Keeping Up With The Penguins

Reviews For The Would-Be Booklover

Category: Romance (page 1 of 4)

Bridgerton: The Duke And I – Julia Quinn

Okay, fine, I’ll cop to it: I’m a basic bitch. I binged the Bridgerton series on Netflix. Twice. And when I saw the book on sale at KMart (with the basic-bitch movie cover, no less!) for twelve bucks, I snapped it up. For those of you who have been living under a particularly large rock, this is a Regency romance series based on the series of books by Julia Quinn. The Duke And I is the first book in the series, focusing on the marital prospects of the eldest Bridgerton daughter, Daphne.

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Julia Quinn has written over two dozen historical romances, with a writing career spanning decades. Originally, she envisioned the Bridgerton books as a trilogy, but the series grew and there are now eight full-length novels (one for each of the children in the fictional family), plus a few extra bits and pieces. She was always very popular among romance readers, but the Netflix adaptation has catapulted her into the mainstream. It premiered just six-ish months ago, and has already been watched by over 82 million households, making it the most-watched-ever series on the platform. Naturally, Quinn saw a corresponding boost in book sales, and her twenty-year-old Regency romance went skyrocketing up best-seller charts.

The Duke And I is set in 1813 (think Austen’s era), in London’s “ton” during “the season”. No shame if you don’t know what that means (I didn’t before I watched/read!): the “ton” was Britain’s high society during the late Regency, and once each year these high-falootin’ folks would gather in the city so that young ladies could make their debut into society (i.e., swan around looking pretty in an effort to snag a husband).

The Bridgertons are a powerful and well-liked family, and a big one at that. The patriarch has passed, but there’s still Mama and her eight (eight!) children, so the house is hardly empty. Their gimmick is that the kids are named in alphabetical order, from oldest to youngest: Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Daphne, Eloise, Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth. Daphne is the middle child, but the oldest girl, so the first to make her debut – much to the delight of the ton’s gossip mongers.





Quinn positions Daphne as your typical girl-next-door: beautiful, but “cool” and friends-with-all-the-boys, so none of them want her in the romantic sense. Of course, that’s a disaster, because money and prestige were all tied up in marriage at the time, and the rules of polite society dictate that Daphne must marry before any of her younger sisters can debut themselves. She’s well aware of the weight of expectation upon her slender shoulders, but she’s still got enough self-respect to be a bit choosy.

“[She] wasn’t holding out for a true love match… but was it really too much to hope for a husband for whom one had at least some affection?”

Bridgerton: The Duke And I (page 17)

Enter, the Duke: Simon Basset, Duke of Hastings and notorious rake. He has recently returned to London, but he has every intention of staying above the fray of the ton and living out his days as a confirmed bachelor. Of course, it wouldn’t be called The Duke And I unless there was a meet cute. Here it is: the Duke walks in on Daphne punching an overly-amorous would-be suitor.

They get to talking, and decide to forge ahead with the trope a plan that suits them both: a fake romance! If they appear to be in love and an engagement imminent, Daphne’s stock will rise (make-them-all-see-her-in-a-new-light-et-cetera) and the Duke will be left alone (because obviously all the ladies will be throwing themselves willy-nilly at a bloke with his looks and title, despite the fact that he’s actually a bit of a dick). It works a charm… at first.

All of the local gossip is communicated by the pseudonymously-authored Lady Whisteldown’s Society Papers. It’s a very clever narrative technique used to great effect by Quinn. As she explains herself in the author interview section at the end of my edition, the Papers give her the chance to explain context to reader without having to cram a whole bunch of exposition into the dialogue. Fun fact: in that same interview, she also reveals that she actually had no idea or plan for the true identity of Lady Whistledown when she first started writing the series!





And – I can’t help myself – here we come to the compare-and-contrast part of the review. Naturally, spoilers abound, so look away now if you care.

The Duke And I introduces the Duke’s father’s abuses far earlier than the Netflix series ever did. The latter treated it as a “reveal” later on, once we’d formed a bond with the characters, while Quinn put it all up front in the Prologue. It was a heart-wrenching way for a romance novel to begin, and set a very different tone.

