My favorite super-specific subgenre of all time is magical realism where I can really believe that the magic might just exist in our dumb old boring world, and she is the master of that. That's a bridge too far in creepiness levels even for me in my love for her, a love which I have declared in multiple reviews here, on my blog, in my now-defunct bookstagram in a series of tangential-to-stalking posts, in one of those letter boards I used to have when they were trendy, in her DMs, in her comments, and so on.īut I should clarify that it's her WRITING that is my soulmate. And with every passing day I become more convinced that surely, certainly, without a doubt, that that role in my life is filled by Emily Henry. Sure, yeah, the Alex and Poppy contained within these pages are probably soulmates, as is the case with, you know, the genre as a whole.īut I'm here to talk about MY soulmate. You may believe that I have opened this review of a romance novel with a discussion of soulmates in a way to tie in the content of the book, and in a way, you would be right. This is just one more point in favor of my potentially being an alien.)

Sure, your soulmate might be Some Guy, but equally it might be the feeling of flipping your pillow over to the cool side, or when the airplane seems to be fully booked but slowly the trickle of people doing that awkward slow-walk to stow their luggage comes to a stop and there's no one sitting in your row, or those authentic actual cream puffs where the puff part is pretty dry and disappointing but the cream is like ice cream if ice cream was actually good. This may seem at odds with my overall extremely cool, edgy reputation, but let me explain. If only she can get around the one big truth that has always stood quietly in the middle of their seemingly perfect relationship. And so, she decides to convince her best friend to take one more vacation together-lay everything on the table, make it all right. When someone asks when she was last truly happy, she knows, without a doubt, it was on that ill-fated, final trip with Alex. Poppy has everything she should want, but she’s stuck in a rut. Until two years ago, when they ruined everything. For most of the year they live far apart-she’s in New York City, and he’s in their small hometown-but every summer, for a decade, they have taken one glorious week of vacation together. And somehow, ever since a fateful car share home from college many years ago, they are the very best of friends. She has insatiable wanderlust he prefers to stay home with a book.

Book people we meet on vacation