Review of Happy Place by Emily Henry: A Conflicted Affair
Buckle up, bitches, because I’ve got some thoughts to unload about Emily Henry’s Happy Place. If you’re a fan of her previous works or if you’re just looking for a swoon-worthy second-chance romance, you might be excited—perhaps more than I was. Although my reading journey with Emily started off rocky with Beach Read, I thought, "Why not give her another shot?” Spoiler alert: I’m still searching for my happy place in her narratives.
At its core, Happy Place tells the story of Harriet and Wyn, a couple who recently separated yet find themselves pretending to be together during a vacation with friends. This premise intrigued me initially; who doesn’t love a bit of tension? However, the execution left me feeling as though I was the third wheel in a friend group I didn’t quite belong to. The jumps between the past and present didn’t work for me. While the past had its moments, the present felt, quite frankly, more engaging and relatable—despite all the melodrama.
The characters… oh, the characters. If I could describe them in one word, it would be flat. I found myself wishing for more depth and vibrancy. Wyn, with a name that sounds more like a rejected character from a fantasy novel than a romantic hero, lacked any compelling traits. I mean, even an old, shoeless rock would have more personality. On the flip side, Harriet does show some spark, albeit buried under layers of inner monologues and self-doubt. As a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic yearning for a long-lasting true love, I wished she would assert herself a bit more.
Let’s talk about miscommunication, a trope I’ve come to dread. Harriet and Wyn’s inability to openly communicate was not just a plot device; it felt more like a frustrating barrier to any potential growth. After eight years together, really? The emotional stakes fell flat as I waded through their nagging inner thoughts instead of seeing dynamic conversations. And breaking up over the phone? I was appalled—and not in the good way.
Oh, and that pottery subplot? Don’t even get me started. Are we really dismissing years of hard-earned medical education for throwing clay? I couldn’t help but cringe at the absurdity, which took me right out of the narrative.
Despite my gripes, there were moments of genuine relatability in Henry’s writing that I found compelling. Some phrases made me nod in agreement—“Same, sis, same”—while others felt overly metaphorical and unnecessary. While I appreciate a good metaphor, this time it felt a bit forced.
Who would enjoy Happy Place? Perhaps it’s perfect for readers who revel in romantic tropes, misunderstandings, and characters who eventually find their way back to love. So, if you loved it, I’m really really really happy for you—I genuinely am. I’m still thinking it over after a night of overthinking and self-loathing, questioning why romance as a main plot isn’t resonating with me.
In the end, Happy Place left me more contemplative than captivated. Maybe there’s something inherently wrong with me. Or perhaps, as I concluded, romance just isn’t my genre. Either way, I think it’s time Emily Henry and I part ways for now. Until next time, keep reading, loving, and exploring your own happy place!