My sincere apologies to any reader who loved this book, and clicked on this review either by accident or from curiosity about how anyone could think badly of it. I’m not apologising for my negative review, so much as for the fact that I knew from page five that it would be a negative review, and instead of closing the Kindle sample I purchased the book, continued reading, and proceeded to spend quite a lot of my one wild and precious life composing this screed about its badness. In other words, I knowingly and actively hate-read it, and all I can say in my own justification is that I do enjoy a good hate-read. It’s perverse and twisted, but it is a fact.
To clarify, I’m not a total masochist. I start every romance novel hoping it’s my next The Blue Castle. Whether the vast quantities of novels that fail to clear that bar is about me, or about the romance publishing industry, I leave it to history to decide.
Back to that fifth page. This is what I read on page five:
‘No one dares to consider that the venture-capitalist money that had poured in, so much endless cash that it had instilled an overblown sense of possibility and security and allowed the twenty- six-year-old founder to increase staff from twenty-seven to seventy-four people over just the last year (and buy a cherry-red Maserati along the way), would be mismanaged by the team at the top, and totally gone, just like that. At least, I didn’t.’
This is the voice of the female lead, Franny. The book is written in the first person, from two perspectives, the male and female leads, because of course it is. God forbid we allow for any uncertainty or mystery or intrigue such as is gained from the third fucking person, or being kept in the dark about at least one character’s every unreconstructed thought process.
This heroine, Franny, is presumably someone I’m supposed to root for or empathise with or, ideally, both. Yet here she is, telling me that when a venture-capital funded interior design start-up has catastrophically failed this came as a huge surprise to her. I’m sorry, did you just arrive on the planet? And it’s not like she works in IT or HR or something – she’s in the creative department, of interior designers. So you might imagine she’d realise that interior design – generally an enterprise undertaken by reputable individuals, because it’s a very individual career – isn’t amenable to an app-based start up. I know that, and I don’t work in tech, start-ups, New York, or interior design. I also know that VC money is entirely insane and that the Zuckerbergian anti-labour philosophy of ‘creative disruption’ stands only for dangerous deregulation. If I know this, why doesn’t this character, who works in it?!
Throughout the book, the author demonstrates the same blithe disregard for, like, reality, in Franny and many other characters. One interchangeable best friend character is into astrology, but in a serious way where she uses star charts to plan her holidays and shit. That’s not quirky, that’s concerning. Franny and said identikit pals also subscribe to a DNA testing kit, which proves pivotal to a very boringly-executed subplot about Franny’s birth family that is only enlivened by the fact that not one single one of them realises they’ve signed away crucial medical data and rights to same to the same brand of lunatic VC start-up bros that tanked Franny’s job on page five. Good luck getting health insurance in the non-socialised medicine hellscape of America in twenty years, Franny and Co.!
The writing in this novel, on a sentence-level, is barely passable. That memo about breaking up dialogue with small action beats sure has been making the rounds, and Spencer took notes. Unfortunately, they were all the same note: have people eat and talk at the same time in every passage of dialogue. I dunno about America, but where I come from, that shit is bad manners.
‘“Of course not,” Hayes said between sips.’
‘Perrine said the words through a mouthful of lettuce.’
Perrine is always eating fucking lettuce. It’s very important that you know that, because it comes up a lot.
Spencer is also unclear about what verbs do, i.e., convey meaning.
‘shuffled into the bathroom’
Was the sex that bad?!
‘I promise you it’s worth the walk to Court Street for these bagels,” I said as we trudged down’
Wow, you really don’t want to be on this date … huh?
‘I tossed my giant binder outlining our launch party on Eleanor’s desk.’
Rude.
Except, in these scenes, Franny is a) blissfully post-coital, b) really enjoying a date with Hayes, and c) excited to show Eleanor her plans. The words. Are. Wrong.
‘Adelphi and Willoughby, a buzzed- about new restaurant in Brooklyn.’
What is this grammar, please?
