It’s not a devastating tear-jerker, and it’s not a page-turning thriller. Can it still be a best-seller?
Every time I watch a classic old rom-com with a friend or my husband, we say the same thing: they don’t make ‘em like this anymore. Or, in an attempt to get you to watch something new, someone might attempt to sell it by saying: it feels like a ‘classic’ rom-com*. These days, there seems be a widening gap between Oscar bait films, which focus fully on (attempted) profundity and leave very little room for levity, and downright implausible (but entertaining! this isn’t a dig) “buddy comedies.” That’s not to say every 90s and noughties rom-com was a multilayered complex portrayal of life and love; but I will assert that, these days, when filmmakers attempt that, it comes at a greater emotional cost to the viewer (producers are desperate to either make everyone cry or shock them into pushing their work to the forefront of social media discourse).
So, what do books have to do with this? A lot, actually. Though there’s been some backlash since, A Little Life’s (again, a book I liked) 2015 publication seems to have created a domino effect wherein a novel needs to be devastating in order to be discussed. Or, if it’s not devastating, it has to be “BookTok” bait, which, these days, seems to mean a page-turning, highly unfeasible “enemies to lovers” romance. And guess what? I love reading both the Little Lifes of the world and the Emily Henry BookTok types. But rarely do the books that sit somewhere in between soar to the top of the bestseller charts.
Booker prize nominee (for Brick Lane, which I haven’t read, but will soon) Monica Ali’s first novel in years, 2022’s Love Marriage is a refreshing exception to this rule. Ali straddles genres and tackles complex issues with a light touch. It’s a meaningful work, delivered gently, one of my favorites I’ve read this year. Granted, we’re only two months in, but I’m pleased to have struck gold so early on.
Love Marriage is a look at the months leading up to Yasmin Ghorami and Joe Sangster’s marriage. Both junior doctors working in the same hospital on different units, they fall in love despite their radically different upbringings. Joe was raised by a single mother, the posh and prominent feminist activist Harriet Sangster, in an impeccable, modern townhouse in West London. Yasmin grew up in Tatton Hill, in a house filled both with clutter and personality; her father, whom she calls Baba, is a GP, her mother spends her days making neighborhood rounds and shopping charity sales, and her brother is aimless - unable to settle into a full-time job after graduating from university. Both Yasmin and Joe struggle with their parental relationships; Joe feels smothered by Harriet and Yasmin is frequently embarrassed by some of the idiosyncrasies of her parents, both first generation immigrants from India, which she perceives as misaligned with the cultural norms of the UK. The story follows the two of them as they struggle to navigate unaddressed issues within their relationships - with each other, their parents, their friends, and their identities - in the lead-up to the wedding, which keeps getting pushed farther and farther back for various reasons.
Ali’s writing contains multitudes - crisp but warm; evocative but not florid - it’s easy to picture these characters, to understand their motivations and mistakes. And she deftly weaves their stories together in a way that both keeps the reader on their toes and all makes sense in the end. It’s not exactly a rom-com, but it’s certainly got that Nora Ephron spirit - guess they still do make them like this, if you look a little harder.
*“Someone”, aka me, trying to get everyone I know to watch Crazy Rich Asians with me 24/7