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A review by emoverhere
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid
5.0
God, where do I even start?
Going into this, I had low expectations, both because I’d learned that my taste in books often doesn’t align with TikTok’s (and that’s okay!), and that a dear friend of mine whose opinions I trust found that it wasn’t really her cup of tea either, so I expected to tolerate it at best, and to dnf it at worst.
But holy hell was I wrong.
Evelyn Hugo was captivating, even in those first few pages before I got to properly meet her via Monique. She’s a legend, an icon, and TJR succeeded spectacularly at conveying that, at making me feel nervous about meeting this woman as much as Monique herself was. And then she succeeded once more at portraying the raw humanity of Evelyn Hugo, the complexities of her decisions, the moral grayness of them, and the achingly beautiful love story she had with Celia St. James, the passion and the dangers of a properly flushed out romance, with its good and bad sides.
I think one of the things that makes reading extremely popular book a challenging experience is the bias I subconsciously possess about certain characters going into it. I’d heard all types of things about Evelyn herself from readers who didn’t appreciate her personality, how unlikable she was, and how she wasn’t afraid to sacrifice people (herself included) to get what she wants and to protect her family. It was admirable, and I loved how unashamed of it she was, I loved how she felt bad but didn’t necessarily regret, and maybe that’s because I adore complex women, but my love for her and her close circle grew exponentially with every word I read, until they felt like my own family, like I’d do the exact same things Evelyn did to protect them. And in that, sympathizing with Evelyn came as naturally as turning the pages of the book.
I love Evelyn Hugo, I ached for her, my heart broke while reading about the devastating luxury of panic that gripped her every time she had to watch her loved ones die, one after another, while she helplessly held them. It was agonizing. In those last forty pages, I spent more time wiping away tears and drying my eyes enough to see the words more than I spent actually reading, a point that only a handful of books have driven me to before this one.
All in all, I loved this book, I adore Evelyn Hugo, and I think she’s one of, if not the, most honest and raw bisexual representation I’ve personally ever encountered. I will be spending a lot of time thinking about this book, and about Evelyn and her philosophy in life.
Going into this, I had low expectations, both because I’d learned that my taste in books often doesn’t align with TikTok’s (and that’s okay!), and that a dear friend of mine whose opinions I trust found that it wasn’t really her cup of tea either, so I expected to tolerate it at best, and to dnf it at worst.
But holy hell was I wrong.
Evelyn Hugo was captivating, even in those first few pages before I got to properly meet her via Monique. She’s a legend, an icon, and TJR succeeded spectacularly at conveying that, at making me feel nervous about meeting this woman as much as Monique herself was. And then she succeeded once more at portraying the raw humanity of Evelyn Hugo, the complexities of her decisions, the moral grayness of them, and the achingly beautiful love story she had with Celia St. James, the passion and the dangers of a properly flushed out romance, with its good and bad sides.
I think one of the things that makes reading extremely popular book a challenging experience is the bias I subconsciously possess about certain characters going into it. I’d heard all types of things about Evelyn herself from readers who didn’t appreciate her personality, how unlikable she was, and how she wasn’t afraid to sacrifice people (herself included) to get what she wants and to protect her family. It was admirable, and I loved how unashamed of it she was, I loved how she felt bad but didn’t necessarily regret, and maybe that’s because I adore complex women, but my love for her and her close circle grew exponentially with every word I read, until they felt like my own family, like I’d do the exact same things Evelyn did to protect them. And in that, sympathizing with Evelyn came as naturally as turning the pages of the book.
I love Evelyn Hugo, I ached for her, my heart broke while reading about the devastating luxury of panic that gripped her every time she had to watch her loved ones die, one after another, while she helplessly held them. It was agonizing. In those last forty pages, I spent more time wiping away tears and drying my eyes enough to see the words more than I spent actually reading, a point that only a handful of books have driven me to before this one.
All in all, I loved this book, I adore Evelyn Hugo, and I think she’s one of, if not the, most honest and raw bisexual representation I’ve personally ever encountered. I will be spending a lot of time thinking about this book, and about Evelyn and her philosophy in life.