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Bloom
When he learns of his cousin’s strange death, Michael Bloom, a gay, obese college instructor, realizes he must lose weight to avoid a similar fate. He must also end his food/sex relationship with Tabitha Gould, a high-powered attorney with an unusual obsession. While looking for a gym, Bloom meets Cole Parker, the bisexual African American general manager. After Tabitha literally kicks Bloom out, he and Cole hook up. That ends, too, but then Tabitha gives Bloom an offer he can’t refuse. Just as they’re pronounced husband and wife, Cole bursts in and…
154 pages, Paperback
Published April 20, 2025
18 people are currently reading
807 people want to read
About the author
Curtis Andrew Burton
2 books16 followersHello, hopefully consumer/fan! I am Curtis Andrew Burton (friends and family call me Tony). I am the author of two novels: Jacob's Letters, which I published in 2019, and Bloom, which I published in April of this year. The two books couldn't be more different: Jacob's Letters is a serious work, an "epistolary bildungsroman," which is a fancy way of saying it's a coming-of-age story told through correspondence. Bloom, however, is a comedy (with a little seriousness) about a gay, obese college instructor who, after hearing of his cousin's demise (he expires in front of his TV while watching fat lesbian porn) decides to make big changes in his life so he doesn't end up like him. While JL was composed from existing information, people and events, Bloom is entirely from my imagination, something I thought I'd lost after finishing the first book. I hope you take the opportunity to check out both my books: they're very accessible, thought-provoking and, above all, entertaining! Thanks for reading!
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March 20, 2026
The first thing Michael Bloom's dead cousin Ronnie gives him is a mirror. Ronnie died alone in his apartment, undiscovered for days, pants around his ankles, his body adhered to the upholstery of his recliner. He was a Tuesday. And Bloom, forty-two years old, obese, closeted, eating Cap'n Crunch alone in his kitchen, recognises the reflection with a clarity that frightens him more than the death itself. This is how Curtis Andrew Burton's second novel begins: with a man staring into the future and deciding, quietly and without fanfare, that he will not be Ronnie.
What follows is one of the more surprising novels you are likely to read this year. Surprising because it does something few novels attempt: it takes an unglamorous, overweight, middle-aged, closeted English lecturer completely seriously as a romantic subject, and makes you believe every page of it.
Burton wastes no time announcing his intentions. The opening paragraph does not describe Bloom's weight so much as perform the cultural act of naming it, piling synonym upon synonym, "heavy, fleshy, meaty, beefy, stocky, rotund, roly-poly," until the reader feels the weight of language before the weight of the man. It is sophisticated technique doing double work: it establishes Bloom's physical reality while simultaneously indicting the world's obsession with cataloguing bodies like his. A novel called Bloom about a man who has spent four decades contracting, making himself smaller, invisible, apologetic, announces its central irony before the first chapter is finished.
The plot, stripped bare, sounds like a self-help pamphlet. Man has crisis. Man finds therapist. Man joins gym. Man loses weight. Man finds love. But Burton understands something most feel-good narratives miss: transformation is unglamorous, granular, and slow. It looks like a kitchen purge, six garbage bags of Cap'n Crunch and Sugar Frosted Flakes and Pop Tarts and Cocoa Puffs driven to a dump. The reader who remembers that these were named lovingly in Chapter 1 as the foods of Bloom's childhood, the foods his mother gave him, feels the weight of what is being thrown away. And it is not calories.
The novel's greatest structural gift is Agnes Dellacourt. Elderly, Black, Southern-inflected, cigar-smoking, Renoir-loving, and possessed of a Chanel suit for every emotional occasion, Agnes is the first person in Bloom's life who sees him clearly. She sees the man beneath the weight, beneath the loneliness, beneath the meticulously maintained routines of a life designed to keep the world at arm's length. She sees all of it in a single fifty-minute session. Warm without being soft, clinical without being cold, she pivots without warning from cheerful irreverence to the flat, sudden question "Michael, do you ever think of suicide?", and the reader feels the shift the way Bloom does: a trapdoor opening in perfectly ordinary floor. She saw something. We are not entirely sure what. That precision of mystery is the point.
Agnes is also, consistently, the novel's funniest character. Her frilly white top with the big blue bow. Her wry delight on learning that her gym referral led directly to a bedroom. Her pros and cons list, weighed with equal gravity between Marvin Gaye and Barry Manilow, that ends in a coin toss because, as she correctly diagnoses, some decisions live below the reach of reason. The coin lands. Bloom looks at it and feels something unexpected: relief. That single word is the novel's bravest. It tells us everything the coin cannot. Bloom has chosen Tabitha. Some part of him needed it to land there. The reader senses, correctly, that the story is not quite over.
Cole Parker, the gym owner who becomes Bloom's love, is introduced with formal brilliance: his face hidden behind a Covid mask for almost their entire first encounter, assembled feature by feature, the diamond studs catching the light, the deep warm voice, the sepia almond-shaped eyes glimpsed for just an instant. The reader falls for Cole the way Bloom does, gradually, almost against his will. When Bloom thinks he might be falling in love, the recognition arrives the way the truest recognitions do: sideways, as surprise. It is the only register that would work for a man who has spent forty years guarding himself from this particular feeling.
