A real festival of pants, and not in a good or sexy way.
On the plus side, it's easy to read. Mostly, it wasn't hard to pick up and continue reading. It's not that it was entertaining, but it wasn't hardgoing either. It's not interesting, but nor is it exactly boring. What it is is totally, agressively banal.
I have no problem with romantic stories and/or fluff - I love a good romcom, I consume ludicrous murder mysteries at a rate of noughts. But here, firstly, there is scarcely any plot - they are both incredibly beautiful, they meet and they like each other instantly and basically they keep on liking each other till the end. Some really nice things happen to them and those around them, some candid conversations are had, and that's about it. There's no peril, no suspense, no vinegar, nothing to grab on to for interest. Plot-wise, this isn't a short story never mind 300+ pages.
Ok then so what about the characters? Well about two thirds of the book is us inside their heads listening to their internal monologues - and unforunately they turn out to be two of the most boring people in fiction. Endlessly talking to themselves about themselves in endless cliches, round and round we go, listening to them tell themselves why they can't be together, even though they clearly can and so end up coming across as navel-gazing idiots. There are ostensible reasons why she, in particular, "can't" get involved with him but it's clearly nonsense from the off - the only reason they aren't together from the first night they meet is because the writer needs to spin this out for 321 pages. It feels neverending.
There's also a plot hook, incredibly undercooked, about faking being his fiancee to satisfy his parents. This should be a classic romcom device, and a vehicle for some nice light comedy. But no - the writer forgets to do the com and plays it completely straight and sincere. It's like a shadow of a comedy: it has the shape of one but none of the content or features - indeed no content or features at all, just an off-colour, novel-shaped blob where an actual novel (with a story, characters) should be. And the writing is horrible - no one can think or talk in this book except in the most glib and cliched, heavy-handed, militantly unhumourous ways.
After all the treacle of these idealised 2D stick figures being really gorgeous and really nice to each other and really caring about each other and being really nice to each other's family/friends/students and making each other better people (we know this coz the narrative is CONSTANTLY telling us that this is happening, without any actual evidence) and changing the lives of underprivileged black teenagers and being really sensitive and socially conscious and 'hating inequality' despite being the most staggeringly privileged and vacuous twats in England - after all this, I felt like I'd eaten a triple portion of candyfloss: full of sickly sweet, but completely malnourished. I went straight to a nasty hardboiled crime novel just to clean up and cleanse the pallette. And I haven't even talked about our main character's dreary group of galpals, who all love and support each other totally and completely (again, we are told this a LOT) via the medium of suffocating niceness and witless, humour-free bants.
Horrible.