As a longtime fan of Debbie Macomber, I’ve often turned to her books for a dose of lighthearted escapism that requires little mental effort. Her stories have always been simple and sweet, and I proudly display a collection of her works on my shelves. When I picked up her latest book, I anticipated the same delightful experience. However, I was met with a narrative that felt vastly different from her usual style.
This time, the plot revolved around an implausible storyline that seemed to recycle the same themes repeatedly. I found it challenging to connect with the main character, who constantly lamented her life despite being described as beautiful, thin, and intelligent. Her main conflict revolved around her job writing the society pages, while she yearned to cover more substantial issues. The love interest was equally perplexing, vacillating between anger and infatuation with a quickness that left me bewildered. His feelings swung from disdain for the world and a complicated relationship with his mother to an immediate, almost obsessive attraction to the protagonist. This back-and-forth made it hard to invest in their romance.
What truly detracted from my enjoyment, however, were the judgmental comments woven throughout the narrative. The love interest’s disdain for children who prefer video games over outdoor exploration felt particularly out of place. He penned a book titled “Alone,” criticizing modern kids for their screen time and lack of adventure. This theme was delivered in a way that felt patronizing, as if condemning an entire generation for their interests.
There’s a more thoughtful way to encourage exploration and celebrate adventure without resorting to judgment. The author could have fostered an uplifting message about the value of different experiences instead of casting aspersions on those who enjoy gaming. This judgmental tone left me feeling uncomfortable and alienated as a reader.
Overall, while I appreciate Macomber’s ability to craft feel-good stories, this particular book fell short for me. It felt forced, and I found myself wishing for the warmth and charm that initially drew me to her work.
The Nomadic Reader 