”You will try to imagine where he is in that exact instant, when he had turned and started to travel towards you, you to him, and how the world around both of you took no notice. ”
Synopsis:
For those of you wondering what would happen if Nicholas Sparks and John Green had a book baby, this is the product of what would happen. And it ain’t pretty, folks.
Biblio-Babble
Pretentious Book is Pretentious: The main quality this book has (other than the romance aspect, of course), is the fact that it tries so damn hard to be pretentious. It’s like a person who lists off famous classics they said they have ‘read’ but really haven’t. But they say they have to make themselves look better. This is the bookish form of that. It wants to be a grand romance, but also one of those deep, philosophical books that you could have deep book club discussions about. It constantly wavered over whether it wanted to be a cutesy romance or a deep tome. Those two things rarely mix well together, and this book was no exception. I mean, Nicholas Sparks is sappy, but not pretentious. John Green is pretentious, but not sappy. Those two genres shouldn’t really associate with one another, if at all.
Aujugstus Jauters: Jack Quiller-Couch is a combination of 1990s Leonardo DiCaprio, Augustus Waters, and Jughead Jones. Leonardo DiCaprio because you will be continuously reminded throughout the novel that his name is indeed Jack (Titanic fans will know what I’m talking about), and Augustus Waters because his arrogant pretentious levels are off the charts, and Jughead Jones because he’s prone to monologues about life, love, and meaning of philosophy and all that shit (but no monologues about burgers, unfortunately). Look, I get what the author was trying to create, but Jack Quiller-Couch practically screams manic-pixie dream boy. It was just ridiculous. There are going to be a lot of ladies who will probably fall all over his dialogue and trying to hard to be poetic monologues, but Jack did none of that for me. And let me tell you, he was extremely shitty in the final act of the book because of ‘the thing that he did that shall not be named but puts him permanently on the douch-bag of the year award.’
Message in the Notebook: Dust jacket often lie; this much I know. The whole damn time I was reading this book, I thought the big secret had to do with Jack’s grandfather’s journal and what the grandfather was trying to look for. The journal is barely mentioned at all, and we never really do find out what the grandfather was trying to find. Instead, we get a lot of drinking, munching on edibles (if you know what I mean), and banging. Which would all be fine if this were marketed as a college romance road trip book. But the journal is made to be such a big deal that you would expect it to play a much bigger part than it actually did. And it did not. I wasn’t expecting National Treasure thrills, but for it to be almost a non-presence in the storyline really bummed me out.
The Greatest Love of Not: The main problem I had with this book was the romance. Rather, the complete lack of chemistry between Heather and Jack. Their little meet cute on the train to Amsterdam? Yeah, no sparks there. Impromptu meetings at clubs dancing the night away? Melania Trump has more chemistry with the Oompa-Loompa than they are. Witty banter that seems to never end? Please page Armie Hammer and Timothee Chalamant to show them how it’s done. I literally could not root for them as a couple because I found them to be as dull as cardboard. If you’re gonna market yourself as a romance novel, make sure there’s romance (duh! It’s not that difficult). I honestly found them more annoying than adorable, and couldn’t quite figure out what made them gel.
Same Song, Different Tune: Good Lord, this book was so predictable. It’s as if the author was stuck on just one plot point and device and said to himself, “Screw it, I’ll just write this over and over and hope people won’t notice”. So for time’s sake: Heather and Jack travel, and all is good. They then have an argument because pretty-boy Jack won’t keep his pretentious mouth shut. Heather storms off to another country. Jack manages to find her in said other country and makes up with her. Everything’s all lovey dovey, ooey-gooey. Then the cycle starts again. Follow steps 1-4 and all that jazz. It just became predictable, and while all romance novels are essentially predictable, this was snooze-worthy predictable. It got to a point that the book had gotten to such a stalemate that I just wanted it to end, which thankfully it did. While it’s all right for authors to have separate books follow the same pattern and plotline, it shouldn’t bleed into books.
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Traveling across Europe and having a vacation flirtation? What could possibly go wrong? Everything. Everything could go wrong. With a lukewarm romance, pretentious act, and an extremely arrogant MC, this book is what would happen if Nicholas Sparks and John Green had a one-night writing stand and ended up with this. Do yourself a favor and leave this book on a metaphorical train back in Europe where it can sit alone in all its pretentious glory.
And
DON’T GIVE SPARKS OR GREEN ANY IDEAS.