The writing also makes ample use of a particular hate-trend of mine, which is having characters voice their every thought about everything in a subpar version of modernist stream-of-consciousness narrative. (Note, I don’t like that either, but at least it’s an active style choice.) Before I give an example, I’ll note that this crime is not exclusive to Kate Spencer, but just like the interminable first person POV it seems to have taken hold of the romance genre with the explicit desire to strip-mine it of all subtlety and nuance.
‘What had Perrine called it when she’d cut her hair short a few years ago? A bob? The first thought that had popped into my mind when I’d turned and seen the woman frantically wrestling with her dress was how my hands would fit perfectly in her curls. I shook my head to get the thought out of my brain, did a few neck rolls to loosen the tension that had settled there. Everything about today was just off.’
How much more interesting would this story be if I didn’t know from the off that both Franny and Hayes had insta-attraction to each other that only grows with each interaction and isn’t spoiled by learning any new information about the other? Exponentially, that’s how much.
Also, Spencer is playing Representation Bingo with her otherwise undeveloped, plotless side-characters, and I think she won.
‘“I’m pretty sure I know my results already,” Cleo said with a scoff. Both sets of her grandparents had emigrated from Korea. “And I’m going to be, like ninety- nine percent Ashkenazi,” Lola said, laughing. “But you never know! One of my interns found a whole set of cousins they didn’t know about.”’
‘Born in Hong Kong and raised in the UK before moving to the States for college, Henry oozed worldly sophistication without an ounce of douchebaggery. He was a real unicorn.’
The tremendous, unaccountable love Franny has for her faultless friends is possibly admirable, but in fact I found it grating, and also lazy. It’s super convenient that a lawyer and a … social media socialite question mark, can always be available, supportive, and cheerful while Franny spills beverages on multiple items of clothing and thinks she’s Quirky O’Clock when she’s on the slow train to Conventionalville. Hayes and his cousin and his ‘work wife’ (ugh) are no better. It really saves Spencer from having to, you know, write them a story or develop an interaction. I wouldn’t want her to get a cramp in her hands, I mean, it must be hard enough justifying why the lead characters plague their friends with dull tales of their minor romantic woes just after hearing pregnancy announcements or news of engagements, without actually having to write it.
‘Lola looked like a sex bomb. But she always looked like a sex bomb, even when she was on my couch in her NYU sweats and streaky day- old mascara, inhaling a Gatorade and an egg- and- cheese on a bagel after a raging night out.’
Ugh.
‘She was decked out in a black silk jumpsuit and sky- high black clogs, but the simplicity of it all made her seem incredibly fancy. In one hand, she held a bag of crackers; a tote bag dangled from the other. I wanted to be her best friend, and I didn’t even know her. “Eleanor Lewis,” she said, bright and self-possessed.’
Double ugh.
‘“Yes, that Franny. As opposed to all the other Frannys we both know.” I don’t think I’d ever met someone more sarcastic, and being on the receiving end was slightly terrifying and also weirdly enjoyable at the same time.’
DO Americans know what sarcasm IS? Asking for a friend.
In the Big Gesture scene, Hayes does an engagement party speech for Perrine and makes it all about himself, which is supreme, and quotes a film he watched with Franny called Moonlighting.
‘I searched again for Franny in the crowd as I talked, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. “Nicolas Cage’s character says, ‘Love doesn’t make things nice— it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren’t here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us.’ Well, you, Perrine and Lola, are as close to perfect as one couple could get. So let’s all raise a glass to love, as messy and imperfect as it can be.”’
Except that’s a flat-out contradiction? On the one hand he's saying love is imperfect - true - and on the other he's saying Perrine and Lola are perfect? Why use a quote about the imperfectability of love, then, you moron?
I’ll close on what I think is the line I most despised in a book composed almost entirely of lines I despised:
‘“That’s what everyone thinks, but [interior design is] about more than just decorating. It’s about creating experiences. Capturing and expressing and inspiring emotions within an environment.”
Excuse me, I wish to quit this universe with immediate effect.