cohesive. As the pair reunite to film Into the Blue, the section again feels self-contained. We watch them reconnect, work together on the show, and then fall back in lockstep with each other before inevitably separating once more. Again, by the end, I was just as engaged as I had been after Part 1, desperate to know what would happen next.

Part 3, however, lacks the same sense of distinctiveness. Here, the narrative stretches across longer periods of time, multiple settings, and an ever-expanding cast of side characters and subplots (e.g. SNL, to conventions, to Pat’s accident). The story cycles repeatedly through reunion, separation, yearning, resentment, and reconciliation. While emotionally it feel every moment, it begins to feel less focused and clear than the earlier sections.

I think Part 3 would have benefited from a clearer theme or square narrative like the first two parts. Personally, I would probably have omitted Pats accident, the convention circuit, and even the couple’s brief “happy period,” instead focusing more squarely on Noah’s continued emotional avoidance and the eventual payoff of their joint-play finale.

That’s a long-winded way of saying that, while I genuinely enjoyed this book (and I really did), its biggest weakness is probably its editing. Which is particularly interesting given Brody’s recent comments about the editing process in interviews. In an interview with Nerd Daily, she said:

“Yes. This book came out—how shall we say?—long. 180k words, to be exact (an average commercial novel is 90k words, for context). This is why it’s so important to have a team you trust; it took my agent, my editor, and my publisher, but we eventually cut it down by 50k words, and I’m really pleased with the final result.”

She expanded further in an iHeartRadio podcast, discussing specific cuts (including Eudora’s brother and Noah’s father), and added:

“Natalie was so helpful, my editor... we did a line edit where she had made about five thousand more words of suggestions and I put them all back and that was the end.”

However, even with those pacing and structural issues, there’s still plenty here for readers to enjoy. Like I’ve said already, its emotionally charged. The conflict feels messy and human, and I appreciated that the author largely avoided relying on predictable romance tropes. AJ and Noah often make frustrating choices, but they also feel recognisably real and human, even when as a reader, I was desperately rooting for them to do the exact opposite.

I also appreciated the novel’s ambition and willingness to try to do something different within the romance genre. The improv and acting elements provided a strong through-line, giving us an engaging glimpse into that world, while the sci-fi integration added a fresh angle that helped the book stand apart. There were moments that felt faintly reminiscent of an Ali Hazelwood-style genre blend, but the execution here still felt entirely unique in its own right. We definitely need more romances willing to experiment with fun themes and different approaches like this.

All in all, this was a solid four-star read for me, and it’s spurred me on to check out Brodie’s other novel, Songs in Ursa Major.

Have you given this one a read yet? Would love to know what you think.

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Very few books this year have arrived with this level of hype, so colour me very intrigued as I ventured into Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke.

But is it the story itself, or the sharp commentary woven throughout that has gripped the book community? I think it’s very much the latter. From political theatre to social media façades, the manosphere to trad-wife culture, Burke dives headfirst into the underbelly of modern society. All of this is explored through the past and present of protagonist Natalie Heller-Mills.

Natalie is a matriarch. A traditional American wife and mother selling a meticulously curated lifestyle to her a millions of followers - think red barn, picket fence, the farm-to-table ranch. Of course, this just a illusion. Behind the scenes are nannies, farm workers, unhappy children, and, most scandalous of all, a microwave.

Unaware or unwilling to acknowledge the cracks, Natalie maintains her perfect façade, until one day its gone. She wakes up in what looks like her home, but it isn’t. With a husband who isn’t her husband. And children who aren’t her children. A life that resembles her own, except it’s set in the early 1800s. Gone is her carefully constructed material world. Is she on a prank reality show? Is God testing her? Or has she time-travelled? Natalie isn’t sure but she knows she has one clear goal, escape by any means necessary.

This is a difficult book to clearly summarise because there’s so much going on. Burke throws everything and the kitchen sink at it, and somehow, it mostly works. The novel blends psychological thriller with dystopian undertones, all layered on top with sharp, contemporary humour. I suspect its going to be the kind of book that will spark debate in book clubs, particularly around which genre to categorise it into. Different readers will likely latch onto different elements.

Personally, I found myself most drawn to the “past” chapters, where Natalie recounts her rise to online fame. The tone-deaf humour in these sections really amused me and kept it easy to read. In contrast, the “present” timeline, her 1800s existence, felt like it dragged slightly in pacing. Her misery not doing much to sell that part of the story.

What surprised me most about this novel, was the depth of the commentary. Based on the synopsis, I expected the influencer angle to be fairly surface-level, but Burke goes much much further. She explores the dangers of constructing and consuming distorted realities online; critiquing this from both angles by issuing a warning to followers about the ideologies they buy into, and offering a caution to influencers about the risks of their own performative personas. Sitting this alongside a manosphere subplot, and parodying against a rich political family felt very grounded in 2026. It’s that uber-modern lens (moreso than just setting it contemporary) that gives the novel a much stronger sense of contrast.

Now for characters. Whilst we cannot pinpoint definitively whom they may be based off, many of these characters feel familiar, like they could be easily modelled on real people.

Natalie herself is instantly recognisable. Insert any mom-fluencer into the picture, especially those leaning slightly more controversial in nature, (Ruby Franke, Nara Smith, Hannah Neeleman et al), and you can see where Burke may have drawn inspiration.

Caleb, meanwhile, has a detached, cloistered quality that echoes the type of “men” who exist in radical manosphere spaces. The types of “men” seeking validation through shared ideologies and online patriarchal personas. I recommend viewing Louis Theroux’s latest documentary on the subject to help draw parallels.

Doug Mills, Caleb’s politician father, is also there to reflect a broader political archetype. The elite man willing to align with extreme views to rise above the noise and gain power. Remind you of anyone?

The children, rather than mirroring specific individuals, feel more symbolic. I think the intent is for them to represent a warning. Through their behaviour, their discontent, and their poor education, Burke is warning us about the long-term consequences of this kind of ‘modern’ upbringing. The eldests, in particular, compensating for a lack of parenting is especially telling.

