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In this current time, conversations around books often bring up the question: is this good pandemic reading? Is it hopeful, endearing, diverting? Unfortunately, Andie J. Christopher’s Not That Kind of Guy is Not That Kind of Book.
Bridget Nolan is an Irish Catholic Chicago girl who was inspired to her attorney career by Law & Order: SVU episodes. When she gets an intern, Matt Kido, who happens to be part of the rich (and exceptionally diverse – he’s part Japanese and part “Boston Brahmin” with “an ancestor who had come over on the Mayflower”) family whose fellowship she’s competing for in hopes of ending her student debt, she doesn’t expect to have any feelings for him other than the necessary professional tolerance. But at the end of Matt’s internship, she asks him to join her on her brother and his fiancée’s rather weird bachelor/bachelorette party trip to Vegas – weird because it includes his parents, lots of mutual family friends and Bridget’s ex (her brother’s best friend). Of course, Bridget and Matt end up getting married in Vegas.
When I review a book, I try to include humor, but this book is so miserable, I find myself struggling to crack a single joke. I’ve redrafted multiple paragraphs that are a litany of the ways in which Bridget, our heroine, peppers the book with her bitterness. Let’s try the author’s own words about her: Bridget “operated on the premise that she always knew what was best, and the only thing that could ruin her plans were the foibles of the other people in her life”. Rarely do I read a book which forces me to think to myself ‘I think the main character would hate the readers of her story if she met them’. I can comfortably say that Bridget would loathe me (the feeling is mutual). This woman who hates everyone is also devoted to acquiring everyone’s approval of her “life choices” – friends, estranged mother, priest. A content warning is in order here: an ongoing topic of the book is an abortion Bridget had, which is brought up out of the blue and discussed in graphic medical detail.
Matt is a spoiled rich boy whose great growth in the story is to get “out from under his parents’ thumbs” to live directionlessly on his trust fund. I hope he enjoys the few hours he has before Bridget takes over his life. He’s “a scalding-hot sex god of a lover” according to Bridget, except his skills, as depicted, are as good the French bulldog’s whose enthusiasm for dry humping people’s arms is a running joke in the book. Matt. Never. Gives. Bridget. An. Orgasm. During the few sexual encounters we see, Christopher makes sure to draw our attention to the fact that Bridget “touch[ed] herself until she came”, even when Matt’s in a literal position to lend Bridget a literal hand. As for oral, you must be talking about toothpaste because that’s the only thing he puts in his mouth (oh, there you are, sense of humor. I missed you!).
There’s a lot in this premise that could have yielded a far better story than this. It has diversity in its main characters, the Irish Catholic Chicago setting is relatively original, Christopher’s decision to keep this workplace romance actually out of the work place so that there isn’t an inappropriate power dynamic is thoughtful, and Bridget and Matt have believable chemistry until they actually have sex. But sadly, I can honestly say that far from easing anybody’s self-isolation, Not That Kind of Guy would probably not delight even an immortal being with the body of a twenty-two-year-old dwelling in a health utopia.
Buy it at: Amazon / Audible or shop at your local independent bookstore
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Grade: D
Book Type: Contemporary Romance
Sensuality: Warm
Review Date: 20/04/20
Publication Date: 04/2020
Recent Comments …
Yep
This sounds delightful! I’m grabbing it, thanks
excellent book: interesting, funny dialogs, deep understanding of each character, interesting secondary characters, and also sexy.
I don’t think anyone expects you to post UK prices – it’s just a shame that such a great sale…
I’m sorry about that. We don’t have any way to post British prices as an American based site.
I have several of her books on my TBR and after reading this am moving them up the pile.
Part-time cowgirl, part-time city girl. Always working on converting all my friends into romance readers ("Charlotte, that was the raunchiest thing I have ever read!").
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I never mind a heroine self-gratifying but good lord. He should at least be making her come with his tongue or fingers or something before jamming tab b into slot a.
I’m actually afraid to ask if the characters just shame her into having another kid to “make up” for her having the abortion.
No, even in the epilogue we don’t see the topic of children addressed.
In my romance-reading experience, it’s very rare for a book to include reference to abortion or a heroine having a one (in the unplanned pregnancy trope, heroines might consider termination for a hot second before immediately deciding they’re having the baby; in the HP universe, abortion doesn’t even exist), so I would say that Christopher at least addresses an admittedly contentious but very real issue in the lives of women of child-bearing age. But if the heroine is burdened with guilt or if the abortion is used to cudgel her psychologically (which I’m thinking might be the case here), it might have been better to leave the whole thing out.
That was my big question TBH.
I think honestly the book sends mixed messages. You could come at the story from either perspective on the issue and think it was either super supportive or super hard on Bridget.
That is a good observation about the romance genre. Abortion is typically vilified, if it exists at all. It could be partly the pro-baby sentiment that dominates the industry and/or an industry that shies away from tackling “controversy.” But books that side with presenting abortion as a terrible act are taking a position, and its one in reality most women don’t support. Of course, not all women (or men) want babies, but that hasn’t stopped the industry from proclaiming otherwise.
Yes, indeed, Blackjack, there is an assumption in Romancelandia, and generally, that having children is a biological imperative for any and all women. Here in the UK right now, despite the current Covid-19 epidemic crisis and the National Health Service (NHS) straining every sinew to care for those suffering, there is now outrage that NHS provision of IVF and other forms of assisted pregnancy are suspended for the time being. As not having a child is NOT a disease, please stop complaining and do it NOW. As a woman who has never wanted children, I have every sympathy for a woman who decides that abortion is the right thing for HER and goes ahead with it. It’s not a crime, it’s maybe a moral issue for some but who is really able to judge what is right for another person? I think it is encouraging that a romance is at least mentioning abortion although maybe the graphic details are in poor taste and are, in of themselves, perhaps expressing the author’s opinion. I haven’t read the book and have no plans to so if I have misinterpreted this for those who have and were unhappy about it, then at least let’s be grateful the subject of abortion is not something to be swept under a metaphorical carpet.
As someone who desperately wanted children and has four, I am profoundly happy whenever abortion is acknowledged as viable option. It’s one thing, prior to the late 20th century, to have abortion not be a part of the story when a woman gets unexpectedly/unwantedly pregnant (although this NYT column by John Irving makes it clear abortion was practiced with little fanfare for centuries).
But since Europe and the US legalized abortion, it always rings false to me when it’s not even mentioned as a possibility.