A Novel Love Story
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER ∙ A professor of literature finds herself caught up in a work of fiction . . . literally, from the New York Times bestselling author of The Seven Year Slip and The Dead Romantics.
Eileen Merriweather loves to get lost in a good happily-ever-after. The fictional kind, anyway. Because at least imaginary men don’t leave you at the altar. She feels safe in a book. At home. Which might be why she’s so set on going her annual book club retreat this year—she needs good friends, cheap wine, and grand romantic gestures—no matter what.
But when her car unexpectedly breaks down on the way, she finds herself stranded in a quaint town that feels like it’s right out of a novel . . .
Because it is.
This place can’t be real, and yet… she’s here, in Eloraton, the town of her favorite romance series, where the candy store’s honey taffy is always sweet, the local bar’s burgers are always a little burnt, and rain always comes in the afternoon. It feels like home. It’s perfect—and perfectly frozen, trapped in the late author’s last unfinished story.
Elsy is sure that’s why she must be here: to help bring the town to its storybook ending.
Except there is a character in Eloraton that she can’t place—a grumpy bookstore owner with mint-green eyes, an irritatingly sexy mouth and impeccable taste in novels. And he does not want her finishing this book.
Which is a problem because Elsy is beginning to think the town’s happily-ever-after might just be intertwined with her own.
Eileen Merriweather loves to get lost in a good happily-ever-after. The fictional kind, anyway. Because at least imaginary men don’t leave you at the altar. She feels safe in a book. At home. Which might be why she’s so set on going her annual book club retreat this year—she needs good friends, cheap wine, and grand romantic gestures—no matter what.
But when her car unexpectedly breaks down on the way, she finds herself stranded in a quaint town that feels like it’s right out of a novel . . .
Because it is.
This place can’t be real, and yet… she’s here, in Eloraton, the town of her favorite romance series, where the candy store’s honey taffy is always sweet, the local bar’s burgers are always a little burnt, and rain always comes in the afternoon. It feels like home. It’s perfect—and perfectly frozen, trapped in the late author’s last unfinished story.
Elsy is sure that’s why she must be here: to help bring the town to its storybook ending.
Except there is a character in Eloraton that she can’t place—a grumpy bookstore owner with mint-green eyes, an irritatingly sexy mouth and impeccable taste in novels. And he does not want her finishing this book.
Which is a problem because Elsy is beginning to think the town’s happily-ever-after might just be intertwined with her own.
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Community Reviews
âBecause even after the people were gone, there were still stories. There were always stories. Other people took the heart of her books, and kept them close, and nurtured them and grew into something new, because nothing could ever stay in stasis. Nothing ever stopped. Nothing was permanent. Art lived and breathed, like love, like friendship. Lifeâlike works of artâwas transformative. It persisted. And through them, so did we.â
I think what this book does right is that it illustrates what is wrong with so many contemporary romances. In trying to create an ode to the genre, Poston instead recycles the same overdone tropes and arcs that squash the allure of the things that do make the book unique. Although some of this is clearly intentional, seeing as this is a book set inside of a book, it left for a very predictable read. My only motivation to finish was that I clocked the plot twist so far in advance that I had to see if I was right.
I didn't care for either main character, there wasn't enough urgency in the mystery element (if you're experiencing some sort of magic scenario where you can't get phone service, but then you discover one very weird and specific place where you could, you would investigate that immediately, right? Not here apparently...), and something just felt off about the romance itself (perhaps too many descriptors of how he smells).
The final nail in the coffin for me was the endless references. I love When Harry Met Sally as much as the next guy (and hey, maybe even more) but it got to the point that Nora Ephron deserves to be credited as a co-author. I want to give Poston the benefit of the doubt that it was a characterization attempt to show how the main character views her relationships through the words of other writers, but ultimately, it came across as awkward and haphazardly inserted. It gave the story an amateur feel, and it ruined the book's ability to stand on its own. The problem with trying so hard to replicate the magic of a classic is that you inadvertently fail to generate any new magic.
The book was self-aware, at one point ribbing on books that use too much outdated slang, but I think that self-awareness is what ultimately tanks the book because the execution is poor. There were some parts I truly enjoyed, like exploring the town or its characters, but the greater commentary on romance as a whole only reminded me about what I dislike about the genre in the first place.
I didn't care for either main character, there wasn't enough urgency in the mystery element (if you're experiencing some sort of magic scenario where you can't get phone service, but then you discover one very weird and specific place where you could, you would investigate that immediately, right? Not here apparently...), and something just felt off about the romance itself (perhaps too many descriptors of how he smells).
The final nail in the coffin for me was the endless references. I love When Harry Met Sally as much as the next guy (and hey, maybe even more) but it got to the point that Nora Ephron deserves to be credited as a co-author. I want to give Poston the benefit of the doubt that it was a characterization attempt to show how the main character views her relationships through the words of other writers, but ultimately, it came across as awkward and haphazardly inserted. It gave the story an amateur feel, and it ruined the book's ability to stand on its own. The problem with trying so hard to replicate the magic of a classic is that you inadvertently fail to generate any new magic.
The book was self-aware, at one point ribbing on books that use too much outdated slang, but I think that self-awareness is what ultimately tanks the book because the execution is poor. There were some parts I truly enjoyed, like exploring the town or its characters, but the greater commentary on romance as a whole only reminded me about what I dislike about the genre in the first place.
Couldn’t even get halfway through it. Redundant language, hard to listen to audiobook, terrible plot line. This was a great concept for a book and it just wasn’t executed well.
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