Book Review: Book Lovers by Emily Henry

 

Sometimes a book finds you at the right time, without warning, and that’s exactly how Book Lovers found me.

This was my first Emily Henry book, and all I can say is: I’m officially a fan.

I bought it without even reading the synopsis. 

Honestly, I just saw her name and grabbed all her books off the shelf like it was fate. 

I didn’t even know where to start, so I randomly picked up Book Lovers. 

Before diving in, I scrolled through Goodreads, and the first review I saw described the main character, Nora Stephens, as “bitter.”

But I decided to read it anyway. 

And no, I didn’t think she was bitter at all. 

I understood her. 

Every bit of her. 

The expectations, the pressure, the invisible responsibility to hold everything together.

It’s the classic firstborn story, and as an eldest myself, I felt like I was reading a version of my own reflection.

The story unfolds beautifully, a slow burn filled with small-town charm and heartfelt moments. 

I love that Emily Henry doesn’t rush the romance. 

It’s patient, tender, and full of emotional layers. 

The kind of love that grows quietly, beneath the surface, until it finally blooms when you least expect it.

And then… there’s Charlie Lastra. 

My favorite. 

My soft spot. 

The kind of man who doesn’t need to make grand gestures because he speaks through quiet understanding. 

He’s charming, grounded, and self-aware, the kind of person who doesn’t need to fix you, because he already accepts you.

He gets Nora. 

Her endless to-do lists, her late-night emails, her quiet need to do more, to be more, to prove herself. 

He doesn’t ask her to slow down or shrink herself to fit into his world. 

He meets her exactly where she is. That’s what makes him so special, how he loves her not despite her intensity, but because of it.

That, to me, is the most beautiful kind of love; one that doesn’t ask you to change. 

One that says, I see you, and I’m staying.

And then came December twelfth. 

That chapter felt like breathing in warmth after a long winter. 

The way Libby’s gift led Nora back to Charlie. 

It felt destined. 

When she walked into that familiar bookstore, surrounded by shelves of stories and echoes of their past moments, I could feel her heartbeat in those pages. 

And then he was. Standing there. Waiting for her.

It wasn’t a dramatic scene, but it didn’t need to be. 

It was quiet, certain, and full of meaning; the kind of moment that makes you close the book for a second just to breathe it in. 

I love how Emily Henry made love feel like that, not fireworks, not chaos, but home.

Libby’s story also touched me. 

Her love for her family, the sacrifices she made, the decision to leave behind the glitter of New York for a simpler, steadier life. 

There’s something so brave about choosing peace over chaos, love over ambition, family over everything.

And maybe that’s why I adored this book so much. 

Because Book Lovers isn’t just about romance. 

It’s about sisters, about family, about expectations and rediscovering yourself. 

It’s about finding love that feels safe, steady, and real.

“Does anyone ever want to finish a good book?”

That line, that feeling, stayed with me long after I turned the last page. 

Because I didn’t want to finish this one either.

Book Lovers reminded me why I love reading. 

For the characters that feel like friends, for the words that stay with you, and for the stories that remind you love doesn’t always need to be loud to be lasting.

Now, I’m looking at the other three Emily Henry books sitting on my shelf, and I already know I’m going to fall in love all over again.

Book Review: We'll Always Have Summer by Jenny Han

 

This third book in Jenny Han’s series shifts between Belly and Conrad’s POVs, 

unlike the second one, which focused on Belly and Jeremiah. 

And honestly, by the time I got here, I had already seen bits and pieces of the show floating around on TikTok and IG reels, and I could tell the series gave more extended, fleshed-out scenes. 

It made the story feel fuller, more complete. The book, on the other hand, felt a little rushed.

What I do love is how Jenny Han captured the angst. 

The messy, heavy kind of angst that comes with being young and torn between two people who represent two different kinds of love. 

Belly is in the middle of it, trying to figure out her own heart. 

But if I’m being honest, Jeremiah never felt serious enough about marrying her. 

The wedding prep scenes felt off as Belly had to handle most of it with Conrad, not Jeremiah. 

And that, unintentionally, set the tone for what was coming. 

It was like Conrad and Belly were already building something real, something ancient and rooted, 

while Jeremiah was more… absent. 

If Jeremiah had actually poured himself into those wedding preparations, 

maybe the ending would have been different. 

Maybe Belly would have chosen him. 

But he didn’t.

And then Conrad’s POV came in, and suddenly, I understood him. 

The kind of man he is. 

Organised, composed, quiet but intentional. 

He knows what he wants, even if he doesn’t always know how to express it. 

He can cook, he can do chores, and he’s steady. 

The kind of man who doesn’t fall in love twice. 

But his inner battles, his loyalty to his mother’s wish, his responsibility to Jeremiah, and his complicated relationship with his father pulled him into silence. 

He let Jeremiah have Belly, even though it broke him. 

And you can feel it in his chapters. 

That ache of someone who loves so deeply but steps back because he thinks it’s the right thing. 

That’s Conrad.

Jeremiah, though. 

The cheating in Cabo. 

I still can’t wrap my head around it. 

The fact that it keeps coming up, like a stain he couldn’t wash off. 

