This book brings to mind the concept of “trash relativism” – the idea that while some books have greater literary merit (better writing, depth of themes, strong character development, etc) not everyone reads books for those literary reasons. A lot of people read just to escape, or share in a minor distraction with mild entertainment, and the quality of the writing just isn’t that important. And those are really valuable reasons to read a book. It feels relevant to bring this up in a discussion of these books because Colleen Hoover has become unfathomably popular, thanks in part to her committed social media presence. The reason I picked up this book in the first place is that someone I love very much asked if I had read anything by Hoover, because she knows that I’m a big reader and so many OTHER people that she knows have been remarking on her books. Hoover has super strong word-of-mouth (or computer, device, whatever we are calling social media posts now) and I think that conversation impacts how her books get reviewed (and maybe, to a lesser extent, how I felt when I was reading this book). This is a lot of preamble to a book review, but what I want to say is that I think I can understand why Hoover’s books are so popular, and that I understand that many people might feel rather defensive of their enjoyment of her novels – and, more to the point, their own taste despite their enjoyment of these novels.
That said, these novels are not great. The writing is simple at best and at times downright frustrating, even insulting. Both of these books had protagonists who were supposedly adults and yet responded to other people, especially men, as though they were teenagers. There were plot holes so thick you could pass a plane through them. Yes, Colleen Hoover is willing to attempt to update the romance novel with themes that are more intense than you might typically find in the genre – but she does so in novels thick with cliché. The plot twists, but it doesn’t really thicken.
Verity is a gothic-style thriller (absent any atmosphere at all). Lowen, the heroine, is a reclusive writer in her early 30s. The novel opens with Lowen witnessing a horrific accident on the streets of NYC – a person is hit by a car and dies, she’s near enough for the blood to splatter all over her shirt – and rather than use this as an opportunity for ANY sort of thoughts about mortality or the nature of life (thoughts you might expect a writer to have?) it’s actually an occasion for a meet-cute. Jeremy appears out of nowhere, drags her into a nearby coffee shop bathroom and gives her the shirt off of his back. I had a very hard time determining if he was meant to be read as creepy from the get-go, but I honestly think readers are supposed to be impressed with his ridiculous obsession with Lowen from that first, mortal moment. It turn’s out Jeremy’s wife, Verity Crawford, is a famous writer who has written a series of best-selling crime thrillers. The problem is that Verity has been in a terrible accident – actually, she’s endured a great deal of trauma, first her twin daughters died in close succession, then she had a strange and suspicious accident in which she drove her car into a tree. She survived the accident, but with very little function. It’s very important to Jeremy that someone finishes her book series for her, and he’s willing to throw a lot of money at the problem to get Lowen to be that very ghost-writer. Lowen’s been dealing with the aftermath of the death of her mother, and the financial wreck that left her with (she’s days away from being evicted from her apartment). So, she accepts the job.
Jeremy brings Lowen out to his home, which turns out to be a mansion because he’s very, very rich. He currently lives in the home with his surviving son and Verity, plus a rotating group of nurses. Do we know WHY Lowen has to live in his home while she writes these books? Well, Hoover will supply a series of strange coincidences that support that plot, but none of it feels at all grounded in reality. Lowen just has to be there because if she lives in his house, she’ll discover … Verity’s secret journal! Dun – dun – dun! Verity can’t talk or communicate now (or can she?) but her journal contains all the evidence Lowen needs to realize she’s a heinous bitch, and possibly a criminal to boot. As Lowen reads the journal (parceled out over time, because plot, forget reason) she finds herself falling for Jeremy (it might be the numerous sex scenes described in the journal). Eventually, things come to a point where the mysteries of the house must be revealed – and they are, in a series of insane escalations.
Despite not really enjoying reading Verity, I had another Hoover on hand and thought I’d give her one more chance. It Ends With Us was full of the same writing – very functional, serviceable writing, but absent a sense of place. Like Verity, I didn’t care about these characters, who felt more like a Lifetime movie caricature than people. IEWU focuses on Lily Bloom, a domestic abuse survivor whose father has just died. She had very complicated feelings about her dad, because he was insanely abusive towards her mother, and once beat her boyfriend within an inch of his life after catching them in her bedroom together. Lily is a sort of manic-pixie-dream-girl without much personality outside of being a survivor and possessing a desire to open a floral shop. She does quirky things, like hang out on other people’s roof tops in order to enjoy a little night air. While trespassing on the night of her dad’s funeral, she meets Ryle – a neurosurgeon with clear anger issues (she is literally hiding while he kicks chairs). He’s obviously well off, hot, and almost immediately he communicates his strong interest in sleeping with her in the most blunt manner possible (“naked truths” they call this). He can’t be bothered with a girlfriend, she’s not into one night stands, so this seems like it will be case of two ships passing in the night.
Since her dad had money, she has an easy way to open her shop (and presumably no student loans!) by using her inheritance. On the day she takes possession of the building, a rich lady wanders in and asks about a job – this woman turns out to be Alyssa, an amazing interior decorator, willing to work for free because her husband is insanely rich from selling some apps – and Ryle’s sister. The most ridiculous will-they-won’t-they ensues – Ryle and Lily don’t really spend any time together, they have vague details about one another’s traumatic past and ambitious goals but no real understanding of each other’s character. Ryle wants to fuck Lily. Lily wants to have a relationship with Ryle, and make “steampunk” flowers. She claims to be creative, but there’s no real evidence of that beyond her decision to supposedly sell flowers to people who don’t like flowers. Of course, he breaks all of his rules and decides he will have a relationship with her!
While Lily is pursuing Ryle in the present, she also digs into her old journals, recused from her childhood home after her mother’s move following her dad’s death. In these journals, Lily would write to Ellen DeGeneres, because these novels were written before Ellen’s fall from favor. It’s … not a great plot point that a 15 year old is so obsessed with Ellen. Her journal entries veer from wildly immature (all of the conversation with Ellen as though she actually believes Ellen reads any of this, not to mention the investment in a television program) to descriptions of how turned on she is by Atlas – he’s the homeless boy (man? kid from her high school, only 18 years old to her 15). He’s been camping out in the empty house behind her own, the one that looks directly into her bedroom. She starts hanging out with Atlas, eventually losing her virginity to him – until her father discovers them together. Lily never truly got over Atlas, but he’s definitely the one that got away …
… or has he? Of course, by the laws of this book universe, he shows up, just when she and Ryle are starting their situationship. The book functions as a sort of romance / after school special, so Atlas remains on the back burner, present but lurking around the corner for most of the novel. Ryle eventually reveals himself to be an abuser (trigger warning for abuse, sexual violence). While Hoover isn’t a subtle writer, I would say that she did a decent job of portraying the way in which seemingly normal, mundane moments can be the trigger for the most devastating events. A dropped casserole dish and errant laugh could have been throw away moments – but instead, they are the precursor (but NOT the cause) to the first of a few violent interludes.
I think that Hoover showcases something that is quite nuanced – why women stay, especially women who have ample opportunity to leave. Abuse isn’t always straightforward, an abuser isn’t always universally hated. There’s merit to those ideas, to writing books that spark that discussion. However, for me, I just cannot get over the poor quality of the writing, and the lack of investment in building a strong story. These complex topics are given a far simpler treatment, and both the novels and the quality of the ideas suffer for it. The narrative twists don’t feel as wild, the trauma plots feel more contrived, and any sense of victory less earned.