Title: Meet Me at Willoughby Close
Author: Kate Hewitt
Series: Willoughby Close #2
Riding on charm
I would like to thank Kate Hewitt, Tule Publishing, and NetGalley for allowing me to read an ARC in exchange for an honest review.
Ellie’s adult life has been about making the best of crappy circumstances. Getting pregnant at seventeen, dropping out of school, marrying a deadbeat husband, divorcing a deadbeat husband, trying to be a good single mother–she doesn’t regret any of it. Her daughter, Abby, is her everything. It comes to a point, however, when she needs a change. She moves to the Cotswolds, enrolls Abby in a new school, where hopefully her daughter will make friends and not get bullied, and begins a new job as an administrative assistant for the history faculty at Oxford. One thing that hadn’t been part of her plan for a fresh start: a love life. Her attraction to her boss, Dr. Oliver Venables, surprises her so much that she denies it for quite some time. But seeing him every day…getting to know him… She can’t resist wondering what it would be like to love someone so unlike her ex-husband, someone she could trust… And to her utter shock, Abby encourages her to find out.
While reading this, I visited Hewitt’s website, because I was curious about her and about the first book of this series, the characters of which make brief appearances here (but don’t worry, it completely stands alone). I noticed two things: 1) she was raised in America and moved to England as an adult, and 2) her work is marketed as an “intensely emotional read.” Nothing wrong with either of those—but they made me view the book in a different light. “You shouldn’t judge a book by its author,” snaps the harpies. I’m not; my perception was altered, is all. “How?” they snarl. “How could it possibly matter?” Well, I’ll tell you, and remember this is only my subjective opinion.
Going in blind to all but the synopsis, I soon realized this was the most British-sounding book I’d ever read. I thought I had a good grasp on Britishisms, but it seemed like I was looking up a term or a phrase on every other page. Which is fine—I was fascinated to learn more about the culture. I was like, “Wow, this must be what British fiction looks like before it’s edited for the American market! Cool!” And then I found out the author was raised in America. Now, I know nothing but a few general statements about Hewitt’s life, so making these assumptions is completely absurd. I know that, and I know she has to know volumes more about life in Britain than I do. But knowing she didn’t grow up talking like this, knowing at some point, probably not too many years ago, all of it had been foreign to her, too… It seemed pretentious. It could be that she was fully immersed in writing through the voice of a young British mother. It could be that she’s honestly adapted to British culture and this is how she thinks and speaks now. But I couldn’t help feeling…fooled. It bothered me. I wonder if I’d have felt this way if I’d read the previous installment first. It was about an American woman taking holiday in the Cotswolds and finding love.
Next, I cannot agree that this book was an “intensely emotional read,” and that heightens the sense of false advertising. I thought it was definitely emotional, but it was hardly intense. In my mind, “intense” is almost synonymous with “melodramatic,” which tends to have bad connotations, but it’s not always a bad thing. If nobody liked melodramatic and intense and over-the-top, the film industry would look very different right now, and shows like Sherlock and Game of Thrones wouldn’t be so popular. No, I found this narrative light and down-to-earth and heart-warming—all good things! As someone who tends to blow things far out of proportion (example: my reviews), I admire how she kept the story grounded to a point of realism, and yet kept it from being boring. Not what I would describe, though, as an “intensely emotional read.”
Or even particularly romantic, for that matter. I loved that Oliver veered from the typical overly confident, overly sexualized alpha male hero. I loved that he had doubts, that he wasn’t good at being social, that he reverted to a bitingly stern persona when he was uncomfortable. His arc, however, began as meek and timid and ended as…well, a little bit more bull-by-the-horns, anyway. He didn’t seem to gain much confidence; he mostly became impatient with himself, and there’s where I had a problem with his character—and a similar problem with the plot. Ellie and Oliver’s entire relationship was one gigantic misunderstanding—or perhaps, more accurately, a string of them. I expected them to reach a point where they knew each other well enough to know, or at least be suspicious, when one of their attitudes takes a startling one-eighty, and think, “Oh, man, something’s wrong. I really need to talk to him/her.” Instead, they took everything at face value, mostly out of cowardice (both were terrified things wouldn’t work out perfectly; because, of course, everything had up to that point—not), and allowed themselves to silently wallow in miserable uncertainty. Oliver never reached the point where he swallowed his pride and declared his feelings—almost a couple of times, but almost doesn’t count—but Ellie managed it…and then reverted to willfully misunderstanding and not asking for clarification. It became really frustrating, and now I think on it, Abby is probably the character who gained the most emotional maturity throughout the course of the story. And she’s eleven.
I liked Ellie better as a mother than as a single lady. Abby was always, always first in her thoughts, as it should be, and I’m glad Ellie was strong enough to give Nathan (her ex) what he deserved; it’s not easy saying no to something that’s familiar, to something you’ve loved your whole life. But he wasn’t healthy for them, and she recognized that.
I liked the characters as people, even if I didn’t always like their actions. However, the plot was even more unfortunate than an overused cliché of misunderstandings. As a whole, it was predictable and riddled with convenient devices. Lady Stokeley (despite being my second-favorite character, next to Abby) was a convenient babysitter when Ellie needed someone to watch Abby. I don’t think she added anything to the plot. Jace, while providing a contrast to Oliver type-wise, was a convenient Mr. Fix-it for Ellie and also a babysitter. He definitely didn’t add anything to the plot. Jeannie, another woman working in the history department, was conveniently nosy. Actually, now that I think on it, I’m not sure what purpose her character served. Jemima, either; she provided Ellie with the misunderstanding that Oliver was married, and sure, Ellie forged a connection with her emotionally, but it wasn’t necessary. All of the other children and mothers were conveniently assholes. I’m not dismissing bullies, god knows the world is full of them, but surely not EVERYone ignored/disliked Abby and Ellie, who, in turn, only made a small effort to become part of the community. And the one mother/daughter pairing that was given a name (therefore belying their significance) conveniently moved next door, making it easier for Ellie and Abby to reconcile with them…off-screen and suddenly. Lastly, Marmite, their very flatulent dog, was used to introduce Lady Stokeley and create sexual tension between Ellie and Oliver. (If you don’t trust your dog to stay close and behave, maybe you should put the leash on BEFORE leaving the house.) (Also, they joked about his name, which is a reference I didn’t understand, even after I looked it up. I think the substance he’s named after is stinky, and that’s the joke? I have no idea.)
But for all that, Hewitt’s writing style is very good. The pace was great (until I got frustrated with Ellie and Oliver continually underestimating one another), and the story flowed so smoothly that the hours flew by while I was reading.
Overall… I think Hewitt had good intentions, but the narrative is flimsy at best.