Cole's arc is the novel's most psychologically complex achievement, and its most politically honest. A wealthy, prominent, publicly masculine Black man in his fifties, Cole has kept his sexuality managed rather than inhabited, operating on the down low. His argument, delivered in a hammock, that being gay is "a white thing," is the product of a specific history, a specific community, a specific set of pressures that Bloom, for all his intelligence and all his own suffering, has simply never had to contend with in the same way. Burton writes Cole as a man shaped by forces, and in doing so makes his eventual declaration down the synagogue aisle something genuinely costly, therefore genuinely moving. The asymmetry between Bloom's freedom and Cole's persistent inability to grant himself the same is the novel's central tension, named without editorialising. That restraint is what gives it force.
The conversation about race and attraction in Chapter 8 is the novel's most important dialogue, and it earns that distinction. When Bloom uses the word "specimen" and Cole immediately, surgically pushes back, "Like a test sample in a science project?", the novel establishes that this relationship will hold both men accountable, and it does so before they have even kissed. That quality elevates what might have been a straightforward late-life romance into something considerably more honest about the politics of desire.
Tabitha Gould, Bloom's long-time sexual partner, is one of the novel's richest comic creations. A woman who has assembled her face from other women's best features: nose like Streisand, lips like Jolie, chin like Witherspoon. A woman whose marriage proposal is motivated primarily by a corporate acquisition of the Hetty Pig brand. Her deepest love has always been consistent and honest. She has simply been honest about the wrong things. "Ditto," she says, for her wedding vows. The most Tabitha sentence in the novel, and somehow, almost generous.
The wedding chapter is a masterclass in sustained farce that holds the human emotion underneath it without flinching. Rabbi Shulman has a bris in Waban at 6:30. The rings are in a purse. Winnie runs up the aisle. The ring rattles on the floor. And beneath all of it, Bloom walking toward a life he chose with his head, because his heart was pointing somewhere the rest of him was not yet ready to follow. Burton earns every comic beat because the stakes beneath them have been so patiently built across eleven chapters.
On the way to that wedding, Bloom stops the limousine at McDonald's. He orders a Quarter Pounder, large fries, a Coke, chocolate chip cookies. It is ceremony. An old friend, ordered one final time, before the life about to begin. The man who filled six garbage bags with his childhood and drove them to a dump is allowing himself one last meal of the person he used to be. There is more dignity in that stop than in anything that happens inside the synagogue.
Where Bloom falters, it falters consistently and in ways revision could address. Burton's most persistent habit is announcing feelings the prose has already earned. "He was having conflicting feelings" arrives after a scene that has spent pages demonstrating exactly which feelings those are. The novel occasionally loses trust in itself, reaching for the explicit statement when the image has already spoken more eloquently. A recurring agricultural metaphor, deployed to describe Bloom's physical desire for Cole, sits oddly against the novel's otherwise urban, literary prose voice. These are the problems of a writer whose instincts are strong and whose second impulse is sometimes to explain the first one. The revision note is simply: resist.
The levitation sequence that closes the novel, Bloom and Cole's kiss lifting them through the synagogue skylight and into flight, is the right instinct and the novel's most uneven execution. The passage holds the lyrical and the explicitly physical in the same hand but has not yet learned to grip them equally. This is the novel's one unfinished room. It knows where it wants to go. It needs one more careful pass to arrive.
But then: Cole Parker walking down that aisle saying the names aloud. Bayard Rustin. James Baldwin. Langston Hughes. Alvin Ailey. Men whose names he has been reluctant to claim all novel long, announced now in front of a congregation of lawyers and Hetty Pig enthusiasts, because a man he loves is about to marry the wrong person. He is declaring himself. For the first time. In public. At full cost. That this costs him everything he spent fifty years quietly protecting is the measure of what Bloom has done to him, which is exactly what Agnes did to Bloom: made him too honest to keep hiding.
Bloom is a novel about claiming a life before it is too late. A story about the quiet, irreversible, terrifying decision to stop letting your life happen to you and start making it yourself. It holds comedy and grief in the same hand without dropping either, and it does what Burton's first novel, Jacob's Letters, suggested he might one day do: it takes a man nobody would cast as anyone's hero and watches him, slowly, at real cost, become the hero of his own story.
He had blossomed.
Three words. Twelve chapters. Every one of them earned.
What follows is one of the more surprising novels you are likely to read this year. Surprising because it does something few novels attempt: it takes an unglamorous, overweight, middle-aged, closeted English lecturer completely seriously as a romantic subject, and makes you believe every page of it.