Overall, I rated this book 4 stars, for a few key reasons.

As mentioned, I found the pacing slightly slow. The modern timeline was far more engaging for me than the 1800s sections, which occasionally felt repetitive and dry. That said, boy oh boy do the final 100 pages deliver. The tension ramps up quickly and once you get to the twist, you are hooked until the last page.

I also want to keep this review spoiler-free, so will tread carefully here. But whilst the twist was a great one, I did think it felt like quite a leap from what we had understood so far in the novel, which did leave me with some unanswered questions. I’d have loved to somehow unpack more about how we got to the ending. What was the tipping point that took us from legal-battle to Natalie’s new reality. I don’t want to dive much further, but you get the gist.

That said, Yesteryear is undeniably clever. It feels like its purpose is more than just a novel, it wants to stir conversation and spotlight different (darker) corners of modern society. With a film adaptation on the way, thats very exciting. It will be great to see this story reaching an even wider audience and sparking some very interesting discussions.

As ever would love to know your thoughts if you’ve given this one a go!

A work of cosmic brilliance, rooted in history and science, and shining a light on a queer love story.

Sometimes there are stories you begin reading and instantly know that they are going to be a work of art. From the first page, you are universally engaged and dazzled by the penmanship and prose. This was one of those books.

With a familiar story, crafted around a unique and distinct concept, it could only have been a Taylor Jenkins Reid novel. TJR has an undeniable gift of shaping layered and unforgettable heroines at the top of their game - from rockstars, to hollywood starlets, sports legends and supermodels. Joan Goodwin fits seamlessly into that legacy.

As our central protagonist, we follow Joan Goodwin in her pursuit of the stars. After being selected for the first cohort of female mission specialists, she finds herself among an extraordinary group of aspiring astronauts. What begins as a collection of strangers turns into something deeper; a found family bound by ambition and the shared risk of pushing boundaries.

That is until their dreams are finally realised and the risks become all-too-real, when mission STS-LR9 goes wrong.

But that’s not a spoiler, as we open in this most pivotal moment. A bold structural choice by TJR but it serves to engage us from the very first pages, immediately establishing tension and stakes. The dual-timeline approach, something TJR has used successfully before (cite similar in Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and Daisy Jones and the Six), works beautifully here as well. It keeps that sense of looming uncertainty ever-present, even as the narrative unfolds into something much more intimate and sweeping.

That contrast is one of the book’s greatest strengths and one thing I found super clever. Throughout we constantly play with opposing ideas. The closeness of human relationships, set against the vastness of space. Joan’s ambition paired with her naivety. Love that feels both all-consuming and out of reach. Nothing is ever one-dimensional, which stops the story feeling too linear and one-note.

Like much of TJR’s work, there is also this idea of capturing a microcom of society, or a specific moment in time. There’s a strong sense of place and atmosphere throughout, from mission control to the astronaut training grounds, to Joan’s personal life and the societal taboo on queer love. Every setting and moment felt incredibly vivid, giving the story a cinematic quality that’s easy to visualize.

Now, moving into spoiler territory so skip ahead if you’d rather not know.

The first half of the book is where it truly shines. The pacing felt tight, the stakes are clear and exciting, and every character added more gravitation pull to our connection with the story. The space-race element I found especially compelling. Perhaps me reading this alongside following the Artemis II mission helped to peak my interest, but as the story shifted more heavily toward the romance and away from the space-of-it-all, I felt it lost a bit of that intensity.

Joan’s mission also felt somewhat unnecessary in hindsight and it softened the impact of the final events. Had the fatal mission been the cohort’s first, the emotional weight and levity might have landed more powerfully. Because Joan had already successfully orbited a mere weeks prior, and that experience was brushed over pretty quickly, the sense of risk and consequence felt slightly diminished, even when we knew the outcome from the very first pages.

That said, these are relatively minor critiques in the context of what the book accomplishes. It’s more than just a story about space, and it is more than just a love story. It’s a carefully constructed blend of research, symbolism, narrative, and emotions.

A constellation of literary excellence 🪐💫

In anticipation of the upcoming adaptation, I finally picked up Remarkably Bright Creatures and it genuinely exceeded my expectations.

It can be aptly summed up as remarkable.

For those unfamiliar, the story follows two central protagonists: 70-year-old widow Tova, who works as the primary cleaner at a local aquarium and finds herself at a crossroads in life, and 30-year-old Cameron, who arrives in Sowell Bay searching for answers about his past. Their paths intersect through the aquarium, and we, as readers, come to know them through alternating third-person perspectives, alongside the inner monologue of Marcellus the octopus.

This is a novel written with real clarity and intention. The plot is layered, with a wide cast of characters (both human and cephalopod), yet nothing feels rushed. Every character and story is given space to develop, and it’s clear the author mapped the plot carefully from beginning to end, allowing each character’s journey to intersect at just the right moments. That careful construction makes everything feel real, human and believable (talking octopus aside).

Speaking of the characters, each one has a distinct voice and perspective. Writing complex yet relatable characters is clearly one of the author’s strengths. Tova strikes a beautiful balance between confidence, stand-offishness, and vulnerability. Cameron, similarly, blends immaturity and defensiveness with a core vulnerability that makes him easy to root for. Woven throughout is lots of humour, not just from Marcellus’ observations, but also from side characters like Ethan and the Knitwits, which helps round the tone of the story overall.

Given its focus on everyday lives, the novel could easily have felt mundane and boring, but it never did for me. I think that’s because of the clear sense of development and growth taking place throughout. Each character is heading toward something; Marcellus is counting down his days, Cameron is searching for his father, and Tova is preparing to move on from her home. That forward momentum keeps the story engaging as I wanted to know the outcomes.

The writing style is another highlight. It was accessible, clear, and easy to get into. While literary fiction can sometimes lean too heavily on description, this book balances that with plenty of dialogue, keeping the pace feeling good. Marcellus’ interjections, in particular, offer a fresh and often witty perspective, and are arguably some of the highlights of the book. Similar to how the dragons are used to mock humans in Fourth Wing, Marcellus’ tongue-in-cheek observations bring lightness to otherwise deeper, more melancholic themes.

