Thursday, 17 October 2013

A Question of Love

A question of love
A Question of Love
Isabel Wolff

"Sometimes the hardest questions to answer are the ones you ask yourself…
When Laura Quick finds herself accidentally hosting a quirky quiz show on national TV, nothing prepares her for one of the contestants – her ex-boyfriend Luke.
She’s still coming to terms with the loss of her husband Nick, having just packed up his clothes – and hopefully her memories of him – for good. So what does the still-delicious Luke’s arrival, complete with six-year-old daughter and badly behaved ex-wife, mean?"

   Part of the reason I started this blog was to push myself out of my comfort zone, to dabble in new genres of books. Books I’d usually pass by in stores. A Question of Love is one of those books. To look at its cover, it’s very clearly a chick lit book. It’s a genre of fiction about which I have based my opinions entirely upon second hand stereotypes. When I got this book, I had hoped that in reading it, I’d find something new. Who knew, perhaps I’d fall in love, have a whole new world of world of books to explore. Sadly however, reading this book, I came across pretty much every stereotype I’d expected.

   Our main character, Laura, has an aspirational media job, she’s a TV presenter, though she kind of fell into it by accident (which means you could too dear reader). Also, despite her fame she remains grounded firmly in real life, remembering all too well the time not so long ago where she still struggled to pay her rent.
   She’s done the happily married, “every girl’s dream” thing, though for the purposes of the narrative her husband is currently AWOL leaving the stage clear for the arrival of Luke, the handsome, fiery, passionate old flame. He runs an art gallery, recently divorced, with a daughter whom he loves more than anything in the world, commence swooning.
   Add to the mix a comedy neighbour and the fat friend (here played by Laura’s sister) used to show us that not everybody in this world is thin and beautiful and you have the makings of the most clichéd paint by numbers book imaginable.
    ….oh yeah, and all the men are pricks….bloody men…

   Despite the neverending run of clichés and frankly borderline offensive portrayals of the male cast, I found it hard to hate this book. The plot and characters aren’t particularly deep, but they’re entertaining enough to keep you reading and there were a few funny moments.
    Ultimately, this is the kind of book designed to fill the train journey to work, to get through at the poolside on holiday. You’re not supposed to really give any of the events in the novel much thought (in fact, I’d say, thinking about them too much is probably a bad thing) it’s intended to be read in a few quick sittings, shelved and forgotten. While I don’t find that kind of storytelling enjoyable or rewarding, it’s hard to hate it….it is what it is…it does its job.

   I wouldn’t recommend this book, but it’s just not my thing. If it’s yours, more power too you, go forth and enjoy. But for me, my hopes to find joy in a new genre have failed, I’ll close the door on my way out. 

Isabel Wolff

No comments:

Post a Comment