REVIEW: "Faker" by Sarah Smith
When you're entering a new relationship, how honest are you really?
I mean there are some things that you might not see as strengths that you simply can't hide.
Like your weight.
Or your acne.
Or your truly horrible fashion sense.
But there are others you can totally keep under wraps for at least a dozen dates or so.
Like your neurosis.
Or your tendency to form attachments too quickly.
Or your embarrassingly large collection of decorative soaps that you have been curating since childhood.
It's been a long time since I was out there in the world, dating.
*thank the Lord Jesus*
But, thinking back on my — thankfully very fucking short — time as a dater, I don't think I was usually that honest about who I truly was.
Even as a young dater, my goal was always to find some guy who would, ultimately, marry me.
And, in a misguided attempt to ensure he would stick around long enough to eventually put a ring on it, I would usually at least start off by showing them less of the person I actually was and more the person that I wish I was.
I would show them the person who I, really, would have been were it not for the crippling social anxiety and intense fear of abandonment.
Honestly, though, I'm not sure that this was really a bad thing.
People aren’t ready to see all the flaws on date one.
They need time to warm up to you. Time to see the benefits of attaching themselves to you — which, hopefully, outweigh the challenges.
Because, the truth is, we all have baggage.
Sure, it varies in size. For some of us, it's light and totable. For others, it's hefty enough to incur extra fees when flying. But I don't think there is anyone who doesn't have... issues.
And, really, I don't think the first date is the right time for my issues to meet your issues.
So, sure.
Hide the truth.
Fib.
Fuck, outright lie.
I think it's fine.
And, apparently, so does Emmie, the protagonist of Sarah Smith’s debut, Faker.
But Emmie does more than just construct and maintain a facade for the first few dates. In fact, she’s built the entire foundation of her romantic life on not sharing her whole self with others.
Which is, perhaps, why she is single despite being an olive-skinned jogger with perfect hair and, presumably, an even more perfect vagina.
Despite her seemingly prolonged period of singledom — and her admitted inability to have an orgasm during sex — Emmie isn’t closed off to love.
She is, however, closed off to Tate, the brooding social media manager with whom she works closely at her boy’s club of a workplace, a tool company called Nuts & Bolts.
From the moment Tate started working there, he’s kept his distance from Emmie. Based on all outward appearances, Tate isn’t just indifferent to Emmie’s presence, he actively dislikes her.
He avoids her at all costs.
He refuses to engage in a civil conversation with her.
He repeatedly exhibits annoying behavior apparently designed to do nothing but disrupt her as she works.
All around, Tate is just… not a wonderful guy.
But what he lacks in charm he certainly makes up for in sex appeal.
With Edward-Cullen level pale skin and tousled curls that beg to be tugged on, even Emmie would have to admit that he is a fine physical specimen.
Almost distractingly so.
So when Tate suggests that he and Emmie — a writer — pair up to promote the new charity project the company is undertaking, her feelings are complicated to say the least.
But as the pair start to work together more closely, Emmie finds herself wondering if she really does have Tate all figured out.
Does he really dislike her as much as he seems to, or is his disinterest really just a mechanism he is using to cope with an attraction he can’t control?
Given that this is a romance novel, the answer to that question is probably more than a little obvious.
Because, if you know anything about romance, you know the formula.
Knowing both romance and the formula novels like this tend to follow, I didn’t go into this read expecting… anything groundbreaking.
I pretty much knew it would be two pretty people having amazing sex who would be tragically pulled apart by something that should have been a minor annoyance but, through a failure to communicate, was elevated to a relationship-ending problem.
I felt like I was okay with it.
And, for the vast majority of the book, I was.
I was enjoying myself.
The writing was bright and bubbly and pleasant.
The plot was linear and uncomplicated and easy.
I was looking for a light, cheery read, and that is what I got.
At least that’s how it seemed at the start.
But, sadly, as the book wore on, so did my patience.
And, as I neared the end, what I had initially felt like I was okay with started to really bother me.
Most significantly irksome, the characters.
They were… well… typical.
Two physically perfect people fighting to keep their obvious mutual attraction to each other at bay.
Despite the fact that, about a quarter of the way in, they both realized they liked-liked each other, they couldn’t simply act on their feelings — as people with a raging attraction and without even one physical flaw to reduce their eagerness to get naked together typically would.
Instead, they had to pine. Because they were kept apart by various factors — which, in fairness, again is fitting with the formula.
But, in this case, the drama felt manufactured.
The impediments to their romance forced.
Part of the reason it felt this way was probably because I didn’t really care all that much about either of these characters.
I didn’t relate to them.
Ultimately, when I read a romance — even an otherwise formulaic one — I want someone I can empathize with. Not some flawless bitch who runs 6 miles but yet is still daisy-fresh enough to let her dreamboat go down on her.
And not only could I not relate to them, but also, there wasn’t much depth to either of them.
As I read, I kept waiting for this depth to develop.
I was, for a time, certain that there would be more.
For a good majority of the book, I was confident that I was but a mere page or two away from them revealing that quiet and reserved and painfully socially awkward Tate was on the autism spectrum. I was certain that that would be the big reveal — that he couldn’t connect with Emmie in a normal way because he couldn’t really connect with anyone.
But, as the book went on, that revelation — which I think would have added some depth to the novel — became increasingly improbable.
And, as I neared the end, I resigned myself to the fact that Tate wouldn’t turn out to be some physically beautiful cunnilingus savant who just happened to be autistic but, instead, a boring guy who I just couldn’t bring myself to care too much about.
Readers seeking a simple romance with admittedly effervescent language and predictably perfect protagonists will find that here.
Those seeking something with even a little bit of depth will be disappointed.
This one earns 3 out of 5 cocktails.
Returning to my (much) earlier question, how honest are you about who you really are when you first start seeing someone? Tell me about it in the comments, below.
And, moving right along. Want to see what I read next? Subscribe to my blog updates in the sidebar on the right and follow me on Goodreads.
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