I’ve seen some readers describe the “twist” as predictable, but calling it a twist feels slightly unfair. It doesn’t seem like the author intended it to function as a shocking reveal, especially given how early it’s hinted at. Equally because the story is told in third person, we’re positioned as observers and are meant to understand more than the human characters themselves, much like Marcellus does.

So, who is this book for?

• Anyone looking for a heartwarming story

• Anyone excited to pair a read with an upcoming movie adaptation

• Anyone drawn to stories that feel deeply human and relatable

Have you given this a read? I’d love to hear your thoughts

I can’t believe it took me this long to dive into this duology, it has everything I love about the fantasy genre.

Very much cut from the same cloth as Throne of Glass (though at less than half the size), the story follows Rune Winters, a witch vigilante hiding her identity from the newly empowered Witch Hunters. Among them is Gideon Sharpe, notorious for his ruthlessness and unwavering loyalty to the new revolution.

That’s obviously a very short and simplified synopsis, but I went into these books completely blind and honestly think that’s the best way to experience them. Watching everything unravel across the two books was utterly engaging and exciting.

At its core, this is a very character-driven story, though there’s still plenty to explore beyond our two leads. A range of side characters bring their own histories and complicated relationships with the FMC and MMC, each of them brought in at the right moments but not overused. The first book in particular gives you a lot to sink your teeth into; backstory, friendships, concealed identities, and plenty of action. Across both books we also move through several locations, and the push and pull of the enemies-to-lovers dynamic feels well paced and believable, something that other authors sometimes struggle to land.

Speaking of which, the romance is definitely a standout feature, but for me, it never overwhelmed the story. Perhaps that’s because both protagonists have clearly defined motivations and personalities independent of one another (we love!), or maybe because the romance stays fairly PG without venturing into spicier territory. Either way, it struck the right balance. Engaging enough to keep me invested while still serving the larger story.

That said, as much as I enjoyed it, this is definitely more of an entry-level fantasy. Definitely not a criticism, but it’s worth setting expectations if you’re a die-hard fantasy lover. Don’t come in expecting expansive world-building, complex magic systems, or long, intricate arcs. With only two books and a lot to accomplish, the pacing moves at lightning speed, and at times you might find yourself wishing for a little more depth. It definitely had a bit of that “now you’re here, now you’re there, now you’re back again” energy.

Both books also feature plot twists in the final stretch, though were they predictable? Probably yes. Especially since they follow a similar formula. Still, it didn’t take away from my enjoyment.

And if you’re still unsure how much I liked these books, the fact that I finished both in a single weekend might convince you.

Completely unputdownable and a refreshing change of pace after some slower reads recently.

So who is this for?

• Early fantasy readers, or anyone wanting a quick fantasy read without a huge time or attention commitment.

• Romance lovers who enjoy a slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers arc

• Anyone in a reading slump, I’d be surprised if this didn’t help pull you out of it

Have you read this duology? Would love to hear your thoughts!

I was lucky enough to read this novel ahead of its release thanks to Prime First Reads, and I’m so glad I did, it’s pure magic. Even better, it’s being released just two days after I’m publishing this, making it the perfect pick for anyone looking for a fresh new read.

Kissing the Sky is the latest novel by Lisa Patton, an author I wasn’t previously familiar with. After looking into her earlier work though, it’s clear there is a common thread between her works, rooting each story in distinct American towns and cities, weaving local culture and historical context into deeply human narratives.

This novel follows exactly the same winning formula.

Set against the backdrop of the iconic Woodstock festival, the story follows protagonist Suzannah on her journey from Memphis, Tennessee to the muddy, music fields of 1969. We experience both the festival itself and the rocky road that leads her there, with the supporting cast, both at Woodstock and back home each playing a meaningful role in Suzannah’s growth. Perhaps most interestingly is the fact that throughout the novel we come to understand the wider social landscape of the time, from her family’s deeply conservative values, the backdrop of the Vietnam War, and the rise of the Hippie movement. This novel truly transports you there.

I could picture the muddy fields, the bell bottoms and halter tops, and the endless crowds stretching behind you. The instant connection Suzannah and best friend Livy made with festival-goers Leon & Jonny, equally felt reminiscent of the same experiences you would get today, bringing a synergy and shared humanity between the modern reader and those who lived through 1969. The inclusion of real-life performers and historical details further ground the story in reality, balancing an interesting mix between fiction and documentary.

While the immersive Woodstock experience is undoubtedly the highlight, what sets this book apart from other festival-based stories is the depth of historical insight woven throughout. The research and attention to detail are evident on every page, making the novel feel authentic and lived-in, just as much as it feels nostalgic.

Suzannah’s father serves as the quote-on-quote villain of the story, but isn’t added for the sake of drama, rather to be representative of a significant portion of society at the time. His presence is able to sharpen the contrast between the norm of 1969 and the rebellion of the Hippie movement which is a really interesting thing to think on. Similarly, the varied portrayals of the Vietnam War, from Ron’s conscription, to Jonny and Leon’s attempts to avoid service, to the female lens and impact, equally add breadth to the story, making it more than just a music novel.

So, who is this novel for?

Though fictional, it reads like a time capsule of 1969.

It’s contemporary in pacing and writing style, yet is rich in historical depth. This strikes a perfect balance for readers of both of those genres.

Similarly, if you’re in a reading slump and craving a story with plenty to sink your teeth into, this would be an excellent choice with lots to explore.

There’s a smaller romantic thread running through it, making it especially appealing for readers who enjoy love stories woven into larger cultural conversation, though emphasizing it is very much a subplot.

Have you read this or interesting in doing so? Would love to hear your thoughts!

This book has been pretty polarising in the reviews, with a lot of people calling the comparisons to Normal People almost barbaric.

But if I’m honest, it reached me when I needed something like it and that has made it hard to judge objectively. So let me try to unpack that a little.

After a run of slightly darker, heavier reads (including one DNF, more on that to come in my February roundup), I was really craving something gentle and heartwarming.

