Diving into the Messy Waters of Liquid: A Love Story by Sarah M. Whelan
Have you ever picked up a book that promises to be a vibrant blend of genres, only to find yourself wading through a chaotic forest of styles? That was my experience with Liquid: A Love Story by Sarah M. Whelan. With my five-star senses tingling before I even cracked open the cover, I was piqued by its ambitious self-description: a love story tinged with bratty summer vibes, academic pretension, and an unmistakable undercurrent of family drama. Given my penchant for messy girl fiction—à la Margo’s Got Money Troubles—I was ready for the ride.
The novel centers around our unnamed protagonist, a girl trying to navigate the murky waters of love, identity, and societal expectations. It does a spectacular job showcasing the anxiety around body image and dating, especially when you toe that awkward line between sizes 12 and 16. There’s a particular moment when she grapples with being not quite "fat enough" for one guy, which struck a chord with me. The depiction felt painfully accurate, filled with wit yet unearthing the raw struggles many women face.
Whelan’s writing is a workout for the brain, vividly textured with chewy clauses that challenge you to chew them twice. At times, it feels excessively overwritten, but therein lies its charm—like trying to decipher a riddle while sipping lemonade on a hot summer day. Still, you might find yourself rolling your eyes at some of the characters, particularly the protagonist’s overly precious worry about hygiene while wearing someone else’s bowling shoes! Talk about messy irony.
The initial third of the book felt a bit disjointed, laden with academic critiques that might leave some readers scratching their heads. However, the transformation into rom-com territory, paired with the emergence of a likable love interest—let’s call him Adam—turned the tide for me. Their dynamic was electric in its tension, and whenever they appeared on the page together, the dialogue crackled. The family drama layered into the narrative piqued my interest even more, particularly through the protagonist’s relationship with her mother, a boss in every sense of the word. One scene involving ice cream remains etched in my mind, a beautiful act of vulnerability enveloped in the sweetness of nostalgia.
By the end, Whelan cleverly subverts expectations, poking fun at her own lofty aspirations in the first half and taking a delightful plunge into self-awareness. The metamorphosis reassured me: sometimes we need to embrace the messy to discover what truly matters, both in fiction and in life.
Is Liquid: A Love Story for everyone? Perhaps not; its nihilistic edges might alienate some. However, I’m certainly glad I stuck with it. Whelan offers a kaleidoscopic view of women navigating love and societal pressures, while interrogating the narratives structuring our lives. If you’re intrigued by books that teeter on the edge of chaos yet find beauty in that very messiness, give this one a try.
In sum, if you’re a fan of messy girl fiction, biting social critiques, or just love exploring complicated female relationships, slide this book onto your radar. It may just become your next guilty pleasure—sticky summer vibes and all. I know I’ll be thinking about it for quite some time, and I can’t wait to see what Whelan does next.