Burton wastes no time announcing his intentions. The opening paragraph does not describe Bloom's weight so much as perform the cultural act of naming it, piling synonym upon synonym, "heavy, fleshy, meaty, beefy, stocky, rotund, roly-poly," until the reader feels the weight of language before the weight of the man. It is sophisticated technique doing double work: it establishes Bloom's physical reality while simultaneously indicting the world's obsession with cataloguing bodies like his. A novel called Bloom about a man who has spent four decades contracting, making himself smaller, invisible, apologetic, announces its central irony before the first chapter is finished.
The plot, stripped bare, sounds like a self-help pamphlet. Man has crisis. Man finds therapist. Man joins gym. Man loses weight. Man finds love. But Burton understands something most feel-good narratives miss: transformation is unglamorous, granular, and slow. It looks like a kitchen purge, six garbage bags of Cap'n Crunch and Sugar Frosted Flakes and Pop Tarts and Cocoa Puffs driven to a dump. The reader who remembers that these were named lovingly in Chapter 1 as the foods of Bloom's childhood, the foods his mother gave him, feels the weight of what is being thrown away. And it is not calories.
The novel's greatest structural gift is Agnes Dellacourt. Elderly, Black, Southern-inflected, cigar-smoking, Renoir-loving, and possessed of a Chanel suit for every emotional occasion, Agnes is the first person in Bloom's life who sees him clearly. She sees the man beneath the weight, beneath the loneliness, beneath the meticulously maintained routines of a life designed to keep the world at arm's length. She sees all of it in a single fifty-minute session. Warm without being soft, clinical without being cold, she pivots without warning from cheerful irreverence to the flat, sudden question "Michael, do you ever think of suicide?", and the reader feels the shift the way Bloom does: a trapdoor opening in perfectly ordinary floor. She saw something. We are not entirely sure what. That precision of mystery is the point.
Agnes is also, consistently, the novel's funniest character. Her frilly white top with the big blue bow. Her wry delight on learning that her gym referral led directly to a bedroom. Her pros and cons list, weighed with equal gravity between Marvin Gaye and Barry Manilow, that ends in a coin toss because, as she correctly diagnoses, some decisions live below the reach of reason. The coin lands. Bloom looks at it and feels something unexpected: relief. That single word is the novel's bravest. It tells us everything the coin cannot. Bloom has chosen Tabitha. Some part of him needed it to land there. The reader senses, correctly, that the story is not quite over.
Cole Parker, the gym owner who becomes Bloom's love, is introduced with formal brilliance: his face hidden behind a Covid mask for almost their entire first encounter, assembled feature by feature, the diamond studs catching the light, the deep warm voice, the sepia almond-shaped eyes glimpsed for just an instant. The reader falls for Cole the way Bloom does, gradually, almost against his will. When Bloom thinks he might be falling in love, the recognition arrives the way the truest recognitions do: sideways, as surprise. It is the only register that would work for a man who has spent forty years guarding himself from this particular feeling.
Cole's arc is the novel's most psychologically complex achievement, and its most politically honest. A wealthy, prominent, publicly masculine Black man in his fifties, Cole has kept his sexuality managed rather than inhabited, operating on the down low. His argument, delivered in a hammock, that being gay is "a white thing," is the product of a specific history, a specific community, a specific set of pressures that Bloom, for all his intelligence and all his own suffering, has simply never had to contend with in the same way. Burton writes Cole as a man shaped by forces, and in doing so makes his eventual declaration down the synagogue aisle something genuinely costly, therefore genuinely moving. The asymmetry between Bloom's freedom and Cole's persistent inability to grant himself the same is the novel's central tension, named without editorialising. That restraint is what gives it force.
The conversation about race and attraction in Chapter 8 is the novel's most important dialogue, and it earns that distinction. When Bloom uses the word "specimen" and Cole immediately, surgically pushes back, "Like a test sample in a science project?", the novel establishes that this relationship will hold both men accountable, and it does so before they have even kissed. That quality elevates what might have been a straightforward late-life romance into something considerably more honest about the politics of desire.
Tabitha Gould, Bloom's long-time sexual partner, is one of the novel's richest comic creations. A woman who has assembled her face from other women's best features: nose like Streisand, lips like Jolie, chin like Witherspoon. A woman whose marriage proposal is motivated primarily by a corporate acquisition of the Hetty Pig brand. Her deepest love has always been consistent and honest. She has simply been honest about the wrong things. "Ditto," she says, for her wedding vows. The most Tabitha sentence in the novel, and somehow, almost generous.
The wedding chapter is a masterclass in sustained farce that holds the human emotion underneath it without flinching. Rabbi Shulman has a bris in Waban at 6:30. The rings are in a purse. Winnie runs up the aisle. The ring rattles on the floor. And beneath all of it, Bloom walking toward a life he chose with his head, because his heart was pointing somewhere the rest of him was not yet ready to follow. Burton earns every comic beat because the stakes beneath them have been so patiently built across eleven chapters.
On the way to that wedding, Bloom stops the limousine at McDonald's. He orders a Quarter Pounder, large fries, a Coke, chocolate chip cookies. It is ceremony. An old friend, ordered one final time, before the life about to begin. The man who filled six garbage bags with his childhood and drove them to a dump is allowing himself one last meal of the person he used to be. There is more dignity in that stop than in anything that happens inside the synagogue.