And that’s exactly what this book is.

Talking at Night follows Rosie and Will over a long stretch of time. Once high-school friends, we meet them as they try to navigate adulthood and all the mess that inevitably comes with it. At first, it feels like they’re destined to be childhood sweethearts, their awkwardness and barely-contained crushes feeling nostalgic and relatable.

But when tragedy strikes with the death of Rosie’s twin brother, Josh, their paths begin to diverge. From there, we meet them at different intersections of their lives, each encounter revealing slightly adjusted versions of who they are becoming. And all the while, the question remains will they, or won’t they find peace with eachother?

What did I love?

More than anything, I loved the honesty. At no point does the author over-dramatise or glamourise what these characters go through. Everything feels thoughtful, making the people on the page feel real, even when they are leaning a tad frustrating.

The way grief and addiction are handled particularly stood out to me. They aren’t treated as single, explosive events but instead they ebb and flow through the story. That felt incredibly true to real life, sometimes it feels all-consuming, sometimes it exists in the background but those kinds of struggles don’t ever just disappear which other authors can sometimes fall victim to.

I also really appreciated the contrast between Rosie and Will as it opened up moments of my own thinking. Rosie is tightly wound, Type-A, anxious, often self-critical, and I saw far too much of myself in her. Will, on the other hand, moves through life with a quiet confidence, not placing the same expectations on himself and being much more free-flowing. Reading their dynamic gave me chance for some reflection, realising that perhaps I frustrate those around me in the same way I was able to read the frustrations in Rosie’s mannerisms and decision-making.

But what about the criticisms?

That being said, I do acknowledge a common criticism which is the flatness of the characters. This opens up my next section which is to discuss to some of the less meritful features.

Whilst the characters are honest and believable, there’s a flatness or passiveness to both of them that I associate with the fact neither really roots for themselves. In short, they could both use a backbone.

Rosie spends much of her life doing what’s expected of her. That makes sense in her teenage years, when she’s juvenile and impressionable, but when we revisit her a decade later and she’s still stuck doing the same, it becomes harder to care and empathise with her.

Same for Will, as much as I liked him there were moments where you just want to shake him and shout, “Do something.” He pines from afar, and he waits and he waits and he waits. I found myself wanting something dramatic from him, like a big declaration to give his character a defining moment.

On a technical level, the punctuation style also didn’t quite work for me. There are no speech marks, which is an interesting choice (especially given the already inevitable Sally Rooney comparisons), and some areas lean into long, comma-heavy paragraphs. Which at times, interrupted my reading flow.

For a book dealing with heavy themes (childhood death, cancer, and addiction) there was also a lack of emotional depth for me. I can’t entirely put my finger on why.

It may be because we aren’t given much time to fully connect with certain characters before these events occur. For example, Josh, is a side character before his untimely death, Simon also remains somewhat peripheral so when he does become ill, it’s not emotionally weighted, and equally Will’s addiction is already in motion when we meet him.

Perhaps the pacing also impacts this. Spanning decades means some moments inevitably get glossed over quite quickly and some periods of their lives are skipped altogether. Either way, it didn’t quite gut-punch me the way it probably could have.

To summarise

I never like sitting on the fence with a book, but I think I am with this one.

This book has real merit. Don’t let the more negative reviews completely deter you but I do think you have to be in the right mood for it. If you’re not, it might lose you.

If you tend to love stories in the theme of Normal People or One Day, or if you’re drawn to coming-of-age narratives that explore timing, growth and missed chances, this will likely resonate and be an enjoyable story.

Equally if you’re in the mood for a romance that is a undertone rather than intense, this is a soft, slow-burn romance but still worth picking up.

Not for everyone, but a good read none-the-less.

I wasn’t sure how I wanted to talk about Venus Fly Trap.

Should it feature in my ‘Friday I’m in Love’ series?
Should it just be in my next big recommendations list?

All I knew is that I needed to speak about it in some capacity.

In the end, I’ve landed on giving it its own post. This won’t necessarily be a formal review but it felt important to spotlight a smaller author and also have a chance to ramble out the thoughts in my head about this book.

This is only the second novel from Emma Medrano, and she takes a BIG, BOLD swing with it. I respect that!

This book is dark, twisted, sharp, and addictive, exploring toxic relationships and obsessive infatuation. It depicts Queer identity and neurodivergence within, but they aren’t central plot points, instead just human traits that deepen our understanding of the characters.

If you read my recent post on Everyone I Know Is Dying, I’d place this in a similar bucket, except Venus Fly Trap fully commits to it. It’s everything the other novel wanted to be.

The story follows Louise, who moves in with her university friend Cat, who just so happens to be everything Louise wants to be. Cat is wealthy. Cat is magnetic. Cat is beautiful and a social butterfly. When Louise becomes entangled in a threesome with Cat and her boyfriend Henry, her love for Cat tips into obsession. Louise’s desire to be close to Cat, to be like her and to be chosen by her, begins to override her sense of self. Soon, she finds herself firmly in the palm of Cat’s hand, willing to do almost anything to prove her loyalty.

I won’t spoil where things go from there, but the chain of events that follows strikes a strange balance of being both relatable and wildly unhinged. Emphasis on the wild!

Yes, there are spicy scenes, but they are written in a way that feel real and are there to serve the narrative. They heighten the tension, intensify the emotions, and reinforce the key power dynamics that sit at the very heart of this story.

That is true for most of the book actually, Medrano does not waste an inch of paper. Every scene feels purposeful, aimed to further grip the reader.

By the second half, you realise this isn’t as cookie-cutter as you might have expected. It descends into dysfunction and messiness, and Louise equally evolves in ways that are surprising compared with the earlier version of her we came to know.

And then there’s that ending.

The ending is what pushed me to write this. It felt like a mic drop written onto a page!

I sincerely hope others have either (a) read this book already or (b) are intrigued to read it because as soon as I finished I was scouring to find others thoughts.

I imagine should you read it, it will be the topic of many future conversations.