And the way Belly forgave him so quickly? 

I couldn’t. 

I wouldn’t. 

There’s something about betrayal that makes it hard to rebuild trust, 

no matter how sweet the person is. 

Jeremiah always came across as the golden boy, the sunshine. 

But when I saw that side of him, the side that could betray Belly, it was hard to see him as the same innocent Jeremiah from book one.

And here’s where it got personal for me. 

Because I realised something as I read Conrad’s POV: 

I live with a Conrad. 

My husband is a Conrad. 

The beginning of our relationship mirrored his way of loving, non-confrontational, full of absences, quiet yearnings, missed moments. 

When he did show his feelings, it felt fleeting, almost like he’d vanish again. 

And I was left with the weight of waiting. But unlike Belly, I didn’t have a Jeremiah to distract me. 

I wasn’t stuck in a triangle. 

I knew what I wanted, and despite the ache, I chose to hold on.

 If I had let go of him, I know I wouldn’t have been happy with anyone else. 

So I stayed. 

I waited. 

And eventually, he came back. 

Looking back, that’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

So… Team Jeremiah or Team Conrad?

For me, it changed over time. 

I rooted for Jeremiah in the first two books. 

He was light, playful, easy to love. 

But by the third book, I had switched. 

Conrad’s love might have been complicated, but it was deeper, more enduring. 

Jeremiah would always be Belly’s best friend, her safe place. 

But Conrad was her forever. 

The one who burned brighter. 

Stronger. 

Hotter. 

And I’m glad Jenny Han let them end up together.

Some stories stay with you because they mirror your own. 

We’ll Always Have Summer wasn’t just Belly, Jeremiah, and Conrad’s love triangle.

 It reminded me of my own choices, 

my own waiting, and the love I decided to keep. 

And yes, by the last page, I was firmly 

Team Conrad 💌.

Book Review: It's Not Summer Without You by Jenny Han

My heart 💔 

Honestly, I cried. A lot. 

This book hit me so much harder than the first one. 

Right from Jeremiah’s POV, I was already tearing up.

Jeremiah. 

The second son. 

The way he looks at Conrad, you can feel his admiration, like Conrad were an unreachable star. 

Even when they wrestled, he never fought his best, because deep down, he knew Conrad was always the one expected to shine, to live up to their dad’s high standards. 

That small detail? It broke me. 

And then there’s his quiet love for Belly, sweet, hopeful, but deep down, he knows. 

He knows Belly will always find her way back to Conrad.

And then Conrad himself. 

The first son, carrying the weight of expectations like it’s stitched into his skin. 

He’s moody, mysterious, unpredictable, and that’s exactly what keeps Belly tied to him. 

With Jeremiah, there’s comfort. 

With Conrad, there’s fire.

There’s one scene that I just can’t stop thinking about: Conrad catching Belly and Jeremiah kissing, and asking, 

“Why did you kiss Jeremiah when you’re wearing my necklace?” 

That was… wow. 

Painful, confusing, raw. 

It’s not just about the necklace, is it? 

It’s about what it represents. 

Maybe Conrad never gave it to her because he knew Jeremiah’s feelings. 

Maybe his love for his brother was greater than his love for Belly, even though he’ll always, always care for her. 

That thought just shattered me.

And then, the whole summer, it wasn’t the carefree one we’re used to. 

It was heavy. 

Everyone was grieving Susannah’s death, and the way each of them carried that grief was so real. 

Conrad shut down. Jeremiah needed someone, needing Belly. 

And Belly, stuck between them both, trying to figure out where her heart really belonged.

And here’s where it really messed with me: 

Jeremiah is safe. He’s steady. He needs her. 

But Belly’s heart? 

It’s with Conrad. Always. 

That kind of deep, impossible love that hurts more than it heals. 

And I just kept wondering, how can Jeremiah ever feel okay, knowing he might always be the second choice? 

But then again, what should Belly do if Conrad, despite loving her, just doesn’t choose her the way Jeremiah does?

This second book felt deeper, heavier, more grown-up than the first. 

It wasn’t just about summer romances anymore.

It was about grief, messy love, and the hard truths that come with growing up.

 And yes, I cried through so many pages, but honestly? 

It was worth every tear.

If you’ve ever been caught between what feels safe and what feels impossible, you’ll see yourself in this story. 

It reminded me that love isn’t always neat or fair.

It’s complicated, sometimes painful, but it’s also what shapes us the most. 

That’s why this book stays with you long after the last page.

Book Review: The Summer I Turned Pretty by Jenny Han

 I’m probably the last person on earth to read The Summer I Turned Pretty. Everyone else seems to have already picked a team, argued about it online, and made TikToks. Meanwhile, here I am, just casually starting book one like it’s 2010.

Disclaimer first: I hardly scroll TikTok, so I came into this series with absolutely zero spoilers. People around me were talking about it, but honestly, it just never registered in my brain. So when I picked up the book, I had no context at all and I couldn’t even picture the actors because in my head, the characters look completely different anyway.

