Beach Read

 

Beach Read 

By Emily Henry

I picked up Beach Read on a flight to Texas, figuring I could finally finish it in the air. It started off lighthearted, almost Hallmark-y… and, if you don’t already know, I’m a hopeless romantic at heart.

The cover promises: “A breath of fresh air… steamy, smart, and perceptive.” Honestly? I wouldn’t have chosen those exact words.

Here I was, trapped in the middle seat, flanked by two chatty strangers who clearly didn’t understand the sacredness of plane reading. I even tried the classic desperate move…asking if one of them would swap seats. Spoiler: nope. Social cues? Ignored.

For about the first 150 pages, I was hooked. On the surface, it’s a seemingly perfect summer romance: two writers with creative block, January Andrews and Gus Everett, become neighbors and agree to swap genres. She’ll attempt literary fiction, he’ll tackle romance. Cute, right?

But… then the book dives into every. single. mundane. detail. Multi-page debates about attending events…should we go or not go…the logistical details of how they will get there, detailed travel plans, and how every minor interaction must reflect their feelings. And in between, every step of the way is interspersed with information on how January is feeling, how she thinks Gus must be feeling, and what this means for their relationship. I contemplated several times if I could even go on reading it…I did.

I don’t have high standards for a romcom. I like a little romance and some comedy. This book, however, offers neither in any satisfying way. Instead, it reads like a meditation on grief, healing, and the courage to confront vulnerability…complete with death, suicide, adultery, and cancer. And, ironically, despite the title, there’s zero reading on the beach.

Where’s the flirty banter? The sexual tension? The obstacles to overcome? I kept waiting for a spark, a laugh, anything remotely exciting…honestly, the airplane turbulence felt more thrilling than the plot.

After page 150, Beach Read became boring…unless, of course, I really was reading it on a beach, in a charming seaside cottage, next to the sexiest writing partner ever. If that’s your life, this might just be your summer fantasy. For the rest of us… maybe bring headphones. Or a better book.