The only comparison I can draw is to Bunny by Mona Awad, not because the plots mirror each other, but because they share that same slightly deranged energy.

This won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. But if you are drawn to darker, messier, contemporary fiction, or stories about obsession and power, this is absolutely one to pick up.

And if you do read it, please find me. I want to know your thoughts!

A New York Times bestseller, a Reese’s Book Club pick, a Goodreads Choice Award, and featured on countless ‘Top 10 of 2025’ list, it’s no surprise this novel is a masterclass in storytelling.

Set across 1955, 1968, and the present day, the story centres on Beth, who lives on a farm with her husband, Frank, and his brother, Jimmy. Through its multiple timelines, we learn that in 1955 a young Beth meets Gabriel Wolfe, the son of a wealthy family in the same rural village, and the two embark on a whirlwind romance.

When Gabriel returns in 1968 with his young son, Leo, following a divorce from his American wife, their reunion is marked by tragedy. Jimmy shoots Gabriel’s dog after it strays onto their land, attempting to protect his flock. Consumed by guilt, Beth gives Gabriel and Leo a new puppy, a gesture that reignites old feelings and sets the stories events in motion.

Threaded throughout is something far more sinister, a present-day murder trial, with Beth as a witness. What unfolds is a story of a love triangle, buried secrets, and a tragedy that shakes this quiet farming community to its core.

On paper, this isn’t necessarily my usual genre. I often struggle with historical fiction, and dual timelines only work for me when they’re executed flawlessly. The themes also aren’t typically what I gravitate toward. But none of that mattered here.

I found the story utterly gripping, so much so that I was reading it in the stands during the breaks of an ice hockey match. It blends family drama, romance, and mystery in a way that feels fresh and compelling, exploring emotional territory that feels new and interesting.

The murder mystery element is particularly well executed. The author reveals information gradually, enough to keep you intrigued but it was never enough to give the game away. I constantly flip-flopped between theories and thoughts as the plot unfolded. That said, I’m not a seasoned mystery/thriller reader and I’m notoriously bad at predicting film twists, so more experienced mystery fans might find it easier to anticipate.

From a character perspective, each one feels vivid, rich and easy to visualise, not just their physical forms, but also their intentions and mindsets. Beth, though morally complex, is written with immense depth and heart. Without reducing her to a motherly stereotype, her maternal instincts and emotional vulnerability are portrayed with alot of authenticity and I think many female readers will likely find themselves understanding her emotions and choices, even if they don’t agree with them.

The contrast between Frank, Jimmy, and Gabriel is equally strong. Each man feels distinct in temperament, motivations, and their role within story. This clarity is especially effective in scenes where their lives intersect, heightening tension and making it really easy as a reader to picture what is going on.

Going back to the sentiment about how easy I found it to visualize these characters and this world, I think it’s easy to imagine it as a stage adaptation. These characters would be so easy to cast with their extensive dialogue and interesting dynamics making for brilliant character study, and the scenes themselves would be so easy to stage and interpret. Definitely something I would pay money to see!

Ultimately, what Claire Leslie Hall accomplishes is a deeply captivating, deeply emotional but none-the-less enthralling story. The conclusion is satisfying, the narrative memorable and I’m super excited to learn more about her work.

Here you’ll find weekly book reviews, recommendations and a community of likeminded readers and writers in the comment section and chat. I hope you enjoy being part of the Hidden Book Nook!

I recently read Everyone I Know Is Dying by Emily Slapper, and unfortunately, I wouldn’t recommend it.

Before you write it off entirely, there are a few reasons worth explaining.

At its core, Everyone I Know Is Dying is a ‘sad girl novel’,

That isn’t meant as a dig or an insult but it is important context, especially since the book describes itself as ‘razor-sharp and bleakly funny’.

I didn’t find it sharp, and I didn’t find it funny. Watching a young woman unravel into a severe mental health crisis isn’t witty or humorous, and the writing often felt messy and indistinct rather than sharp.

The plot follows Iris, a woman in her mid-twenties living in London, flat-sharing and working at a magazines office. Very quickly, it becomes clear that she is deeply self-absorbed. Her inner monologue is dominated by constant comparisons, a fixation on perfection, and a desire to manipulate situations and how others view her..

Then she hits a wall. It happens very suddenly, almost jarringly whereby as a reader you don’t quite realise it happened. (For me personally I read it initially like a privileged tantrum and then got the wake up call it was supposed to be serious.)

She wakes up unable to go to work. That inability turns into an inability to leave her bed, and eventually into an inability to want to be alive. As Iris descends into depression, we watch her lose the rigid sense of control and perfectionism she once clung to.

During this period, she grows close to her flatmate George, a laid-off chef who is always waiting at home, ready to care for her. Then there’s also Patrick, a blunt, equally egocentric filmmaker. who she craves attention from. These relationships become the backdrop for Iris’s increasingly self-destructive behaviour: cheating, binge drinking, disordered eating, drug use. And that is pretty much the entire plot.

Why I Don’t Recommend It — #1

I’m privileged enough that I don’t usually need to pay close attention to trigger warnings, but even I struggled with this book. Not because it goes darker than others I’ve read, but because of how relentlessly depressing it is and not in a cathartic or heartbreaking way. That’s largely due to how unlikeable Iris is as a character, mental health struggles aside.

It’s incredibly difficult to read about, let alone root for, someone who is so careless with the people around them. I saw another reviewer compare Iris to an influencer, which rings true as I perceived her as deeply out of touch, presenting a curated version of herself while the internal reality we come to know is entirely different.

This is the first novel I’ve ever had to put down with concern for how it was affecting me mentally. I have a routine of reading for thirty minutes in bed every morning, but one day while reading this book I could feel myself slipping into a bad, anxiety-driven mood because of how much this book annoyed me. Not how I want to start a day.

For that reason alone, I wouldn’t feel comfortable recommending this book to others. Especially not knowing how someone with experiences closer to Iris’s might react to the material.

Why I Don’t Recommend It — #2

At 352 pages, this isn’t a particularly long book, but the pacing feels off.

