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THE INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER! Most Anticipated by Parade · Buzzfeed · Harper’s Bazaar· Elle· She Reads ·The Seattle Times· BookRiot and more! A professor of literature finds herself caught up in a work of fiction…literally, from the New York Times bestselling author of The Seven Year Slip and The Dead Romantics.
Eileen Merriweather loves to get lost in a good happily-ever-after. The fictional kind, anyway. Because at least imaginary men don’t leave you at the altar. She feels safe in a book. At home. Which might be why she’s so set on going her annual book club retreat this year—she needs good friends, cheap wine, and grand romantic gestures—no matter what. But when her car unexpectedly breaks down on the way, she finds herself stranded in a quaint town that feels like it’s right out of a novel… Because it is. This place can’t be real, and yet… she’s here, in Eloraton, the town of her favorite romance series, where the candy store’s honey taffy is always sweet, the local bar’s burgers are always a little burnt, and rain always comes in the afternoon. It feels like home. It’s perfect—and perfectly frozen, trapped in the late author’s last unfinished story. Elsy is sure that’s why she must be here: to help bring the town to its storybook ending. Except there is a character in Eloraton that she can’t place—a grumpy bookstore owner with mint-green eyes, an irritatingly sexy mouth and impeccable taste in novels. And he does not want her finishing this book. Which is a problem because Elsy is beginning to think the town’s happily-ever-after might just be intertwined with her own.
THE INSTANT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER! Most Anticipated by Parade · Buzzfeed · Harper’s Bazaar· Elle· She Reads ·The Seattle Times· BookRiot and more! A professor of literature finds herself caught up in a work of fiction…literally, from the New York Times bestselling author of The Seven Year Slip and The Dead Romantics.
Eileen Merriweather loves to get lost in a good happily-ever-after. The fictional kind, anyway. Because at least imaginary men don’t leave you at the altar. She feels safe in a book. At home. Which might be why she’s so set on going her annual book club retreat this year—she needs good friends, cheap wine, and grand romantic gestures—no matter what. But when her car unexpectedly breaks down on the way, she finds herself stranded in a quaint town that feels like it’s right out of a novel… Because it is. This place can’t be real, and yet… she’s here, in Eloraton, the town of her favorite romance series, where the candy store’s honey taffy is always sweet, the local bar’s burgers are always a little burnt, and rain always comes in the afternoon. It feels like home. It’s perfect—and perfectly frozen, trapped in the late author’s last unfinished story. Elsy is sure that’s why she must be here: to help bring the town to its storybook ending. Except there is a character in Eloraton that she can’t place—a grumpy bookstore owner with mint-green eyes, an irritatingly sexy mouth and impeccable taste in novels. And he does not want her finishing this book. Which is a problem because Elsy is beginning to think the town’s happily-ever-after might just be intertwined with her own.
Due to publisher restrictions the library cannot purchase additional copies of this title, and we apologize if there is a long waiting list. Be sure to check for other copies, because there may be other editions available.
Due to publisher restrictions the library cannot purchase additional copies of this title, and we apologize if there is a long waiting list. Be sure to check for other copies, because there may be other editions available.
Excerpts-
From the cover
1
Country Roads
Iwas lost.
Not metaphorically-at least, I didn't think so-but physically lost, hundreds of miles from home, in the middle of nowhere.
No cell service. An outdated map. A gas tank running on empty.
Oh, and I was alone.
When I started this road trip yesterday, before eight hours on the interstate and a pit stop at a dinosaur-themed hotel, and eight more hours today, I didn't think I'd lose my way on the last leg of the journey. I was so close-the cabin where I'd be staying for the next week was within reach-but Google Maps kept glitching as I drove my way through Rip Van Winkle country, until my phone screen was nothing more than beige land and my little blue dot roamed, without a road, in the middle of nowhere.
I'd taken the same road trip with my best friend for the last two years to the same cabin in Rhinebeck, New York, to meet the same people in our Super Smutty Book Club. I shouldn't have gotten lost.
But this was a year of firsts.
Over head, angry-looking clouds rumbled with thunder, dark purple with the coming night and heavy with rain. I hoped the weather held up until I found the cabin, unearthed a bottle of wine from my back seat, and settled down in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch with a romance book in my hands.
