First, I have to say that I’ll read anything and everything Emily Henry writes. She’s got a style that’s addictive and endearing and reminds me of my joy-filled, awkward, heart-on-their-sleeves students, and so she wins me over every time.

This novel has a highly predictable ending. From the very start we know exactly where this is going—even from before the start. Of course we know. But we CAN’T STOP READING because we have to know how it happens, have to see how it all unfurls and rejoins and comes together. It’s addictive fun and guarantees pages of humour and the tittering warm fuzzies. This is precisely the kind of highly predictable story you want to read from start to finish and savour all the delectable run-ons and literature references and awkward misunderstandings and hope—and hope—(and know) that this will all turn out for the best in the end. *with gleeful giggles*

Of course it does. She basically tells you so on page one. No worries. No trepidation. No fear. Read on.

If Emily Henry’s writing defined the romcom genre I’d become a believer; I’d be an avid follower. I’ve tried a few others. Can’t say I’m sold. As it is, Henry is currently one of the only authors I’ll read in this genre because I find her contemporaries in the genre so...ugh. Too much porny-cringey-‘rom’ (or a superficial excuse for love/romance) and not enough out loud laughs. People We Meet on Vacation had me being stared at in public for the bursts of laughter, fits of delighted giggles, and broad spontaneous smiles. She brings the ‘com’ to every page—and isn’t crass about it (what a relief!)—just genuinely cute and funny.

If I’m completely honest—and I hate to criticise anything about this novel because there was nothing wrong with it at all—the pace was faultless, the plot folded together like perfectly constructed origami, the characters were people you want to squeeze and cuddle or easily forgive in their struggling humanity, and the setting was one minute a relatable next door and the next minute a desirable jet-setting adventure—but… but…

(Omg, I hate writing this ‘but’…)

But…the ending was about 8000(?) words too stretched and a little (ever so slightly) over-baked till I felt like I had to chew it too much and some of the flavour faded while I was chewing. I blame this mostly on editors and publishing companies in the current market. I get there’s a word count authors need to meet these days (oh, the pressure: does no one read John Steinbeck anymore? I mean most of the man’s novels, bar The Grapes of Wrath and okay, East of Eden—are around 50,000 words: as in The Pearl, Of Mice and Men, The Red Pony, Cannery Row… Salinger and Hemingway’s greatest works are about 70,000 words… gosh, I digress…) and it’s an 80,000–100,000 word norm in the US publishing market (come on, it’s up to 70,000 in the UK) so that’s my excuse for this extradditional verboseness al final. Not Henry’s fault. Punto.

Okay. But. Just ignore that rant cos this novel is so worth reading in the winter. And then put it on the shelf till the first birds of spring start tweeting and pull it down to read again. And also take it with you on summer holidays, cos even though you already know the ending (from the first page) and have read it twice this year you’ll enjoy reading it again and again and again…

Much like Kate Quinn (but for completely different reasons) I will read everything this woman writes. I’ve already got her next one on preorder…