The diversity and representation for which the Netflix series is famous isn’t as explicit in the novel, though. For instance, the Duke – played by Rege-Jean Page in the series, a British-Zimbabwean actor – is described as having “icy blue eyes” and presumably white skin. The sole exception is that of Lady Danbury, a side character who plays a much smaller role in the book, but her use of a cane for mobility is mentioned sensitively and often. (And if you’re going to come down in the comments and have a sook about the Netflix series not being “accurate” because there were people of colour among the gentry, save it. Black people didn’t miraculously appear in England sometime in the 20th century, they were there all along – read Reni Eddo-Lodge’s Why I’m No Longer Talking To White People About Race. Plus, if you’re coming to romance novels for “accuracy”, you have bigger problems.)

The Duke gets a lot more narrative time in The Duke And I than he did in the Bridgerton show (and he’d want to, being a titular character and all). The reader is privy to a lot more of his inner world and turmoil than the viewer ever was. That’s nice and all, but personally I kind of liked the element of mystery better – he is an enigmatic love interest, after all. Plus all that narrative space has to edge out something, and I’m sorry to say that Eloise and Penelope’s characters are completely submerged in the book, along with many other side characters and plots. I suppose they all come out in later books, but I’m not sure I’ll be reading that far to find out. As it stands, I missed them.

And, my biggest bug bear: The Duke And I is nowhere near as steamy as the show. I’m sure all the pearl-clutchers are happy about that, but it ticked me off. In the first hundred pages, there was just one reference to an erection. The story revolves around kids and marriage, without all the rooting that made the Netflix series fun. I threw an actual tantrum when – after 274 pages of build up – Quinn threw in a fade to black chapter break on the wedding night! She opened the door shortly after, but still, the momentum was totally lost.

Here’s the weirdest twist: the book leaves a lot more open-ended questions and unresolved plot points than the Bridgerton show (despite the fact that it’s been renewed for a second season, one that will undoubtedly disappoint given that the sexy Duke will not be returning, gah!). All told, I’d say The Duke And I was fine, but probably not worth the twelve bucks I splashed out on it. I haven’t read enough Regency romance to make a call on where it stands in the canon, but if you’re thinking of picking it up because the Bridgerton series hooked you the way it did me, I’d say don’t bother. Save your eyeballs for (yet another) re-watch instead.

My favourite Amazon reviews of Bridgerton: The Duke And I:

  • “Quick reading very entertaining
    .will finish the whole series to see who is Lady Whistledow also the sex of Daphnes” – Xiomara E. Delgado
  • “With the production of the TV Bridgerton the book prices have gone up terribly. Just not fair!” – victoria belin-pauline
  • “I get that it’s problmetic, but it’s a romance book, though. But I wish you new show fans could chill just a little bit?” – Samo
  • “A very light read that may make you blush. Mrs Whistle down is the best part. Content is 18+ with some violence. Did not leave me feeling enlightened.” – CB

The Kiss Quotient – Helen Hoang

For a while now, I’ve been thinking I should really seek out an #OwnVoices alternative to The Rosie Project. I settled on The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang, a book about a woman who lives with an autism spectrum disorder written by (dramatic pause) a woman who lives with an autism spectrum disorder. It was first published back in 2018, and it made quite a splash – mostly for the no-holds-barred steamy scenes and the awesome diverse cast of characters…

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Meet Stella: our protagonist, a successful woman who loves her work as an econometrician and is generally happy with her life. Cue inciting incident: her parents tell her they want grandchildren, ASAP, and they think it would be good for her to start dating – specifically, dating Philip, the office lech.

Stella isn’t particularly fussed on men and dating. Her previous experiences have been decidedly lackluster. But, she figures she lacks practice, and what’s the most rational way to go about improving her skills (social and… otherwise)? Hire an escort, of course! She hires Michael, a gorgeous escort she finds online, to teach her how to date and fuck with the best of them.

Michael isn’t the kind of two-dimensional manic pixie dream boy we’ve become all-too-accustomed too. He has A PAST (which is alluded to, lots, before it finally comes out). But aside from that, he also has interests (martial arts), a day job (at his mother’s dry-cleaner), and a family he loves more than anything.

The Kiss Quotient is effectively a gender-bending Pretty Woman, and it makes for a surprisingly sweet and romantic story – the perfect blend of endearing and sexy, a combination that’s difficult to get right. I think Hoang nailed the balance between romance (i.e., sexy times) and plot, which made it all the more enjoyable to read. It’s a perfect step up from your penny Harlequins about princes and pirates, without the ick factor of a Fifty Shades.

