I'm a critical reader; a contrarian by nature, and this book has unleashed my wrath.
Okay, it's not that serious, but this novella isn't good, and I'm starting to think the issue is Rachel Lacey herself.
This is the second (or third???) book by this author that I've read, and let me tell you, they just keep getting worse. There is no show, only tell. There is no nuance, genuine emotion, or believable development of plot or character. There are only overt and overlarge declarations of love and a pubescent desire for gratuitous nudity and sex. Where is the chemistry? Where is the steam? Where is the love? I don't believe anybody or anything when they simply say that they love something. SHOW ME you love it. Dance when something exciting happens to you; sing when you're eating your favorite food. Fucking light up when the woman you love is looking at you! You don't get any of these things in a Rachel Lacey book (or just this one, fine. I won't condemn her entire repertoire just yet. But I've little hope for improvement.)
Alicia and Clare are cardboard cutouts of people. They have nothing remotely interesting about them, and because of this they don't have a genuine connection or even interest in each other you can root for. Alicia mentions to the reader that she's had a crush on Clare for a while. Clare later clarifies that she has never been interested in Alicia before, but she's hot, so why not? It was all so shallowly crafted.
Obviously I was displeased with this book, and I don't think anything could have improved it save having someone else entirely write it. But that seems a tall ask. If you're bored and desperate to read something WLW, this is quick and easy. But I warn you, you will be left wholly unsatisfied.
2/5