I started reading Love, Rosie; a book recently adapted into a film with Hunger Games Bae, Sam Caflin, as the male protagonist. It’s a love story about Rosie and Alex, kindergarten BFF’s turned untimely adult almost lovers (a million times over). It’s a depressingly drawn out narrative communicated in letters, texts, and emails.
Half-way through the book, when the characters have gone from seven to thirty and they miss yet another chance at love, I think “Hell, this crap aint even close to done!”.
I quickly Googled a spoiler filled review, only to find out that they are grandparents before they are successful in love!
NOOOOOOOO!
I can’t.
That is unacceptable.
When I read a love story, I like the occasional obstacle (or Atonement like obstacles, which are literary awesomeness), I don’t want to experience soap opera level barries to joy, ones that could go on for decades.
Eff this book. I a sticking to my predictable, mindless, young adult love stories!
I am leaving this on my Goodread’s currently reading shelf in perpetuity.
What did you say?