Stella is hypersensitive, to smells and touch and sound, which means Hoang’s writing is really rich in descriptive detail that goes beyond the visual. From the texture of Michael’s jacket to the sound of a nightclub, Hoang paints a really vivid portrait for the reader. And, I must say, this dedication to description extends to the sexy fun times Michael and Stella have together. The door is WIDE OPEN, folks. Hoang isn’t here to fuck around. The Kiss Quotient is steamy as heck.





The dangling mystery of Michael’s past – only revealed at the climax – is actually kind of annoying, though. Hoang drops constant hints, never letting us forget for one second that this dreamboat escort has a “dark side” or whatever. The upside is at least Stella’s autism wasn’t the main/only obstacle keeping them from being together. The dynamics and balance of the romance are really pleasing, in that both the parties to it have their own baggage and their own power. Neither is faultless, and neither is helpless. Their affection for each other feels genuine and intimate, despite the commercial aspect.

Stella is particularly relatable – even for readers who don’t live with/aren’t familiar with autism – for her simple but powerful desire to be loved. That’s something we’ve surely all experienced, at one time or another. Her autism is not the only facet of her personality, nor is it the only interesting thing about her; she ever feels like a token or a stereotype.

It seems a shame, then, that Hoang has used a few problematic sex worker tropes with Michael’s character. The sex-worker-with-a-heart-of-gold thing is tired and yucky. I’m also not sure how I feel about the implied idea that autism-related intimacy issues can be magically cured by a sex god (but then again, I’m neurotypical, so it’s probably not for me to say whether that’s okay or not).

All told, I’d say The Kiss Quotient isn’t perfect, but its flaws are forgivable for the fact that it’s a step up from the alternatives and it’s real fun to read. It’s perfect for fans of The Wedding Date (the Debra Messing movie, not the Jasmine Guillory book, though that recommendation would probably hold up, too). It’s a solid summer read if you’re looking for something sexy to take to the beach when the warmer weather returns.

My favourite Amazon reviews of The Kiss Quotient:

  • “Cute but wasn’t what I expected. Easy read but also very sexually graphic and reminded me how very single I am.” – Kindle Customer
  • “Sex: multiple scenes, including oral
    Language: 68 F words, 20 Lord’s name in vain, 34 S words
    Violence: forced kisses, black eye
    Cliffhanger: no
    Do I need to read books before this one: no
    Would I read more of the series: YES” – dncall
  • “Half of the book is used to describe how the couple has sex in details.” – wilson


To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before – Jenny Han

For a fluffy young-adult rom-com, To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before has a spine-chilling premise. Lara Jean has written a letter to every boy she’s ever loved (five total), letters that were supposed to be for her eyes only… until one day, under mysterious circumstances, the letters are mailed to the boys in question. It’s every teen girl’s worst nightmare; even now, slightly (ahem!) past my teenage years, I shudder at the thought. But don’t let that put you off! It sets the stage for a thoroughly delightful read.

To All The Boys I've Loved Before - Jenny Han - Keeping Up With The Penguins
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To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before was first published back in 2014. I’d already seen the Netflix adaptation, but I figured if the book was anywhere near as charming and endearing, it’d be worth reading. Han has said her story was inspired by her own habit of writing love letters (never mailed) to the boys she had crushes on as a teenager. For Lara Jean – and presumably for her creator – the letters are cathartic, a way to “let go” and farewell the boys she has no future with (including her sister’s boyfriend – eek!).

Sure, the romance is the central plot, but equally essential to this novel is Lara Jean’s family. Her mother is, sadly, dead, but she is very close to her father and sisters. Margot is the elder, headed off for university in Scotland, and Kitty is the younger, annoying at times but wise beyond her years. Josh – the aforementioned boyfriend of Margot – is practically part of the family. He lives next door and he often joins them for dinner and family events. He is also (prepare yourself for a stomach-churn) an unintended recipient of one of Lara Jean’s letters.





What’s a girl to do? Throw everyone off the scent by plunging head-long into a fake relationship, of course! Another recipient of a letter, Peter Kravinsky, is the “cool guy” of Lara Jean’s high school. He’s also recently broken up with his own girlfriend. They mutually agree to carry on as though they’re in a relationship. Lara Jean hopes it will prove to Josh that she’s moved on (and stop Margot cottoning on to the fact that she was secretly lusting after him the whole time, plausible deniability is the name of the game!), and Peter just wants to make his ex-girlfriend and resident Mean Girl, Gen, jealous.