There simply isn’t enough plot to justify the length. Instead, the novel is padded with repetition and filler moments that exist mainly to support and break up long internal monologues. The result is a story that feels flat and, at times, boring.

I genuinely think this could have worked far better as a short story. With the same raw mental health depiction but only the most essential plot points. It could have been far more impactful and immersive this way, driving home the message whilst not losing the reader.

Why I Don’t Recommend It — #3

Ultimately, the book doesn’t seem to know what it wants to say.

It positions itself as a novel about mental health, but that focus becomes diluted by the unnecessary drama and random tangents. We’re given subplots that go nowhere: Iris’s parents announce a divorce despite barely being developed as characters; she meets Patrick’s friends only for the encounter to have no emotional or narrative aftermath; she goes on a night out with old school peers, kisses a girl, cheats yet again and none of it is meaningfully explored or built upon.

A lot happens, but very little of it feels relevant. These moments don’t deepen our understanding of Iris or move the plot forward, it feels like they were simply written to make the book longer.

As I neared the end, I kept hoping for some form of resolution. A perspective, a statement, or at least a takeaway that might tie the novel’s themes together.

The decision to portray mental illness as raw, messy, and uncomfortable is clearly intentional, and I respect that choice from the author. But ending the novel without a clear point of view or sense of meaning makes that rawness becomes redundant. After everything the reader is put through, the absence of any conclusion is ultimately disappointing.

If others have taken the time to read this novel, I’d love to hear others perspectives.

Did any of my thoughts ring true or did you enjoy and find positive takeaways from this novel?

Friday I’m in Love is a weekly love letter to whatever has captured my heart. Some weeks it’s a book, others a line or passage that won’t leave me alone, or perhaps a small idea that feels bigger than it should.

Friday I’m in Love with I Hope This Finds You Well by Natalie Sue

If you’re a fan of dry sitcoms, this might be the book for you. Think The Office, Parks and Rec, Peep Show but with heartwarming character arcs rounding out the comedy.

I Hope This Finds You Well centres on Jolene, an office admin worker who accidentally gains access to all her colleagues’ work emails and DMs. Already on shaky terms with most of her peers and with layoffs looming, Jolene can’t help snooping, slowly using the intel to her advantage.

Beyond the clever concept, the pages are packed with sarcasm, sharp dialogue, and moments of genuine warmth. Underneath the humour sits a tender portrayal of despondency and depression that gives the story more emotional weight than you might expect.

When it comes to the characters, I keep coming back to the sitcom comparison. They’re clearly constructed around familiar comedic archetypes:

• Jolene = The Cynic

• Cliff = The Optimist

• Caitlin = The Snob

• Armin = The Dork

• Rhonda = The Sage

• Miley = The Nosy Neighbour

Together, these dynamics allow for rich subplots and plenty of humour while the main storyline unfolds. It’s a structure we’ve seen countless times in comedy: a B-plot running alongside a more serious central arc to heighten both absurdity and emotional contrast. Here, the Armin X Jolene fake relationship works perfectly against the slow unravelling of Jolene’s office deception.

I’ve seen criticism in other reviews about how unlikeable Jolene is, especially in the first half of the novel, but isn’t that kind of the point? I kept thinking about Ricky Gervais’s Tony in After Life. He’s tragic, cynical, lashes out at others, hates his life, and yet does nothing to fix it. And still, we come to understand him, maybe even love him. Jolene feels cut from the same cloth. If she were more of a cookie-cutter character, we’d lose the contrast and much of the comedy that plays off the other characters.

To not enjoy these characters, I think, is to misunderstand what they represent. They’re not meant to be deeply realistic novelistic portraits; they’re exaggerated models of certain corners of society.

I’ve focused heavily on the humour so far, but doing so risks underselling how well-paced and emotionally satisfying the novel is. The final act gave me that cheesy, teary smile I usually get with TV and film, but far less often with books. The introduction of Miley, the 12-year-old nosy neighbour, also adds a beautiful layer of reflection, not just for Jolene, but for us as readers, as her situation slowly comes into focus. I haven’t seen her feature in many other reviews or write-ups of the novel but I think she is an important component and one I really enjoyed.

So, who is this for?

I might be in the minority here as the reviews are very marmite. You’ll either love it or hate it.

But I think readers who enjoy sitcoms, chick lits and dry humour will absolutely eat this novel up. Those who tend to lean toward heavier, more literary fiction might not, but that doesn’t feel like a flaw. It just knows what it is.

Whilst it doesn’t seem to be a standout novel in comparison to some of our other bestsellers of the past two years, I can 100% imagine this working very well on screen in a similar sit-com setup to The Office, Superstore, Abbott Elementary etc.

Most of all, this was a fun, light and fast paced read, and that is why this Friday I’m in Love with it.

Starting the year with a new release, and a five-star read, no less, is a pretty perfect way to begin 2026.

The Future Saints isn’t just one of the next big books to watch; it’s one I already know I’ll be recommending for a long time to come.

With Mayluna and Daisy Jones & The Six ranking among my all-time favourite reads, it probably won’t surprise anyone that yet another band-led novel has found its way onto my favourites list.

The story follows the titular band, The Future Saints, fronted by lead singer Hannah Cortland alongside drummer Kenny Lovins and bassist Tarak Ravishanka, better known as Ripper, as they navigate a fragile rise to fame while grappling with profound grief. Their band manager and Hannah’s sister, Virginia “Ginny” Cortland has recently died and the weight of that loss hangs over everything they do.

Enter Theo Ford, a new manager sent by their corporate, deeply unconfident record label with one simple task: get the band to produce one final album so the label can quietly drop them. What unfolds instead is a story steeped in nostalgia, struggle, passion, grief, and friendship, as the band is forced to come back together at their most fractured.

What truly elevates this novel beyond its plot is the depth of its characters. Each one feels vivid and fully realised, not just in description, but in action. Their decisions always feel justified, grounded in history and complicated relationships that Winstead allows us the reader to understand with striking clarity.

