Lola and the Boy Next Door: A Rollercoaster of Quirk and Discontent
When I picked up Lola and the Boy Next Door by Stephanie Perkins, I felt an intoxicating blend of excitement and nostalgia wash over me. Having absolutely adored Anna and the French Kiss, I was ready for another whimsical journey. Perkins has this wonderful ability to create vibrant, relatable characters that pull at my heartstrings, and I was zipped back to the happiness of Anna’s story. Little did I know, this book would turn out to be more of a mixed bag for me – a bit like biting into a chocolate only to discover a nutty surprise.
Let’s cut to the chase: Lola, our leading lady, grates on my nerves like a cheese grater to soggy cardboard. From the first moment, she was unlikable in the way you sometimes want to shake someone for their choices. I understand the appeal of flawed characters—give me all the Regina Georges! But Lola’s selfishness isn’t just a character quirk; it’s like a clap of thunder that steals the show. The supposed charm of her quirky outfits and over-the-top personality quickly faded under the weight of her self-obsessed maneuvers. Her relationship with her best friend Lindsey is an emotional circus that left me cringing more often than not.
As I wrestled through her ups and downs, I often felt like I was watching a romantic comedy that had lost its way. Perkins weaves in humor and drama, yet the balance felt decidedly off. Stereotypical characters showed up like awkward party guests – Cricket, “the boy next door,” in particular appeared to be designed from an all-too-familiar mold of the “too-good-to-be-true” nice guy. While I could see flashes of potential in him, his dependency on others began to wear thin, and soon, the chemistry fizzled out like a soda left open too long.
The prose of Perkins, as always, is laced with casual charm, but here I couldn’t help but notice something was amiss. The vibrant descriptive touch that made me weep in Anna seemed diluted in this follow-up. Clichés swirled together like confetti in a breeze, and the deeper moments of self-realization about Lola felt overshadowed by recycled themes from other rom-coms. One scene that exemplified this was Lola’s struggle with her outlandish prom dress. Instead of being a thread of self-discovery, it became merely window dressing for a storyline that could have achieved so much more.
Now, let’s be honest. I was dying for appearances from Anna and St. Clair, those beloved characters who sparkled so brightly in my memory. But their return felt forced, akin to a sitcom character overstaying their welcome. Instead of feeling that heartwarming connection, their presence reminded me just how much I missed the authenticity of their story, which made Lola’s narrative feel more like a vacation that just wouldn’t end.
In conclusion, while Lola and the Boy Next Door offers the promise of unique charm, it drifts from the magic of its predecessor. Readers seeking a fluffy rom-com might find solace in Lola’s world, but personally, it was more of a disappointment than I hoped. If you’re looking for relatable, fully realized characters and a plot with a steady pulse, I’d suggest sticking with Anna and her adventures in Paris. So, did I enjoy the read? Not quite as much as I wanted to. But hey, every reading journey teaches us something—just this time, it reminded me to temper my expectations.
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