Will it come as any shock if I tell you that this perfect plan goes horribly awry? Of course not! Of course it does! And everyone involved gets their feelings at least a little bit hurt. Such is the nature of young-adult romances. And yet, To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before – predictable and sweet as it might be – never once feels like a cliche. It’s never cloying or annoying. I mean, if you’re determined to be a real grouch, I suppose you could look down your nose at it, but boo to you!





Given the dire state of the world, and our collective desperation for a little escapism, To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before is the perfect read for the current moment. It’s sweet, it’s nostalgic, no one has to wear a mask or sing Happy Birthday as they wash their hands… Lara Jean’s internal monologue feels real. So. many other YA novels I’ve read sound like an adult simply parodying the way they think teenagers speak “nowadays”, which is patronising to say the least. To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before, however, hits the mark – a bullseye! Ah, to be young and in love…

The initial release spent 40 weeks on the New York Times Young Adult Best Seller List, and went on to be translated and published in over 30 languages. It got another boost upon the release of the Netflix adaptation in 2018 (which, I’m pleased to report, was mostly faithful to the book). There have since been two sequels, too: P.S. I Love You in 2015 (now with its own Netflix treatment, too), and Always And Forever, Lara Jean in 2016. I’m not sure I’m hooked enough to seek those out, but I wouldn’t discourage anyone from doing so. On the whole, I thoroughly enjoyed this one, and I would highly recommend it to anyone who needs to be reminded that life can be good and sweet.

My favourite Amazon reviews of To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before:

  • “I wanted the movie.” – Kayti
  • “This was an amazing book because it was about boys.” – Amazon Customer
  • “I couldn’t put this book down. I love how it was clean and not dirty.” – Staci

Call Me By Your Name – Andre Aciman

Ah, young love: so smouldering, so passionate, so intensely felt. That’s the subject of Andre Aciman’s 2007 novel, Call Me By Your Name. It’s his first book of fiction, though he’s published other non-fiction books and teaches literature, so I’m not sure we could technically call it a “debut”. It tells the story of a blooming romance between 17-year-old Elio Perlman, and 24-year-old visiting scholar Oliver, who comes to the summer home of Elio’s parents in Italy, 1983. This book has become a pillar of the contemporary queer literature canon.

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The story is told in retrospect, with grown-up Elio recalling the events of that fateful summer. He always resented his parents’ tradition of taking a doctorate student into their home for six weeks each year, forcing him to vacate his bedroom (that sacred space of a teenage boy) to make room for their guest. That all changed when Oliver, carefree and detached and beautiful, arrived. Without quite understanding why, his burgeoning bisexuality still a mystery even to him, Elio appoints himself to be Oliver’s tour guide, and their attraction (mutual, or not? who knows?) simmers.

Crikey, it’s intense – right from the very first page. Aciman doesn’t ease the reader in at all. Elio’s crush is all-consuming, overwhelming, obsessive and single-minded in an almost-scary way. I felt suffocated by Elio’s passion, trapped underneath the weight of it. Of course, that’s exactly how first love feels, so I think Aciman might have been Doing A Thing(TM) in mirroring that sensation for the reader, but still… maybe steer clear of this one if you’re narratively claustrophobic 😉

There’s a lot of push-pull in Elio and Oliver’s relationship. Elio rejects Oliver’s first overture, then Oliver pushes him away when he tries to get amorous. I know, I know, they were young and it was the ’80s, but sheesh – so much of the heartache could’ve been avoided with some open and honest communication! Elio pulls a very typical teenage boy stunt: he starts an affair with a local girl, Marzia (“see how much I don’t care if you reject me? I’ve got someone else!”), then slips a note under Oliver’s door being all “come meet me”. Unfortunately, it works, and they FINALLY do roots.





Despite the fact that it’s a coming-of-age story, Call Me By Your Name is hardly a young adult book. For one, it’s quite erotic, albeit in a highly literary way. All of the sexual encounters (including one truly smutty incident with a peach) are depicted in detail, but not to titillate. It feels more like Aciman is simply demonstrating the depth and desperation of Elio and Oliver’s desire.