Where Bloom falters, it falters consistently and in ways revision could address. Burton's most persistent habit is announcing feelings the prose has already earned. "He was having conflicting feelings" arrives after a scene that has spent pages demonstrating exactly which feelings those are. The novel occasionally loses trust in itself, reaching for the explicit statement when the image has already spoken more eloquently. A recurring agricultural metaphor, deployed to describe Bloom's physical desire for Cole, sits oddly against the novel's otherwise urban, literary prose voice. These are the problems of a writer whose instincts are strong and whose second impulse is sometimes to explain the first one. The revision note is simply: resist.
The levitation sequence that closes the novel, Bloom and Cole's kiss lifting them through the synagogue skylight and into flight, is the right instinct and the novel's most uneven execution. The passage holds the lyrical and the explicitly physical in the same hand but has not yet learned to grip them equally. This is the novel's one unfinished room. It knows where it wants to go. It needs one more careful pass to arrive.
But then: Cole Parker walking down that aisle saying the names aloud. Bayard Rustin. James Baldwin. Langston Hughes. Alvin Ailey. Men whose names he has been reluctant to claim all novel long, announced now in front of a congregation of lawyers and Hetty Pig enthusiasts, because a man he loves is about to marry the wrong person. He is declaring himself. For the first time. In public. At full cost. That this costs him everything he spent fifty years quietly protecting is the measure of what Bloom has done to him, which is exactly what Agnes did to Bloom: made him too honest to keep hiding.
Bloom is a novel about claiming a life before it is too late. A story about the quiet, irreversible, terrifying decision to stop letting your life happen to you and start making it yourself. It holds comedy and grief in the same hand without dropping either, and it does what Burton's first novel, Jacob's Letters, suggested he might one day do: it takes a man nobody would cast as anyone's hero and watches him, slowly, at real cost, become the hero of his own story.
He had blossomed.
Three words. Twelve chapters. Every one of them earned.
November 3, 2025
This book surprised me. What begins as a story about weight loss turns into something much deeper, a meditation on loneliness, love, and what it means to truly change.
March 23, 2026
Bloom by Curtis Andrew Burton is a bold, unconventional novel that blends dark humor, romance, and personal transformation into a fast-paced and often surprising narrative. At just 154 pages, it delivers a story that is both provocative and emotionally layered.
The protagonist, Michael Bloom, is a deeply flawed yet compelling character—a gay, obese college instructor grappling with grief, self-image, and destructive habits. His cousin’s mysterious death becomes a wake-up call, pushing him toward change, though not always in healthy or predictable ways. Burton does a strong job of portraying Bloom’s internal struggles, making him feel real even when his decisions are questionable.
One of the novel’s most striking elements is its exploration of relationships—particularly Bloom’s toxic dynamic with Tabitha Gould. Their connection is intense, unsettling, and at times darkly comedic, reflecting themes of control, obsession, and dependency. In contrast, Bloom’s relationship with Cole Parker offers a different kind of emotional depth, though it too is complicated and imperfect.
The writing style is sharp and often humorous, with moments that feel exaggerated yet purposeful. Burton leans into absurdity at times, especially in the book’s more dramatic twists, which may divide readers—some will appreciate the unpredictability, while others may find it over-the-top.
Overall, Bloom is a daring and unconventional read that won’t appeal to everyone, but for those who enjoy character-driven stories with dark humor and messy, realistic relationships, it offers a unique experience. It’s a story about transformation—not just physical, but emotional—and the difficult, often chaotic path toward self-awareness.
The protagonist, Michael Bloom, is a deeply flawed yet compelling character—a gay, obese college instructor grappling with grief, self-image, and destructive habits. His cousin’s mysterious death becomes a wake-up call, pushing him toward change, though not always in healthy or predictable ways. Burton does a strong job of portraying Bloom’s internal struggles, making him feel real even when his decisions are questionable.
One of the novel’s most striking elements is its exploration of relationships—particularly Bloom’s toxic dynamic with Tabitha Gould. Their connection is intense, unsettling, and at times darkly comedic, reflecting themes of control, obsession, and dependency. In contrast, Bloom’s relationship with Cole Parker offers a different kind of emotional depth, though it too is complicated and imperfect.
The writing style is sharp and often humorous, with moments that feel exaggerated yet purposeful. Burton leans into absurdity at times, especially in the book’s more dramatic twists, which may divide readers—some will appreciate the unpredictability, while others may find it over-the-top.
Overall, Bloom is a daring and unconventional read that won’t appeal to everyone, but for those who enjoy character-driven stories with dark humor and messy, realistic relationships, it offers a unique experience. It’s a story about transformation—not just physical, but emotional—and the difficult, often chaotic path toward self-awareness.
March 23, 2026
Curtis Andrew Burton’s Bloom is a bold, unconventional novel that blends humor, romance, and personal transformation in a way that feels both messy and deeply human. At its core, the story follows Michael Bloom, a flawed but compelling protagonist whose journey toward self-awareness is anything but straightforward.
