Barnes & Noble carried a box set with new covers, so I ordered all three books at once, and, wow, was that a naive decision. About a week later, I read the entire first book in one afternoon, but not in a "this book is so great, I can't put it down" kind of way. No, in an "I need to finish this so I can laugh at its entirety with everyone I know" kind of way; in a "tired plot + shockingly thin characters + awful romance = train wreck" kind of way.
I didn't want to hate The Summer I Turned Pretty. I'm a huge fan of Jenny Han's other work, and the Taylor Swift- and Olivia Rodrigo-filled TV show soundtrack looked like I could gear up for a new hyper-fixation. I'm not high-and-mighty about romance as a genre, either; people being snotty like that is one of my biggest pet peeves. Surprisingly, one of the book's biggest downfalls was how excited I was: I saw the redesigned covers and expected a more modern book when I'd actually ordered something from nearly fifteen years ago when YA romance as a whole struggled with toxic archetypes. Had I been holding a book with dated cover trends and less of a quality design, I might have been more inclined to give TSITP leeway, but with a fresh, new look, I subconsciously set the bar high.
That high bar made the basic plot even more of a disappointment. Not only was it predictable and overused, but it was also shockingly sparse and bland. I couldn't tell you what filled up those 300-some pages—it constantly flip-flopped between filler scenes and fever dreams. The core concept makes me uncomfortable, too: a girl "transformed" over the school year and became every guy's dream. I don't know how to articulate why it felt wrong to me; something about it pulled me back into my middle school days far too intensely for me to like. It was almost like Han crafted the idea, consciously or not, to be a sort of fantasy life for young girls, not unlike Stephenie Meyer's Twilight. Belly is the spunky, not-like-other-girls blank slate that's perfect for readers to project themselves onto, and you can say what you want about reasons to read, but after experiencing books like that myself, I will always firmly believe that those types of characters are never healthy for young readers, especially since it's nearly impossible to notice when you're in it. I would much rather have YA books with a diverse range of strongly characterized protagonists for readers to see themselves in without putting themselves onto the character.
Belly wasn't the only weak character; all of them were personality-less. Her brother Steven's only trait was being a terrible person, but it's okay because they're siblings? I hate when people push that rhetoric; unhealthy relationships don't get a pass just because they're familial. And the romantic relationships were no better: everyone kept saying how Jeremiah was some kind of comedy god, and then he didn't tell a single joke—if he was even there. Jeremiah was supposed to be the other love interest, but he had maybe three scenes. He became my favorite character simply because he didn't have enough time to do something mean. The other other love interest, Cameron, also lacked substance. I swear to god, I could not tell you a single personality trait for this man. I think he was supposed to be edgy and "not like other guys" (weren't they all?), but he mostly ended up being bland and uninteresting.
The worst of the characters, however, was Conrad, Love Interest #1. He was the essence of toxic dream guys in 2000s teen romances: distant, brooding, "damaged." Poor communication skills and unstable emotions are attractive in this book, because the year is 2009, and who doesn't love a manipulative man? (To be fair, the year was quite literally 2009 upon the book's release.) My problem with Conrad goes deeper than the surface-level "this romance is unappealing and uninteresting"; romances like his and Belly's wreak real damage on impressionable readers, especially young girls. 12- and 13-year-old girls read books like TSITP and slowly believe that a guy like Conrad—fickle, overprotective—is the ideal guy. Then, they end up in unhealthy, even dangerous relationships because of that education instilled into them. Books aren't the only source of that belief, but they're enough of a source to be harmful.
And I know that this book is old enough for all of my grievances to have been normal, but why do Belly and her toxic romances have to be dragged to light in 2022, when authors like Casey McQuiston and Sandhya Menon are now in the YA rom-com game? No one would have minded if TSITP had quietly died and newer romantic comedies got attention from streaming services. Who cares if it has the Jenny Han and To All the Boys names attached to it? One single famous actor in the cast would have garnered the same amount of publicity. Even with the updates added to the show, like Jeremiah being bi and the general cast of characters having more personality, I still didn't think it was good enough for a brand-new series. The entire romance with Conrad is built on ickiness, and although bisexuality fits Jeremiah's character well enough, it came off as tokenized to me—maybe because I already had a general dislike, but maybe because they wanted inclusivity points and didn't try all that hard for thoughtful representation.
I hate writing negative reviews for romantic comedies; the whole genre is belittled and not given the respect it deserves for its ability to captivate readers of all kinds, but I couldn't lie about The Summer I Turned Pretty. It was a product of its time, and I kind of hate it for that.
This isn't exactly an October-oriented review, mais c'est la vie. This is what I prepared. Happy Halloween, by the way! Next month, I'll try to get a review out a bit earlier than the last day, but we'll see how it goes. Until next time, keep reading, readers.