Jenny Han has been a favorite of mine since To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. The books had so much more depth than the movies, though the movies were still sweet (thanks to Iman for making me watch them, I did enjoy it). So naturally, I thought The Summer I Turned Pretty might be the same. Maybe the books would hold more weight than the series. But before I judge, I’ll need to finish the books first… and then maybe binge the show as “research.”

Let’s start with Belly’s little summer romance with Cam. Cute? Yes. Serious? Not really. At sixteen, those butterflies feel like the biggest thing in the world, but looking back now at 30, it’s easy to brush it off as just a fleeting moment. Adult life has a way of dulling those sparks. And yet, that’s exactly why books like this are so comforting because they let me slip back into that younger self and relive those feelings again, even if only for a while.

And then of course, the big question: Jeremiah or Conrad?

The 30-year-old me says Jeremiah without hesitation. He puts in the effort, he’s present, he’s honest about his feelings. It just makes sense. But if I’m honest about my 16-year-old self? I would have chosen Conrad in a heartbeat. Because at that age, there’s something irresistible about the mystery, the walls someone puts up, the challenge of wanting to be the one to “figure him out.” Looking back now, it feels exhausting, but at sixteen, it feels like love.

What also stood out to me was how much the story wasn’t just about Belly, it was also about Suzannah, and the heaviness that hung over the family. The tension between the boys reminded me that people often forget how vulnerable boys can be too. They don’t always cry or talk about it the way girls do; sometimes they rebel, sometimes they shut down. It’s still sadness and it just looks different. (That’s the mom in me speaking, I guess.)

I also really appreciated how Jeremiah handled things when Belly didn’t feel the same way. He didn’t hold it against her. He understood. That quiet maturity really stayed with me.

In the end, love is messy. It can’t come from guilt or sympathy, because then it isn’t really love, it just hurts everyone involved.

So here I go, onto book two. Hopefully, it goes deeper.

Book Review: Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin

I have such a complicated, love-hate relationship with this book. I went in wanting to love it as much as everyone else seemed to, but from the beginning it just didn’t land for me. It had that “Intermezzo” vibe, something melancholic, artistic, full of potential, but the slow start and scattered themes kept me at a distance instead of pulling me in.

I did appreciate the author’s effort in tying up loose ends, exploring trauma, and giving each character a layered backstory. But part of what turned me off early on was the Israel narrative. Dov’s family in Israel, and that particular remark about how American Jews know so little about the country, really rubbed me the wrong way. With everything happening in the world right now, it felt tone-deaf. Maybe I’m biased because I’m pro-Palestine, but it immediately created a barrier between me and the story.

And then there was Dov himself. His relationship with Sadie, if we can even call it that, was disturbing. The power imbalance between professor and student, the S&M, and ultimately the abortion she endured (spoiler alert!) really unsettled me. Sadie’s insistence that she “consented” to whatever he wanted, even at her expense, felt hollow. It was painful to read, and I hated it. But I’ll give the author credit, it was written in a way that made me feel that discomfort, and I did feel awful for Sadie.

What struck me more, though, was Sadie’s experience as a woman in a male-dominated space. As a minority in the programming world at MIT, she constantly had to prove her worth. Worse, some of her artistic contributions were overshadowed, with Sam getting more credit than she did. That imbalance, where men have it easier while women fight for recognition, rang painfully true.

Sam, on the other hand, was a character I struggled with. His trauma and tragedy made me empathize with him, but his dynamic with Sadie was complicated. I kept trying to understand them, and in the end, I was relieved that their bond never turned into a conventional romance. What they shared, creating games, building worlds together, was something unique, and honestly more intimate than a romantic storyline would’ve been.

Then there’s Marx. Oh, Marx. He became the heart of the story for me. The moment his presence grew, the book finally clicked. He was the glue between Sadie and Sam, the caretaker, the one who brought balance to the chaos. Even when Sadie and Sam resisted his involvement in Ichigo, he supported them anyway. And when he literally took the bullet to save them, it shattered me. His death felt like the true tragedy of the book. I wanted so badly for Sadie and Marx to have their chance at happiness, but it was stolen away.

After that, watching Sam and Sadie drift further apart was heartbreaking, even though I couldn’t blame Sadie for needing distance. Still, I admired Sam’s attempt to reconnect. His creation of Pioneer, the secret game designed as a bridge to reach her again, was brilliant. That storyline, and the games themselves, were some of my favorite parts of the book. I’m not even a gamer, but I found myself wishing those games were real.

By the time I reached the end, I realized I didn’t actually dislike the book as much as I thought. It grew on me, but only from the middle onwards. Maybe it was my expectations that dragged down my experience. I thought it would be a solid 4-star read. Instead, for me, it’s a 3. There were moments of brilliance, moments that broke me, and moments that made me angry. But in the end, the fact that I felt all of that means the book did its job, it just wasn’t always a pleasant journey.

What stayed with me most is how the book mirrors so many realities: power imbalances in relationships, women being overlooked in male-dominated spaces, the way trauma shapes people differently, and how friendships can be just as profound, sometimes even more so, than romantic love. It made me angry, it made me sad, but it also made me reflect on how much of this exists in the real world around us. And maybe that’s why, even though I didn’t love the book the way I hoped, I can’t dismiss it either.