why are we all so into emily henry novels?

a brief examination

On a Monday evening a couple of weeks ago, I sat down to begin one of my favorite activities: cracking open a new Emily Henry novel. Funny Story came out in late April, but reading it, I decided, would be my reward after my harried May was over.

I finished it in a couple of days, and that's because I am trying to be a productive member of society who wakes up at a normal time and couldn't stay up all night to read about my latest deranged fictional girl in love. 

Reader, I'm sure I don't have to tell you this, but: I loved Funny Story. Just like I loved Beach Read, People We Meet on Vacation, Book Lovers, and Happy Place. It would signify an embarrassing lack of discernment on my end, perhaps, if the books weren't so objectively good. There is a reason why even your friends who don't regularly read romance novels find themselves entranced by Henry's writing.

What's so different about her novels, though, that makes the girlies (as a reminder, girlies is indeed gender-neutral) flock? Is it that Henry, somehow, manages to make her heroines become their best selves for themselves rather than solely for a significant other? That she does so — and this is crucial — without superfluous cringe? I talked to a few friends about it, all of whom are Big Readers and also Henry fans (we do have a selection bias on our hands here, sorry). 

From

Tyler McCall

, who writes Voted Most Talkative and is also responsible (complimentary) for Quinn's latest audio erotica series: 

The EmHen of it all...if I may be so bold...I truly think she is the Nora Ephron of romance authors. Just completely nails the vibe of two freaks (complimentary) falling in love, how exciting and scary and strange the experience is. The banter!!! Unparalleled in romance, and it's really hard to nail that balance of being funny and quick while still feeling real–and that's the most important thing, that her characters always feel real.

From

Samantha Dockser

, who writes The Lately, runs the Reading Lately Book Club, and with whom I've discussed love in its fictional and non-fictional iterations ad nauseam: 

Charlie Lastra, of Book Lovers, is my ultimate Book Boyfriend. Talk about great banter! I will compare every romantic lead I read to him probably forever. One of my favorite things about Henry's male protagonists across the board is the way they see their female counterparts as full people. The men Henry writes listen and care and are present and lovely, but still have their own lives. As do the women. Their world is not limited to each other, by enhanced by each other. The reasons her characters can’t be together are never trite, the misunderstandings totally believable … Even though I know there will be a happily ever after ending, I still find myself worried there might not be. And not because of some silly “third act break-up” rule — but because they are imperfect people trying their best.  

And from

Mackenzie Newcomb

, a professional Book Girlie who writes Mack in Style, runs the Bad Bitch Book Club, and in whose literary recommendations I trust implicitly:

Emily Henry’s characters are fully formed humans, and while their internal dialogue may be familiar, for the most part their history, obstacles and dreams are uniquely theirs. Often times in romance I feel like we’re meant to relate to the protagonist, but in the instance of Henry’s books I feel that I’m less likely to cast myself as a protagonist in her books and find myself instead rooting for them like a best friend. So in addition to falling in love with her immaculately crafted love interests, I’m also becoming emotionally connected to the MC— this isn’t always the case in romance (& otherwise!) If I reallllly think about it, I think this is what makes EH different. But ultimately it’s probably as simple as the fact that Emily captures the giddiness of falling in love and infects all of her readers with the bug.

No one mentioned the midwest/body of water aspect of it all, which feels egregious. So I’ll just posit that it’s everything my lovely friends mentioned as well as the Michigan of it all — maybe more novels should be set around the Great Lakes.

Photo from Uruguay, not the Great Lakes, but it feels right to include it.

As a semi-professional Yearner myself, I've read my fair bit of romance novels. The genre panders to me in the best way: I love a guaranteed happily-ever-after, and I love people learning to become their best selves alongside a significant other. Usually, reading romance feels like a bit of a sunny break from reality, which I enjoy — with Henry’s novels, though, the stories feel closer to an enhanced reality: what life could be like if I were not just unhinged, but also a little brave(r) (and also, possibly, in Michigan).

There is a vulnerability to EmHen (we’re going with it) heroines and their imperfection. I can't think of any romance novel with wholly unflawed main characters (what would be the point?), but what makes her books stand taller for me is the openness, the slightly dimmed rainbows and butterflies compared to other romance novels.

I’ll echo my friends above here and say that yes, Henry writes about people who feel real, not idealized. We recognize them and we relate to them. And importantly, not only are her characters’ flaws evident to us the readers, they are also not hidden from the heroine or her love interest. They're not downplayed or ignored, nor are they twisted into a weird, patronizing aww her mental illness is cute actually (which I've seen mant books do! and it is never not strange!). The flaws are part and parcel of what makes the characters themselves, and they are not neatly fixed or buried to make room for the happily-ever-after.

Sorry for the sentimentality, but Henry’s writing often discards the rose-colored glasses so frequently found in romance: when her characters fall for each other, it's with their eyes wide open. There's something radical about that.

In the past, I've read romance novels where a character finds it necessary to become the absolute best version of herself before finding love, as if imperfect people are not yet worthy of it. This, to me, quickly becomes exhausting. Mind you, I'm not against self-improvement: I just find perfection an unrealistic necessary condition to loving and being loved. Henry's characters are aware of their weaknesses and choose to grow alongside each other, and maybe it's because I'm in my Sentimental Era, but earnestly and honestly loving [as] a consciously-imperfect person might be the most romantic thing there is.   

I wrote earlier that Henry does what she does without "superfluous cringe," but there is something inherently, inevitably cringey about cracking open a novel and sincerely thinking, "oooh I hope these two completely fabricated people kiss." On a fantastic 2023 Vulture profile of Henry, the author said,

“Dating is humiliating. Sex is funny and embarrassing. I think there’s so much beauty in having a genre that’s like, You’re going on the most vulnerable journey a human can go on with a fake person. You’re going to imagine what it’s like to fall in love.”

And I think this might be it. I say this as a girlie who's been accused of being emotionally repressed: beyond the excellent banter, beyond the cut-it-with-a-knife tension, beyond the very appealing Michigan/Michigan-adjacent summers, beyond the love interests who see the full picture of a Henry heroine, I think what the author does best is capture the very vulnerable, very hopeful, very terrifying act of leaving yourself unguarded enough to ask yes I know romantic love isn't everything, and I may not yet have reached the best version of myself, but, well — I still deserve it, don’t I? 

!!!

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Thank you for reading! As always, you can find me on twitter, instagram, and tiktok. This newsletter is my pride and joy, with issues on topics like the celebrity apology industrial complex, Barbie’s Oscar noms, debriefing the Bezos’ fake normalcy, the week when everyone was deranged, and Stanley cups and hyperconsumerism.

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