What makes Bloom stand out is its willingness to tackle uncomfortable themes—body image, dependency, and the complicated intersections of love and desire. Michael’s relationship with Tabitha is intense and often unsettling, highlighting the blurred lines between emotional need and self-destruction. In contrast, his connection with Cole introduces a different kind of vulnerability, though it’s just as imperfect and fleeting.
Burton writes with a sharp, often dark sense of humor that keeps the story engaging even when the subject matter becomes heavy. The characters are exaggerated at times, but that seems intentional, reinforcing the novel’s almost satirical tone. Not every moment feels polished, but that rawness adds to the authenticity of Michael’s journey.
The plot takes unexpected turns—especially toward the end—which may feel chaotic to some readers, but it ultimately reflects the unpredictability of real-life relationships and personal growth. If there’s a weakness, it’s that certain character arcs could have been developed more deeply, leaving a few emotional beats feeling rushed.
Overall, Bloom is a provocative and memorable read that won’t appeal to everyone, but for those open to its eccentricities, it offers a unique mix of humor, discomfort, and insight into the struggle for self-change.
What makes Bloom stand out is its willingness to tackle uncomfortable themes—body image, dependency, and the complicated intersections of love and desire. Michael’s relationship with Tabitha is intense and often unsettling, highlighting the blurred lines between emotional need and self-destruction. In contrast, his connection with Cole introduces a different kind of vulnerability, though it’s just as imperfect and fleeting.
Burton writes with a sharp, often dark sense of humor that keeps the story engaging even when the subject matter becomes heavy. The characters are exaggerated at times, but that seems intentional, reinforcing the novel’s almost satirical tone. Not every moment feels polished, but that rawness adds to the authenticity of Michael’s journey.
The plot takes unexpected turns—especially toward the end—which may feel chaotic to some readers, but it ultimately reflects the unpredictability of real-life relationships and personal growth. If there’s a weakness, it’s that certain character arcs could have been developed more deeply, leaving a few emotional beats feeling rushed.
Overall, Bloom is a provocative and memorable read that won’t appeal to everyone, but for those open to its eccentricities, it offers a unique mix of humor, discomfort, and insight into the struggle for self-change.
March 23, 2026
Bloom by Curtis Andrew Burton is a bold, unconventional novel that blends dark humor, romance, and personal transformation into a compact but striking story.
At its core, the book follows Michael Bloom, a deeply flawed yet compelling protagonist whose life is shaped by grief, insecurity, and complicated relationships. His journey—sparked by the unsettling death of his cousin—pushes him toward change, both physically and emotionally. What makes this novel stand out is how unapologetically it leans into discomfort: the dynamics between Bloom and Tabitha are intense and often unsettling, while his connection with Cole introduces a different, more vulnerable side of him.
Burton’s writing is sharp and at times provocative, using humor to offset heavier themes like self-worth, addiction (both emotional and physical), and identity. The characters are messy and imperfect, which makes them feel real, even when their decisions are frustrating or extreme.
The plot moves quickly, and at just over 150 pages, it’s a fast read—but one that still manages to pack in surprising twists, especially toward the end. Some readers may find the story chaotic or the relationships exaggerated, but others will appreciate its unpredictability and rawness.
Overall, Bloom is not a conventional romance or comedy. It’s a story about transformation, desire, and the complicated ways people try to fill the gaps in their lives. If you enjoy character-driven narratives with dark humor and unconventional relationships, this book is definitely worth checking out.
At its core, the book follows Michael Bloom, a deeply flawed yet compelling protagonist whose life is shaped by grief, insecurity, and complicated relationships. His journey—sparked by the unsettling death of his cousin—pushes him toward change, both physically and emotionally. What makes this novel stand out is how unapologetically it leans into discomfort: the dynamics between Bloom and Tabitha are intense and often unsettling, while his connection with Cole introduces a different, more vulnerable side of him.
Burton’s writing is sharp and at times provocative, using humor to offset heavier themes like self-worth, addiction (both emotional and physical), and identity. The characters are messy and imperfect, which makes them feel real, even when their decisions are frustrating or extreme.
The plot moves quickly, and at just over 150 pages, it’s a fast read—but one that still manages to pack in surprising twists, especially toward the end. Some readers may find the story chaotic or the relationships exaggerated, but others will appreciate its unpredictability and rawness.
Overall, Bloom is not a conventional romance or comedy. It’s a story about transformation, desire, and the complicated ways people try to fill the gaps in their lives. If you enjoy character-driven narratives with dark humor and unconventional relationships, this book is definitely worth checking out.
March 23, 2026
Bloom is a bold, unconventional novel that blends humor, romance, and self-discovery in a way that feels both refreshing and deeply human. Curtis Andrew Burton delivers a story that isn’t afraid to explore complex themes—body image, sexuality, emotional dependency, and personal transformation—through a protagonist who is as flawed as he is relatable.