Hannah Cortland, in particular, feels uncannily real - a front woman we’re watching unravel in real time. Her passion and talent for music are unmistakable, yet they’re carefully balanced with a raw, honest portrayal of grief, mental health struggles, and self-destructive behaviour. It’s uncomfortable at times, but never sensationalised.

That careful handling of challenging themes is what makes this book so strong. At no point do the characters’ actions feel irrational, nor does Winstead rely on shock for the sake of drama, something that would have been very easy to do given the material. Instead, everything is written with restraint and intention, making the story feel grounded, believable, and deeply resonant.

The same can be said for the relationship between Theo and Hannah, which unfolds slowly and candidly. Rather than falling into familiar tropes or tipping the novel into full-blown romance (or worse, chick-lit) Winstead keeps this connection firmly as a subplot. Without spoiling anything, the choices made in the latter chapters felt refreshing and ultimately made me connect more with the story as a whole, rather than focusing solely on the relationship.

The dual-POV structure also works in the book’s favour. Especially when dealing with grief and mental health, there are always two sides: the person consumed by it, and those around them who struggle to understand. Seeing both perspectives not only helps contextualise Hannah’s behaviour, but also shows the ripple effects of destructive coping mechanisms on everyone else involved.

Crucially, this framing prevents the novel from becoming overly centred on Hannah’s internal monologue, which could have become frustrating or exhausting. Instead, we get to see her through others’ eyes, described as beautiful, striking, talented, and deeply vulnerable - qualities she would never ascribe to herself, but which help round out her character in powerful ways.

In the end, all of Winstead’s choices, structural, thematic, and stylistic, come together to create a fully realised and gripping story. Much like Daisy Jones & The Six, it’s equal parts drama and character study, and utterly compulsive reading.

I would absolutely love to see The Future Saints receive the Daisy Jones limited-series treatment. The characters feel so cinematic, and it’s easy to imagine some incredible casting bringing them to life.

Who is this for?

If you’re looking to move beyond romance and chick-lit, this book is for you. It offers just as many lovable characters, but with far greater emotional depth, narrative complexity, and thought-provoking prose.

It’s also ideal for fans of TV series who want to get into reading more contemporary fiction without committing to dense, challenging novels or long, sprawling series. The writing is accessible, but the story is rich, gripping, and carefully constructed, making it an incredibly satisfying read.

Friday I’m in Love with The Invisible Life of Addie Larue by V.E. Schwab.

Can you believe this is my first V.E. Schwab novel?

You’d think I would have read her work already, given that she’s known for everything I love in a book: complex yet compelling stories, meaningful undertones, and fully realised characters.

This novel delivered on all of that, though not in the way I expected.

I’ll be honest, at first I wasn’t in love with this book. The pacing is slow, and that’s something I struggled with, particularly in the first third where we follow Addie in the 1700s as she comes to terms with her life.

But by the time I finished, I realised it wasn’t the book itself I had fallen in love with, it was the way it made me feel as I neared the end and afterwards.

Before I get ahead of myself, let’s talk about the story.

The Plot

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue follows Addie, a teenage girl born in a small French village in the 1700s, destined for a life of arranged marriage and domestic labour. Wanting more, she flees to the woods on the eve of her wedding and prays to the gods for escape.

Instead, she summons a dark god who grants her immortality at the cost of her soul. But the wish comes with a cruel twist. Addie will live forever, yet be forgotten by everyone she meets. No memory, no trace, no permanence.

This sets our story into motion, as it unfolds across dual timelines, detailing her past and present. It traces centuries of survival, loss, and quiet rebellion, until everything changes when she meets a boy in modern-day New York who can finally remember her.

There are so many underlying messages woven throughout that it wasn’t until I reached the end that I was truly able to reflect and see everything that this novel accomplishes within its story.

Firstly there is the discussion of power dynamics

One of the most striking themes in this novel is power & control. Particularly who holds it, and how it’s wielded.

This begins in the opening statements as we see how little control Addie has over her own life as a woman in the 1700s. Her future is owned by her parents and her husband-to-be, with no room for any autonomy.

But the most compelling power dynamic is between Addie and Luc (aka the darkness).

While reading, I found myself wanting more of Luc. He’s intriguing, charismatic, and written in a way that invites fascination. But that’s precisely the point. By the end of the novel, it becomes clear that Luc embodies all the subtle, insidious traits of an abuser, and Schwab writes him so convincingly that readers fall into the same trap as Addie. Unsure whether to love or loathe him.

What are those signs?

He appears as her saviour when she’s most vulnerable, yet leaves her waiting for years when she wants him. He pulls her close, then pushes her away. He re-emerges in her life only once she has found happiness without him.

What makes this so effective is how quietly the truth reveals itself. Schwab doesn’t announce it or write it explicitly, she lets the dynamic unfold until the pattern of his behaviour becomes impossible to ignore. Luc’s godhood becomes a metaphor for how abusers trap people in lives they never asked for, and how difficult it is to escape once you’re inside their cycle.

The second theme is around legacy

This is one of the more explicit themes with art & literature sitting at the heart of Addie’s story and it is written so so beautifully.

Its the idea that whilst you cannot live on physically (for most of us after a lifetime, for Addie after only a minute) you can be remembered for the mark you leave in the world.

Through art, through stories, through fleeting inspiration, Addie becomes a quiet force behind the worlds best creativity. It feels like a love letter from Schwab to artists of all kinds, a reminder that while you may disappear, your art doesn’t have to and thats what makes it so valuable.

The final theme is around anonymity

This is perhaps the theme that resonated with me the most and gave the most food for thought. The idea that with anonymity comes new-found freedom.

I guess we see it in our everyday through the sacrifices celebrities make, as their fame affords them less freedom. However for me, having moved across the world last year knowing nobody in the new town where I settled I realized I had been operating in my own Addie Larue way.

No, I haven’t been shoplifting or breaking into people’s homes.

But I have felt a new confidence, paired with a certain aloofness. Back home, I was always aware I might run into someone I knew. At the supermarket, the train station, or the pub. As an introvert, that thought filled me with dread. The awkward hello or head nod. The fear that I looked like a slug with greasy hair/no makeup and that this would be reported back to old school acquaintances.

