A solid 2.5 for Casey McQuiston’s self insert love story with a Timothee Chalamet/Harry Styles fusion — which sucks, because I really, *really* wanted to like this book.

I don’t know, maybe I’m not cultured enough & too apathetic about sex to enjoy the endless paragraphs about wine, having trysts amid a food tour and famous European landmarks. Or maybe the author themselves describes it perfectly at one point in Act II, “Like a Guadagnino film.” Right down to a peach scene! 

This isn’t necessarily a bad book, but I do believe it’s lacking the McQuiston magic that made them well known. I can’t feel bad or root for nepo babies, let alone ones as pretentious as Theo and Kit. I can appreciate the casual queerness of this book but “Be a good bottom for me,” prefacing a love confession is not the grand romantic sequence it was set up to be. Like, yes, there is something inherently erotic about the beauty and nuances of food and travel, but with such pampered, frivolous, immature characters, I can’t get into it. Having to remind myself these two are nearly thirty just made them even more insufferable. 

It isn’t a bad premise! Two ex-lovers, ex-childhood best friends, ex-everything’s in a very romantic closed proximity? Sign me up.

But then the sex competition. Them being stupidly rich and way too confident, despite their “noooo I wanna be relatable” auras. This is a case where I liked the story but couldn’t be bothered to care about the main characters. When I wasn’t smitten by the realizations they’ve never stopped loving each other, I was rolling my eyes with annoyance.

Some people have sophomore slumps, and well, this is Casey McQuiston’s senior slump. That’s okay. They can’t all be hits, sometimes you gotta miss.