Michael Bloom stands out as a compelling central character. His journey begins with fear—sparked by his cousin’s mysterious death—but quickly evolves into something more layered. His struggle with weight, identity, and relationships feels authentic, often uncomfortable, yet ultimately engaging. The dynamic between Bloom and Tabitha Gould is particularly striking, offering a mix of dark humor and emotional tension that keeps the narrative unpredictable.
The introduction of Cole Parker adds another dimension to the story, bringing both warmth and complexity. Their connection feels real, even when it falters, highlighting the novel’s underlying message: growth is rarely linear, and relationships don’t always resolve neatly.
What makes Bloom stand out is its fearless approach to messy, imperfect lives. The humor is sharp, sometimes biting, and the romance is anything but traditional. Burton doesn’t offer easy answers, but instead presents a story about confronting one’s habits, desires, and fears head-on.
Overall, Bloom is an engaging and thought-provoking read that will resonate with readers who appreciate character-driven stories and aren’t afraid of a little chaos along the way.
Michael Bloom stands out as a compelling central character. His journey begins with fear—sparked by his cousin’s mysterious death—but quickly evolves into something more layered. His struggle with weight, identity, and relationships feels authentic, often uncomfortable, yet ultimately engaging. The dynamic between Bloom and Tabitha Gould is particularly striking, offering a mix of dark humor and emotional tension that keeps the narrative unpredictable.
The introduction of Cole Parker adds another dimension to the story, bringing both warmth and complexity. Their connection feels real, even when it falters, highlighting the novel’s underlying message: growth is rarely linear, and relationships don’t always resolve neatly.
What makes Bloom stand out is its fearless approach to messy, imperfect lives. The humor is sharp, sometimes biting, and the romance is anything but traditional. Burton doesn’t offer easy answers, but instead presents a story about confronting one’s habits, desires, and fears head-on.
Overall, Bloom is an engaging and thought-provoking read that will resonate with readers who appreciate character-driven stories and aren’t afraid of a little chaos along the way.
March 23, 2026
While Bloom aims to be a humorous and heartfelt exploration of self-improvement and love, it doesn’t always hit the mark. The premise is compelling a man confronting his health and identity after a family tragedy but the execution can feel uneven.
The protagonist’s voice, though intentionally comedic, may come across as overly self-indulgent, making it difficult for some readers to fully connect with him. Additionally, the relationships in the story—particularly the dynamic with Tabitha—can feel exaggerated to the point of implausibility.
Although the novel attempts to balance humor with deeper themes, the tone sometimes wavers, leaving the emotional impact less effective than intended. Despite its ambition and originality, Bloom may work better for readers who enjoy eccentric storytelling rather than those seeking a more grounded romance.
The protagonist’s voice, though intentionally comedic, may come across as overly self-indulgent, making it difficult for some readers to fully connect with him. Additionally, the relationships in the story—particularly the dynamic with Tabitha—can feel exaggerated to the point of implausibility.
Although the novel attempts to balance humor with deeper themes, the tone sometimes wavers, leaving the emotional impact less effective than intended. Despite its ambition and originality, Bloom may work better for readers who enjoy eccentric storytelling rather than those seeking a more grounded romance.
March 23, 2026
Curtis Andrew Burton’s Bloom offers an intriguing premise and a cast of bold, unconventional characters, but the execution can feel uneven. Michael’s internal struggle with his health and relationships is relatable, yet the pacing sometimes rushes through key emotional beats. The love triangle (or triangle-adjacent dynamic) between Bloom, Tabitha, and Cole has potential, though it occasionally leans more into shock value than depth. That said, the book’s humor and willingness to tackle taboo topics make it stand out. It’s a fast read with moments of insight, even if it doesn’t fully deliver on all its ideas.
March 23, 2026
This book is wild in the best way. Bloom throws you into Michael’s chaotic life and doesn’t let up. One minute it’s funny, the next it’s awkward, and then suddenly it gets really emotional.
Michael is the kind of character you don’t always like but you can’t stop reading about him. His relationships with Tabitha and Cole are messy, dramatic, and sometimes downright unbelievable, but that’s part of the appeal.
If you like stories that mix romance with humor and aren’t afraid to get a little weird, this is worth checking out. Just don’t expect a neat, predictable ending this book thrives on drama.
Michael is the kind of character you don’t always like but you can’t stop reading about him. His relationships with Tabitha and Cole are messy, dramatic, and sometimes downright unbelievable, but that’s part of the appeal.
If you like stories that mix romance with humor and aren’t afraid to get a little weird, this is worth checking out. Just don’t expect a neat, predictable ending this book thrives on drama.
March 23, 2026
If you like your romance a little weird and a lot chaotic, Bloom might be your thing. This book doesn’t hold back awkward situations, bold characters, and some truly wild relationship drama.
The humor is the highlight here. Michael’s inner dialogue is packed with sarcastic, self-deprecating observations that make even the most uncomfortable moments funny. That said, the story sometimes feels like it’s trying to outdo itself in terms of shock value.
