“I’ve DNF’d 4 romance novels in a row, send help,” I texted a fellow book-obsessed friend recently.
It’s a bummer every time. I pick up a shiny new romance novel, excited to be transported to another, more lighthearted world where characters feel real but are quirkier and more articulate than anyone is in actual life. A place where true love always wins and all the loose ends get tied up neatly.
But something I’ve been noticing (and what’s bothering me enough to return the book to the library unread) is that romance is becoming both less and less plausible and more and more stressful.
Here’s the scenario:
