Beach Read by Emily Henry
- Alisha Eadle
- Sep 18
- 13 min read
Beach Read
by Emily Henry
Published by Berkley
Augustus Everett is an acclaimed author of literary fiction. January Andrews writes bestselling romance. When she pens a happily ever after, he kills off his entire cast.
They’re polar opposites.
In fact, the only thing they have in common is that for the next three months, they’re living in neighboring beach houses, broke, and bogged down with writer’s block.
Until, one hazy evening, one thing leads to another and they strike a deal designed to force them out of their creative ruts: Augustus will spend the summer writing something happy, and January will pen the next Great American Novel. She’ll take him on field trips worthy of any rom-com montage, and he’ll take her to interview surviving members of a backwoods death cult (obviously). Everyone will finish a book and no-one will fall in love. Really.
Genre
Triggers
Learning of a parent having an affair after their death, Grief over loss of a parent, memories of parent living with cancer
I enjoyed Beach Read much more than I thought I would.
Considering that it's not super heavy on the romance, but more on January's overall journey of grief, and how to move forward in a world that feels different after her father's death, Beach Read was ... moving.
I really connected with January.
Now, I haven't had to deal with the loss of a parent. I'm lucky.
But January learning about her father's secret ... well, unfortunately I can connect with her on that.
Especially how secrets like that can change your entire world view.
You don't think it will.
But it does.
I didn't realize it when I was a teenager, but as an adult, I recognize how it changed me.
Everything got darker.
I became more pessimistic.
I developed trust issues.
I acted out of character for years afterward.
It's been twenty years since I had to tell my mom that I found out my dad was having an affair, and while I no longer feel the pain or anger of that betrayal, I recognize it fundamentally changed me. I went from the romantic, optimistic girl, who argued with my mom and brother when they voiced their suspicions, who said he would never do that ... to who I am now.
Pessimistic.
Untrusting.
Impulsive.
But I found a man I trust wholeheartedly and that I love ... even on the grumpy days.
And slowly, over time, that romantic part of me has come back.
Obviously. I review romance books.
All that to say ... I connected with January's character.
I couldn't imagine what it was like to find out a secret like that after her father died. It was hard enough for me, and I could vent my anger and heartbreak.
January didn't have that.
But she had her writing.
Despite her genre, and the need for happily ever after's, it goes to show that when you are not feeling it, you can't write it.
January was in a dark place. Depressed. Grieving. Lonely. And she needed to vent through her work.
I respect that.
As I said earlier, it isn't heavy on the romance. There is romance. It's a steady, calming romance. It's not super steamy, and it didn't need to be. And while I normally hate when a book isn't dumping the romance and sex on you, I didn't in Beach Read. Emily Henry wrote the perfect balance to this story. I highly recommend Beach Read to any reader ... but especially to those out there who know that hurt.
January: "If the Haunted Hat is what you want to talk about, then yes. Spill."
Shadi: "Still hasn't spoken to me."
Shadi sighed wistfully.
Shadi: "But I can, like, sense him looking at me when we're both in the kitchen. Because we have a connection."
January: "Are you at all worried that your connection isn't with the guy who's wearing the antique porkpie hat, but perhaps with the ghost oh the hat's original owner? What will you do if you've fallen in love with a ghost?"
Shadi: "Um."
Shadi thought for a minute.
Shadi: "I guess I'd have to update my Tinder bio."
January: "You never told me what you write, Everett. I'm sure it's something really groundbreaking and important. Totally new and fresh. Like a story about disillusioned white guy, wandering the world, misunderstood and coldly horny."
A laugh barked out of him.
Gus: "'Coldly horny'? As opposed to the very artfully handled sexual proclivities of your genre? Tell me, which do you find more fascinating to write: love-struck pirates or love-struck werewolves?"
And now I was seething again.
Gus: "Well, it's not really about me so much as what my readers want. What's it like writing Hemingway circle-jerk fan fiction?"
January: "Just to be clear, you're not talking about sex stuff, are you?"
His smile twisted.
Gus: "No, January, I'm not talking about sex stuff."
January: "You'd better not be."
I opened the passenger door and slid onto the seat, pressing my fingers to the warm vents.
January: "Because I carry pepper spray in this tote. And a gun."
Gus: "What the fuck,"
he cried, putting the car in park.
Gus: "You're drunk with a gun flopping around in your wine bag?"
I buckled my seat belt.
January: "It was a joke. The gun part, not the killing you if you try something part. I meant that."
His laugh was more shocked than amused.
January: "You know, you should consider driving for Uber."
Gus: "Oh?"
January: "Yeah, your heat works great. I bet your air-conditioning's decent too. You don't smell like Axe, and you didn't say a word to me the whole way here. Five stars. Six stars. Better than any Uber driver I've had before."
Gus: "Hm."
Gus pulled the smudgy door open for me, bells jangling overhead.
Gus: "Maybe next time you get into an Uber, you should try announcing that you have a loaded gun. You might get better service."
January: "Finally. Something we agree on."
Gus: "I bet we agree on a lot."
He plucked a mangled maple-nut donut out and sat back, examining it the florescent light.
January: "Such as?"
Gus: "All the important stuff. The chemical composition of the Earth's atmosphere, whether the world needs six Pirates of the Caribbean movies, that White Russians should only be drunk when you're already sure you're going to vomit anyway."
Gus: "Secondly -"
he snatched a glazed cake donut from the box -
Gus: "you might want to be careful, January Andrews. You just revealed you know the title of my book. Who knows what other secrets are on the verge of spilling out of you?"
January: "How do you know I didn't just Google it?"
I countered.
January: "Maybe I'd never heard of it before."
Gus: "How do you know that your Googling me wouldn't be even more amusing to me?"