Still, it’s an entertaining read that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Come for the drama, stay for the laughs and maybe a little unexpected heart along the way.
The humor is the highlight here. Michael’s inner dialogue is packed with sarcastic, self-deprecating observations that make even the most uncomfortable moments funny. That said, the story sometimes feels like it’s trying to outdo itself in terms of shock value.
Still, it’s an entertaining read that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Come for the drama, stay for the laughs and maybe a little unexpected heart along the way.
September 4, 2025
what an thoroughly strange book. every single character interaction was bizarre and unbelievable. maybe people like this exist in the real world, but i'm glad to have never encountered any of them. Tabitha shouting "Hettie Pig," Mike shouting "HUZZAH!," the therapist asking Mike to take his shirt off, Mike getting boners during swimming lessons from his love interests CHILDREN. wtf? thanks to Goodreads for the free copy of this book, but it's definitely not a book I would ever recommend to anybody...
March 2, 2026
Bloom delivers plenty of shock value and dramatic moments, especially in its exploration of obsession and impulsive decisions. The premise is intriguing, and the characters are certainly memorable.
However, the pacing can feel abrupt, and some emotional transitions happen so quickly that they lack depth. The relationship dynamics, while intense, may not resonate with all readers.
That said, fans of quirky, dramatic fiction with adult themes may still find it engaging, especially if they enjoy messy, character-driven narratives.
However, the pacing can feel abrupt, and some emotional transitions happen so quickly that they lack depth. The relationship dynamics, while intense, may not resonate with all readers.
That said, fans of quirky, dramatic fiction with adult themes may still find it engaging, especially if they enjoy messy, character-driven narratives.
March 16, 2026
Bloom is a bold and unconventional story that mixes humor, romance, and personal growth. Curtis Andrew Burton creates a flawed but relatable protagonist in Michael Bloom, whose struggle with weight, relationships, and self-worth drives the narrative. The dynamic between Bloom, Tabitha, and Cole adds emotional tension and unexpected twists. The novel’s mix of satire and heartfelt moments makes it both entertaining and thought-provoking. Readers who enjoy quirky romance with complex characters will likely find Bloom a memorable read.
March 16, 2026
Bloom is a witty and surprisingly heartfelt story about self-discovery and transformation. The protagonist, Michael Bloom, is a flawed but relatable character whose struggles with weight, relationships, and identity make the story feel very human. Curtis Andrew Burton blends humor with emotional depth, creating a narrative that is both entertaining and thoughtful. The dynamic between Bloom, Tabitha, and Cole adds tension and unpredictability, keeping readers engaged until the final pages. It’s a quick but memorable read that explores love, change, and personal growth.
March 21, 2026
Bloom is a wildly unconventional and entertaining ride. Michael Bloom is messy, flawed, and deeply human, making his journey both humorous and surprisingly touching. The book balances dark comedy with emotional growth, exploring themes of self-worth, body image, and complicated relationships in a bold way. The dynamic between Michael, Tabitha Gould, and Cole Parker keeps the story unpredictable and engaging. If you enjoy edgy humor mixed with romance and self-discovery, this book is definitely worth the read.
March 23, 2026
Bloom by Curtis Andrew Burton is a bold and unconventional novel that blends humor, romance, and personal transformation. The story follows Michael Bloom as he confronts his health, identity, and complicated relationships after a family tragedy. Burton’s writing is sharp and often darkly funny, exploring themes of self-acceptance, desire, and change. While some moments feel exaggerated or chaotic, the characters are memorable and the plot keeps you engaged. Overall, it’s a quirky and thought-provoking read that won’t appeal to everyone, but stands out for its originality.
March 23, 2026
Bloom aims to be a bold, provocative story about self-destruction and reinvention, but it often feels more chaotic than cohesive. The protagonist’s journey lacks the depth needed to make his transformation believable, and the relationships particularly with Tabitha and Cole come across as exaggerated rather than nuanced. The plot takes abrupt turns that can feel more jarring than impactful, leaving little room for meaningful character development. While the book’s premise is intriguing, the execution may leave readers wanting a more grounded and emotionally satisfying narrative.
March 23, 2026
Bloom is a bold, unconventional story that mixes humor, romance, and self-discovery in a way that feels fresh and unpredictable. Michael Bloom is a deeply flawed yet relatable protagonist whose journey through weight loss, identity, and complicated relationships keeps you hooked. The dynamic between Bloom, Tabitha, and Cole adds emotional tension and plenty of drama. Burton isn’t afraid to push boundaries, and while some moments feel over-the-top, that’s part of the charm. A unique, character-driven read for those who enjoy messy, real human experiences.
March 24, 2026
Bloom is a sharp, darkly funny exploration of self-destruction, desire, and second chances. Curtis Andrew Burton creates a flawed but compelling protagonist in Michael Bloom, whose struggles with weight, identity, and relationships feel painfully real yet often hilarious. The dynamic between Bloom, Tabitha, and Cole adds layers of tension and unpredictability that keep the story moving at a brisk pace. Despite its heavy themes, the novel maintains a witty tone that makes it an engaging, quick read. A bold and unconventional story that stands out in contemporary fiction.
