I never ever write a review for a book before I finish it, but I’m at 85% now and struggling to finish (and I will finish because stopping at this point is like quitting a marathon at mile 25) and that last 15% of the book isn’t going to change my opinion, so here goes.
I should start by saying I fully recognize and appreciate the importance of this book. An autistic author writing about an autistic heroine having “normal” (well, heteronormative) romantic life experiences with “normal” (i.e. non-autistic) men is refreshing and encouraging and very much needed.
That aside, I still didn’t enjoy this as a reader of romance novels, and all of my displeasure had nothing to do with not being able to identify with any of the characters, being that I am not on the spectrum myself. Despite not being able to identify with the experience of living life as an autistic individual, I still found I had a lot in common with Frankie – I too come from an overbearing Italian-American family and have struggled to live my introverted, socially anxious life in a world that just isn’t built for understanding people that aren’t happy happy HAPPY all the time. I struggle when it comes to interacting people and often my internal voice becomes my external voice and it sometimes gives me grief. I too would be intimidated by someone like Ren, because I don’t get people that are so upbeat all the time.
None of this has anything to do with anything really, except to show that I’m not dismissing this book because I’m a normie that just doesn’t get what it’s like to struggle with living a life on the fringes, or that I’m turned off by a depiction of a life that I can’t 100% identify with. I think it’s only natural to look for the familiar in what we read, for me any way, and I find I enjoy books most when I can live vicariously through them on some level. I enjoy them a lot less when the experiences depicted therein are so far out of touch with reality that I find myself not caring. This doesn’t mean the book itself has to be rooted in reality (I love fantasy and sci-fi) but that the life experiences should be….otherwise, why bother? We mostly write what we know, whether we’re fully conscious of it or not.
But again, I digress. The book was adequate, and I think it would have functioned a lot better for me if it wasn’t trying to function as a day-in-life depiction of an autistic person and a smutty romance at the same time. That’s not to say that autistic people do not deserve to see themselves depicted in smutty situations (because everyone does and I salute every author that takes that leap), just that I think I would have gotten more out of the experience if the two were kept separate.
The things that annoyed me most actually have zero to do with Frankie being autistic, or suffering from RA. I found her to be a pretty accurate and realistic representation of a real-life woman, autism and RA aside. I HATED Ren though, and pretty much all of my issues with this book have to do with him. I know that sounds weird because there's literally nothing to hate about Ren, but to paraphrase his beloved Shakespeare, therein lies the rub. The romance genre isn’t really known for being great with accurately representing the female population that the books are largely written for, and I get that they’re largely about idealism and rose-colored glasses and HEAs and blah blah blah, but like I said earlier, if they’re not some aspect of realism the book is just gonna come off as a pretty empty experience.
I want to feel fulfilled, filled-up, overflowing when I finish a book (that’s how I know it’s a good one), and people like Ren make me feel empty. Why? Because they’re so one-dimensional and over-idealized that it’s not even worth imagining them to be real. Characters like Ren are designed to make women resentful towards their very real spouses/partners/significant others. Real men do not function like this, they do not exist, so don’t start hating on your hubby because he’s not some 6’3” Shakespeare-quoting ginger with abs of steel.
Really….Ren is so stinkingly perfect that every revelation of an ideal characteristic (the abs, the hair, the beard, the muscles, the pro-athleticism, the sensitivity, the Shakespeare) caused my eyes to roll so far back into my head that by the end of the book I was blind and had to finish on audiobook (not true, but still…). There’s literally nothing wrong with him. He’s smart, has a great family, takes care of his family, loves dogs, quotes Shakespeare, is overly sensitive, and oddly anticipates every single last one of Frankie’s needs. He buys her tampons (and isn’t grossed out by it!!!!!). And to top it all off, he’s a fucking virgin that still somehow knows how to give a woman multiple orgasms. Why bother having a character being a virgin if there’s going to be zero awkwardness with his first time? What’s the point? He’s literally an expert-level sex god on his first time with actual p-in-v fucking, so why oh why does he have to be a virgin? It adds nothing to the story at all.
Oh, and I can’t forget his huge dick. In case you were wondering, it’s extremely large, is constantly hard because he’s that turned on by Frankie (I work in a hospital, dudes go the ER for stuff like that, IT’S NOT NORMAL OR HEALTHY), and because Frankie is a wee, fragile womanly woman, she’s not sure if Ren’s super-huge ginger love rod is going to fit in her vag. Note to romance authors: if you feel a need to make your heroine speak some variation of “oh wow, your dick is SO HUGE that I’m not sure if you’re going to fit in my petite vagina”, stop writing, go back to the beginning, and start over, because YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG. Shit like this is worse than the “letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding” or all the fucking lower lip biting. I love me some abs, but I need a little dose of reality with my heroes (at least make him kind of a dick, or have a little bit of a temper, or something) or I just can’t lose myself in the story.
It’s moments like that that really wanted to make me stop reading, but like I said, before I knew it I was at 85% and I was just like “pshaw, might as well see this shit through at this point.” Taking all of this into consideration, if you want a book with competently-written smut (if not entirely realistic) featuring a heroine that is not your standard cookie cutter type, sprinkled with a fair dose of Harry Potter references (go go Slytherin!) give this a shot. If you like your heroes like they just came off the assembly line of the perfect boyfriend factory, you’ll love this. If you’re a cynical bitter shell of a human like me though, that’s lived just enough of life to know that they don’t make them like this, go find something else, or save yourself the trouble and continue to masturbate to thoughts of Henry Cavill dressed as Geralt of Rivia.