The promise of a week of wine and happily ever afters had kept me sane all year, through boring English 101 classes with half-asleep students and AI-generated papers on Chaucer and colleagues who swore that War and Peace was a riveting read. The English department was rife with people who would love to talk to you for hours about Beowulf or modern literary theory or the intersectionality of postmodern texts. But for one week out of the year, I looked forward to shucking off my professorial robes and disappearing into the twisting roads that hugged the soft hills of the Catskills, and reading about impossible meet-cutes and grand romantic gestures, and no one would judge me for it.
And when everyone else pulled out because life got in the way, it was just going to be my best friend, Pru, and me-and that was perfect, too. I needed this. Pru didn't understand how much. No one did. So when she told me last week that she couldn't go, either, it surprised me. No, that was the wrong word-it disappointed me-but I didn't want it to show. I sat on the couch opposite her, The Great British Baking Show in the background, digging my fingers into the comforter I'd pulled over my legs because she always kept her and Jasper's apartment freezing.
"I'm sorry," she'd said, twisting the rings on her fingers nervously. Her dirty blond hair was done up in a sloppy ponytail, and she was already in her pajamas and fuzzy slippers. She was petite and perpetually sunburnt in the summers, with wide brown eyes and a scar on her chin where my teeth went into her face when we were twelve and trying to do backflips on a trampoline. Through the crack in her open bedroom door, I could see her suitcase half-packed already with warm sweaters and cute knit hats. Definitely not summer apparel. "Jasper surprised me with a trip to Iceland, and this is the only time we can go because of, you know, his job," she gushed quickly, like saying it faster would make it hurt less-ripping a proverbial Band-Aid off a very hairy leg. "I know it's not ideal but he just told me. We just found out. And . . . we can all go to the cabin again next year?" The question dipped up, hopeful.
No, I wanted to tell her, but I couldn't quite muster up the word. No, we can't. I needed this. I still need this.
But if I said that, then what would happen? Nothing good. She would still go off to...
Reviews-
Starred review from March 25, 2024 Stranger Than Fiction meets Virgin River in this incandescently clever meta rom-com from Poston (The Seven Year Slip). English professor Eileen “Elsy” Merriweather feels frozen in place after her fiancé breaks up with her a week before their wedding. Thankfully, there’s the promise of a “week of wine and happily ever afters” when her Super Smutty Book Club vacations together in a cabin in the Catskills. When Elsy gets lost in a storm on the way there, however, she winds up in Eloraton, the fictional small-town setting of bestseller Rachel Flowers’s hit Quixotic Falls series, the romances that brought the Super Smutty Book Club together in the first place. Flowers died before she could finish the series and Eloraton is stuck at the point where she stopped writing. The owner of the local bookstore, Anderson Sinclair, is the only person aware there’s anything odd about the town. He warns Elsy not to make ripples or change things, but she feels compelled to help her favorite characters find the happy endings their author planned for them. Poston gracefully walks the line between women’s fiction and romance—with just a hint of magic—providing an inspirational story of personal growth and second-chance romance alongside a fascinating exploration of transformative fiction, how readers and writers cocreate and share stories, and the value and purpose of escaping into one’s favorite novels. Readers will want to escape into this one again and again. Agent: Holly Root, Root Literary.
May 1, 2024
Elsy Merriweather has always felt most at home in books, especially romances, where the happily-ever-afters are guaranteed. Real life, on the other hand, has left her with a cancelled wedding and a best friend who's building a whole new life while Elsy simply feels stuck. When she's the only one who can make it to her book group's annual readathon vacation, she decides to go alone and lose herself in wine and her favorite series of romance novels, set in the charming small town of Eloraton. When Elsy's car breaks down in the middle of a fierce rainstorm, she's shocked to find herself surrounded by the familiar--fictional--buildings and residents of Eloraton itself. Elsy knows the town as well as her own heart (apart from one unfamiliar, grumpy bookstore owner), and as she settles into the routine of Eloraton, where every day is the same, she must decide if her own happily-ever-after is in Eloraton or back in the real world. VERDICT This slow-burn love story from Poston (The Seven Year Slip) is as much an ode to romance novels and friendship as it is about romantic relationships. Fans of small-town contemporary romance will sink easily into quaint Eloraton.--Meagan Day
Copyright 2024 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.
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