Before he heads home to America, Oliver decides to take a little trip to Rome (as you do), and Elio accompanies him – a lover’s getaway. It’s bittersweet, though, because it’s over almost before it began. By the time Elio returns to his parents’ home, alone, all traces of Oliver have been removed. And, just to compound both the bitterness and the sweetness, Elio’s father intimates that he understands the true nature of his “friendship” with Oliver, and that he approves. I’m so grateful to Aciman for sparing us the parents-kick-him-out-after-coming-out trope!

Of course, that’s not quite the end of the story. A few months later, at Christmas, Oliver visits again – with big news. He’s getting married, to a woman. Obviously, that pisses Elio (still young and in the throes of first love) right off. They fall out of touch, almost completely, for over a decade.





We fast-forward fifteen years. Elio is (relatively) grown up but still unable to let go of that summer romance he had as a teenager. He decides to visit Oliver in the U.S., where he’s now a professor at a prestigious university. You’d think – both being older and uglier and better able to handle themselves – they’d finally sort their shit out, but nope! Oliver admits he’s been online-stalking Elio for years, following his career. Elio tells Oliver there’s no way in hell he wants to meet Oliver’s wife and children, because he’s seething with jealousy and he still has a massive hard-on. They entertain themselves with the could’ve-would’ve-should’ves for a while, then go their separate ways.

Finally, five years after that – so that’s twenty years after their first meeting, and one year before the narrator’s present – Oliver returns to visit Elio in Italy. Elio, in a fit of romantic madness, says that if Oliver remembers and still desires everything between them, he should once more “look me in the face, hold my gaze, and call me by your name”. The ending is highly frustrating in its ambiguity – do they? don’t they? what happens next? – so Aciman released a sequel last year, Find Me, to fill in the blanks.

Call Me By Your Name isn’t about Oliver – it’s a strange thing to say, I know, given that Oliver consumes Elio’s every waking (and even sleeping) thought. It might be unromantic of me to even suggest this, but I feel like “Oliver” could’ve been literally anyone who crossed Elio’s path at that point in his life. It just so happened to be him onto whom Elio projected everything: his hopes, his confusion, his sexuality, his history, and his desires. In that view, it’s a fascinating character study of a young queer man coming-of-age through a formative love affair, and deftly avoids all of the tragic tropes with which the canon is littered.

And, of course, Call Me By Your Name was adapted to a critically-acclaimed film, directed by Luca Guadagnino in 2017. It won an Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay, even. I have no idea how they managed to translate such an interior, obsessive novel to the screen, but hats off to them. I’m not sure I’ll be seeking out the film, but I do highly recommend this book if you need something warm to savour with a glass of red wine (or three) on some freezing winter night…

My favourite Amazon reviews of Call Me By Your Name:

  • “Too little for too long” – Amazon Customer
  • “I recomend” – Sandro Guia Los Angeles
  • “This is a foriegn language book trying to return.
    Do not speak This language.” – David Hancock
  • “The writing was beautiful but I wish I hadn’t read it. I didn’t like it AND it broke my heart.” – KatMarie
  • “I’m no soft porn expert, but that’s how this book struck me. On the whole, it was OK but not one I’d recommend to a lot of people.” – Marti Johnson

The Manic Pixie Dream Boy Improvement Project – Lenore Appelhans

I always thought those book lovers that kept track of where exactly they got book recommendations were kind of going overboard. I mean, I love a spreadsheet tracker as much as the next person (ahem), but I didn’t think I needed to track where I first heard of a book – surely the crucial details, like title and author, would be enough? Well, I’m eating humble pie now, and kicking myself in the pants at the same time. I know I first heard about The Manic Pixie Dream Boy Improvement Project on a bookish podcast… but I cannot, for the life of me, remember which one! I’d really love to shout them out here, and thank them for putting me on to this gem of a book, so if there’s the tiniest chance any of you brilliant Keeper Upperers out there might recall being recommended this same book in that way (a stretch, I know!), I’d greatly appreciate you sharing in the comments.

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The Manic Pixie Dream Boy Improvement Project definitely goes out to all the word nerds and book geeks. The whole premise is a literary critique: Riley is a Manic Pixie Dream Boy, a sub-type of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope. He lives in TropeTown where he hangs out with all the other trope characters until they’re summoned by an author for a role in a book.

