Attachments, by Rainbow Rowell

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One star, read November 2015.

Well. I hated this.

So cliche, so many stereotypes. Suffocating mother, nagging older sister, listless mid-twenties man living with his mother, flighty and shallow ex-girlfriend, woman obsessed with Marriage supporting the long-term emotionally distant musician boyfriend who just won’t propose. The gentle Midwestern “farm boy” who’s gigantic so all the women can swoon over his manliness—like, constantly—but shy, so he’s not threatening.

Their actual meeting, when it finally happened, was too cheesy and unreal even for the early-2000s romantic comedies the book both mimicked and constantly referenced. But the worst part, [spoiler alert] the part that really made me feel kind of sick, was Jennifer’s storyline with the pregnancy. I felt the same way when Miranda got pregnant on Sex and the City. Guys it is fucking creepy to romanticize an adult woman who really, really does not want to be pregnant, accidentally gets pregnant, freaks out because she really does not want to be pregnant, and then is eventually won over. Forcibly. By not having a choice anymore. [end spoiler]

Honestly, I was irritated by page three, and wouldn’t have gone past page 50 if I hadn’t been doing it for a reading challenge in the first place. My feeling probably would have stuck with irritation—and rated it two stars—if not for the business with Jennifer, but I can’t emphasize enough how creeped out I am by that plot. It is not cool.

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