(Bloomsbury, $35)”Rebecca Finch is a highly successful romantic novelist who has fallen out of love with love,” reads the blurb on the back. Now as a rule, sentences like that usually have me running for the hills because I don’t want to read about fictional novelists and their made-up problems because I am a real-life novelist and my real-life problems never seem anywhere near enough fun in comparison.
Rebecca, however, has misplaced her boyfriend on the way to Paris and finds out she doesn’t mind, which quickly endeared me to her as he sounded like a right prat. Soon after this, she struggles to give her goddaughter any hopeful advice regarding her pending nuptials, and then she advises readers of her own romance books to not bother as it’s all bollocks. The woman who has just bought a lovely flat overlooking the Thames on the proceeds of believing in happily ever after has joined the “better luck next time” brigade. Rebecca’s about to become highly unsuccessful and can’t seem to do a thing about it.
Now this could all be standard fare – although still a witty cut above the rest – except that unbeknown to her, Rebecca has been chosen by Aphrodite, the goddess of love, to promote her cause down on Earth and Aphrodite is more than miffed that she’s bungling it. Turns out the gods watch humans on giant screens as though it was reality TV, switching channels from country to country.
Dopey teenager Eros prefers the USA and can’t understand why everyone else watches France: it’s so slow, he grumbles, and although the cars are cool it’s just a lot of people dressed in black eating stuff and talking. However, it’s Eros’ fault that Rebecca is in such a muddle in the first place – he’s slightly wayward with his arrows – and if love is to reign supreme in the human world, he and Aphrodite must sort it out.
An updated Bridget Jones Diary with a heavenly twist, this book is an utter joy to read.
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