Here, that awareness is gone. And with it came a freedom I didn’t realise I needed.

That’s where this book truly won me over. Not in the reading itself, but in the reflection it prompted afterwards.

But what about the criticisms?

Looking at others opinions on the book, many readers criticise the pacing, calling it repetitive or dull. And I understand that. There were moments where I, too, felt the slowness. But reflecting on the novel, the repetition could mirror Addie’s reality, the endless cycle of being forgotten, reliving the same introductions and goodbyes. If the story rushed forward, we would perhaps lose that emotional connection to her experience.

Another common critique is the lack of socio-political commentary, given Addie lives through centuries of revolutions and wars across France, Germany, England, and America. While I see the merit in this argument, I wonder if adding that layer would have overburdened the story. With so many themes already at play, deeper political commentary might have felt underexplored and become another criticism entirely.

So Who Is This Book For?

This book has a quiet, magical quality and would be perfect for readers looking for something whimsical. A tale you could truly immerse into.

I equally think fans of mythology, especially Greek myth, may find kinship in its themes and dynamics. And whilst it’s slow-paced, it’s an accessible read that could resonate across ages.

Romance isn’t at the forefront of the novel, but romance readers may find familiarity and interest once Robbie is introduced into the novel.

But as I said at the beginning, this isn’t a book I loved because it was endlessly entertaining. It’s a book I loved because it has stayed with me after I finished.

And for that reason, this Friday — I’m in love with it. ✨

I went into this book because multiple people told me it was a “firm favourite.” To all of you, thank you, I owe you, I loved it!

Somewhat boringly, the main reason I think it worked so well for me is the framing device. I’m a sucker for a clear structure, and almost all of my standout reads seem to rely on one.

Honestly, I could write an entire piece just on framing devices alone. Authors, take note!

The novel is set in the luxurious Cornwall Hotel and follows our protagonist Phoebe over seven days. She arrives after her marriage implodes in an affair-induced divorce, with the intention of killing herself at the hotel that also happens to be hosting a week-long wedding. This is introduced with blunt, dark humour, which immediately sets the tone and tells you exactly what kind of book this is going to be.

Each section follows a different day and a different over-the-top wedding event - welcome drinks, wedding breakfast, sailing trips, speeches, you name it! And each day, Phoebe becomes a little more embedded in the wedding party, both ceremoniously and emotionally.

What this seven day framing device does so brilliantly is ground the plot (and us the reader) with a clear countdown to what we assume is the conclusion (aka the end of the wedding) and helps to keep the pace clear and consistent. You know where the book is heading and that keeps everything tight and purposeful. Nothing drags.

Similarly, it meant that no character feels like they’ve been shoved into the plot, people appear in the story when Phoebe would naturally meet them as part of the wedding.

I’ve said this before in my review of Fredrik Backman’s The Friends, but I love a book where the side characters enhance the story, not detract from it. Where they aren’t just decoration, but full of personality and part of the whole world. This book fits comfortably within that category.

Lila, the bride, is so colourful and easy to visualise as the token bridezilla, but Espach doesn’t define that as her sole characteristic, which is smart and makes her feel layered, not cliché. Underneath the control and the perfectionism becomes someone we can see is insecure and desperate to be loved, which means Lila ends up being not just funny, but genuinely relatable.

Gary, who could be described as the MMC but never quite sits at the forefront, feels like someone you could easily recognize outside of the novel. He lives in the past, is clouded within his relationship, and constantly puts other people’s needs ahead of his own. He’s full of middle-aged male melancholy, but there’s a real gentleness and warmth to him that balances against the other personalities.

Then there’s Juice, Marla, and Jim, who all initially read as quite aloof, but slowly unpack their feelings as we progress through the novel, with Phoebe acting as the thread that lets them each speak honestly.

I do wish Patricia (Lila’s mother) had a slightly larger role. The pockets where we glimpse her vulnerability and her misdirected love for her daughter are some of the more tender of the book and it would have been nice to see that explored more or resolved.

Matt and Mia, the couple who set the story in motion, mostly exist in flashbacks and reflections. That feels right, they didn’t need more page time.

Tonally, the book is very funny in a dry, blunt way. The whole thing feels satirical, and at times it reminded me of The White Lotus. I could easily imagine this as a limited series. And although it’s set in Rhode Island, there’s something oddly British about the social dynamics, and the way nobody fully acknowledges the absurd extravagance of the wedding. That polite indifference in the face of such grandeur feels very British in tone to me.

I’ve seen two main criticisms floating around in other reviews. The first is that the pandemic references feel unnecessary, which I mostly agree with. The second is that Phoebe herself is hypocritical, specifically in her attraction to Gary, given that her own husband’s affair drove her to near-suicide.

Whilst I do see the relevance in that opinion, I actually think that’s the point.

Phoebe is not written to be clean or noble but is full of flaws and contradiction.

She’s depressed, bitter, sadistic, at the lowest point in her life, yet somehow finds solace in her opposite; a materialistic, perfectionist at the highest point in her life.

Phoebe is also furious at her husband for leaving (albeit via affair) while also being deeply unhappy and stuck in the marriage herself.

Her hypocrisy and contradiction doesn’t make her less believable, it makes her more so and helps us to clearly distinguish her character growth in the latter chapters.

I was initially disappointed that the novel doesn’t give us an epilogue. I wanted to know what Phoebe does next. What happens in the new mansion. Whether anything happens with Gary. But the longer I sat with it, the more I liked that choice as it positions us as part of the Wedding People.

We leave the wedding exactly when Phoebe does, which means we don’t know what she does next, but we get the sense that she will be okay. And that, in the end, feels like exactly the right note to end on.

So who is this book for?

Honestly, it feels like perfect book club material. It’s character-driven, very discussable, witty and emotional whilst also being deeper than just a rom-com. While it might get positioned under “women’s fiction,” I think that undersells it. There’s enough here for almost anyone to resonate with, especially if (when🤞) it ends up adapted for screen.

And that is why I’m in love with it!