(A quick sidebar for the uninitiated: a trope is a recurrent motif or character in books. Authors use as a kind of short-hand, to signal to the reader what’s happening in the story. So, for instance, if there are two equally-charming-but-very-different boys vying for one girl’s attention, you’re smack bang in the middle of the Love Triangle trope (and you can probably guess it’s going to end one way or the other). If you’re presented with a character who’s a force for good but truly only motivated by sex, money, or drugs, you’ve got yourself an Anti-Hero trope (and you’ll probably love him despite his flaws). See what I mean?)

(And, a sidebar to the sidebar: the moniker of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl was first used in a review of the 2007 film Elizabethtown, but the trope itself has existed far longer. Critic Nathan Rabin described Kirsten Dunst’s character in the film as such: “The Manic Pixie Dream Girl exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures.” Basically, their only job is to be quirky and fun love interests, and get the boys to live a little. So, that should give you enough context…)





But back to the story! Riley, as I said, is a Manic Pixie Dream Boy, a trope created to counter-balance the sexist origins of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope (it turns out boys can exist in stories solely to justify the development of another character just as well as girls, who knew?). There was one other Manic Pixie Dream Boy in TropeTown, Finn, but he was “terminated” under mysterious circumstances. “No one really knows what happens when you’re terminated,” Riley explains. “You board a train on the outskirts of town. The train always comes back empty.” And Riley might find himself terminated, too, if he’s not careful.

See, Riley’s job as a trope is simply to turn up when summoned by an author, and perform his role as a trope while the Developeds (central characters who get actual depth) progress through the story. But he’s been going off script, taking his character beyond the bounds of Manic Pixie-ness, and his authors are getting pissed. They’ve made a complaint to the TropeTown Council, who stick Riley in group therapy, alongside a bunch of similarly-disgruntled Manic Pixies. They’re all restless, seeking a level of autonomy never afforded to their kind. Riley feels like they’re all capable of more than just regurgitating cliches, but he also knows he needs to “accept [his] place in the narrative hierarchy” and do as he’s told. Thus, the book’s title: this is The Manic Pixie Dream Boy Improvement Project.

It might all sound dreadfully complicated, but please don’t write this one off! I swear, any confusion is my fault entirely. Appelhans has done an incredible job of weaving a clever and complex world in a very accessible way, right down to including a map of TropeTown in the opening pages (which is, in itself, a delight – the Villains live in an area literally called “The Wrong Side Of The Tracks”, lol!).





I don’t think it will surprise you to learn that this book is very meta: not so much so that it detracts from the reading experience, more like it gives you the feeling of being in on the joke. Riley often breaks the fourth wall, speaking directly to the reader, and displays a comic level of self-awareness in his role. The tone is always lighthearted, quirky and zany as we’d expect of a Manic Pixie story, but don’t be fooled: at its heart, The Manic Pixie Dream Boy Improvement Project is actually a searing literary (and, by extension, social) critique.

Take, for example, the repeated digs at beloved YA author John Green. Riley’s most successful role to date was playing “Romantic Cancer Boy” (a very obvious nod to The Fault In Our Stars). The Manic Pixie-cum-Mean Girl Nebraska is the only one of the therapy group to have had a titular role (again, a not-subtle poke in the ribs to Green’s Looking For Alaska). The Manic Pixie trope is so pervasive and evergreen in young adult fiction, the jokes work in seamlessly, but I still applaud Applehans for being brave enough to go after the king and leaving herself barely any room for plausible deniability.

The parody, of course, could not be complete without a love story, a mystery, and lots and lots of wacky adventures – and The Manic Pixie Dream Boy Improvement Project has all of those in spades. Nevertheless, the book never felt repetitive or cheesy. The cliches were employed sarcastically, the humour was wry, and even for all the zaniness, the central message was still one that I can get behind: we all need to take a long, hard look at whose stories get told, and how (an especially timely question in the bookish world). Towards the end, Appelhans even wades into that ever-dangerous territory of addressing “problematic” tropes: Uncle Tomfoolery, the Magical Negro, and so forth. I think she handled that combustible subject matter superbly, too.

I suppose The Manic Pixie Dream Boy Improvement Project is technically itself a YA novel, but I would really resent it being pigeon-holed. I think this literary send-up would be a wonderful read for book lovers of all ages, guaranteed to delight, entertain, and provoke indiscriminately.


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