March 24, 2026
This book has an intriguing premise and a unique cast of characters, but it doesn’t always fully deliver on its potential. Michael Bloom’s journey is relatable in parts, especially his internal conflicts, but some of the relationships—particularly with Tabitha—can feel exaggerated or underdeveloped. The humor lands well at times, though it occasionally clashes with the darker subject matter. Still, Bloom is an entertaining read with enough originality to keep you turning the pages, even if it feels uneven in execution.
March 16, 2026
While Bloom has an intriguing premise, the execution feels uneven. The characters are colorful but sometimes exaggerated to the point of distraction, and the pacing can feel rushed in places. Michael Bloom’s journey toward self-improvement is interesting, but the relationships particularly with Tabitha and Colecan feel chaotic rather than meaningful. Although the book contains moments of humor and insight, the story may not fully resonate with readers looking for a more cohesive narrative.
March 16, 2026
Bloom is a strange but engaging novel that blends comedy, romance, and personal reflection. Michael Bloom is a deeply flawed protagonist, which makes his journey both frustrating and compelling. The story explores themes of body image, sexuality, and dependency in relationships. Some scenes are over-the-top, yet the book’s boldness gives it personality. It won’t appeal to everyone, but readers who enjoy unconventional character-driven fiction may appreciate Burton’s unique approach.
March 18, 2026
Bloom is a bold, uncomfortable read that leans into messy characters and complicated relationships. Michael isn’t meant to be likable, but his struggles with identity, control, and loneliness feel real enough to keep you invested.
The dynamics, especially with Tabitha, are intense and sometimes unsettling, which won’t work for everyone. The pacing also feels a bit rushed toward the end.
Overall, it’s not an easy read, but it’s definitely a memorable one if you’re open to something a little darker and unconventional.
The dynamics, especially with Tabitha, are intense and sometimes unsettling, which won’t work for everyone. The pacing also feels a bit rushed toward the end.
Overall, it’s not an easy read, but it’s definitely a memorable one if you’re open to something a little darker and unconventional.
March 18, 2026
Bloom was a simple yet meaningful read that really stayed with me. I appreciated how it explores themes of growth, healing, and self-discovery in a very relatable way.
The writing is easy to connect with, and some moments felt genuinely powerful. While I wished for a bit more depth in certain parts, the overall message still comes through clearly.
It’s a quick read, but one that makes you pause and reflect.
The writing is easy to connect with, and some moments felt genuinely powerful. While I wished for a bit more depth in certain parts, the overall message still comes through clearly.
It’s a quick read, but one that makes you pause and reflect.
March 23, 2026
This novel thrives on its larger-than-life characters and dramatic twists, but it can feel a bit over-the-top at times. Michael Bloom’s transformation is interesting, though not always fully convincing. The relationships particularly with Tabitha and Cole are intense and unpredictable, which keeps the story engaging, even if it sometimes sacrifices realism. Overall, it’s entertaining but may not resonate with readers looking for subtle storytelling.
March 23, 2026
Bloom is a bold and unconventional story that mixes humor, romance, and self-discovery in a refreshing way. Curtis Andrew Burton creates a flawed but relatable protagonist in Michael Bloom, whose journey toward self-improvement is both messy and heartfelt. The characters are eccentric yet memorable, especially Tabitha and Cole, who bring chaos and depth to the story. It’s a witty, fast-paced read that balances absurdity with genuine emotional moments.
March 23, 2026
Bloom is a bold and unconventional story that mixes humor, romance, and personal transformation. Curtis Andrew Burton explores complex themes like body image, desire, and self-worth through a flawed but engaging protagonist. The relationships are messy and provocative, which keeps the story unpredictable. While not for everyone, the book stands out for its originality and dark humor in a compact, fast-paced read.
July 20, 2025
Bloom
Great book reminds you that in any relationship to always have to be true to yourself and be happy or move on.Michael Bloom had to make changes in his relationship for the better and it involved breaking up with Tabitha and meeting someone else. Recommend this romance book its hard to put down because all the twist.
Great book reminds you that in any relationship to always have to be true to yourself and be happy or move on.Michael Bloom had to make changes in his relationship for the better and it involved breaking up with Tabitha and meeting someone else. Recommend this romance book its hard to put down because all the twist.
March 16, 2026
This novel balances humor and messy human relationships in a way that feels very real. Michael’s struggle with his habits, his complicated relationship with Tabitha, and his unexpected connection with Cole create a story that is unpredictable and engaging. The author does a great job showing how people can grow when life forces them to face uncomfortable truths.
March 23, 2026
While Bloom has an intriguing premise, the execution falls short in places. The humor can feel forced, and some plot developments especially toward the ending seem rushed or overly dramatic. The characters, though unique, are not always deeply developed, making it hard to fully invest in their journeys. It’s a book with potential, but it doesn’t quite deliver a cohesive or satisfying narrative.
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