January: "How do you know I wasn't Googling you out of suspicion you had a criminal background?"
Gus: "How do you know I won't keep answering your questions with other questions until we both die?"
January: "How do you know I'll care?"
Gus shook his head, smiling, and took another bite.
Gus: "Wow, this is terrible."
January: "The donuts or this conversation?"
Gus: "This conversation, definitely. The donuts are good. I Googled you too, by the way."
Gus: "Southern Comfort sounds pretty sexy. You have a thing for Southern boys? No teeth and overalls really rev your engine?"
I rolled my eyes.
January: "I'm led to believe you've never been to the South and possibly couldn't locate 'south' on a compass. Besides, why does everyone try to make women's writing semiautobiographical? Do people generally assume your lonely, white, male -"
Gus: "Coldly horny,"
Gus inserted.
January: "-coldly horny protagonists are you?"
He nodded thoughtfully, his dark eyes intent on me.
Gus: "Good question. Do you assume I'm coldly horny?"
January: "Definitely."
This seemed to amuse him and his crooked mouth.
January: "At this point, it honestly might be easier for me to pack it in on the upbeat women's fiction and hop aboard the Bleak Literary Fiction train. At least it would give me an excuse to describe boobs in some horrifying new way. Like bulbous succulents of flesh and sinew. I never get to say bulbous succulents of flesh in my books."
Gus: "Just one more thing,"
he said soberly.
January: "What?"
Gus: "Promise not to fall in love with me."
January: "Oh my God!"
I shoved his shoulder and flopped back into my seat, laughing.
January: "Are you slightly misquoting A Walk to Remember at me?"
Gus cracked another smile.
Gus: "Excellent movie. Sorry, film."
I rolled my eyes, still shivering with laughter.
A half laugh rattled out of him too.
Gus: "I'm serious. I think I got to second base in the theater during that one."
January: "I refuse to believe anyone would cheapen the greatest love story involving Mandy Moore ever told by letting a teenage Gus Everett cop a feel."
Gus: "Believe whatever you want, January Andrews. Jack Reacher risks his life every day to guarantee you that freedom."
January: "Tell me the specifics. I'll see if I can help."
Gus: "Okay. So."
He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.
Gus: "This original premise was basically that this journalist finds out his high school sweetheart, a former drug addict, has joined a cult, so he decided to infiltrate it and take it down. But while he's there, he starts moving up through the ranks really quickly, like waaaay past the woman he went there to save. And as he foes, he starts seeing all this stuff, this proof, that the leader's right. Abought everything. Eventually, the girl was going to get scared and try to back out, try to talk him into leaving with her."
January: "So I'm guessing, they leave, honeymoon in Paris, and settle down in a small villa in the south of France. Probably become winemakers."
Gus: "He was going to murder her,"
he said flatly.
Gus: "To save her soul. I hadn't decided if that was going to be what finally brought the cult down - got all the leaders arrested and everything - or is he was going to become the new prophet. I liked the first option because it feels more like a closed loop: he wants to get her out of the cult; he does. But the second one feels more cyclical in a way. Like every damaged person with a hero complex could end up doing exactly what the original leader of the cult does. I dunno. Maybe I'd have a young man or woman with a drug habit show up at the very end."
January: "Cute."
Gus: "Exactly what I was going for."
January: "This one of your murder spots?"
I asked, walking around the car to him.
Gus: "I refuse to answer that on the grounds that you might try to take it from me."
January: "Solid grounds."
A teenage boy with his hat turned backward was gripping his stomach and shifting between his feet as he waited for one of the toilets to open up while the couple beside him hardcore made out.
January: "Gus,"
I said flatly.
January: "That couple is so into each other they're making out a yard away from a literal tow of shit piles. That juxtaposition is basically the entire rom-come lesson for the night. It really does nothing to your icy heart?"
Gus: "Heart? No. Stomach, a little. I'm getting sympathy diarrhea for their friend. Can you imagine having such a bad time with your friends that a porta potty becomes a beacon of hope? A bedrock! A place to rest your weary head. We're definitely looking at a future existentialist. Maybe even a coldly horny novelist."
Gus paid for the cotton candy and I didn't argue.
Gus: "No, that's fine,"
he teased when I said nothing.,
Gus: "You can just owe me, You can just pay me back whenever."
January: "How much was it?"
I asked, tearing off an enormous piece and lowering it dramatically into my mouth.
Gus: "Three dollars, but it's fine. Just Venmo me the dollar fifty later."
January: "Are you sure that's not too much trouble? I'm happy to go get a cashier's check."
Gus: "Do you know where the closest Western Union is? You could probably wire it."
January: "What sort of interest were you thinking?"
Gus: "You can just give me three dollars when I take you home, and then if I ever find out I need an organ, we can circle back."
January: "Sure, sure."
I agreed.
January: "Let's just put a pin in this."
Gus: "Yeah, we should probably loop in our lawyers anyway."
January: "This is the perfect place for our montage."
Gus: "Our what now?"
January: "Young - extremely beautiful and very tall for her height - woman in sparkly tennis shoes teaches fearful, party-hating curmudgeon how to enjoy life. There'd be a lot of head shaking. A lot of me dragging you from ride to ride. You dragging me back out of the line. Me dragging you back into it. It's be adorable, and more importantly it'll help with your super romantic suicide-cult book. It's the promise-of-the-premise portion of the novel, when your readers are grinning ear to ear. We need a montage."
Gus folded his arms and studies me with narrowed eyes.
January: "Come on, Gus."
I bumped his arm.
January: "You can do it. Be adorable."
His eyes darted to where I'd bumped him, and then back to my face, and he scowled.
January: "I think you misunderstood me. I said adorable."
Gus: "Will you just promise me one thing?"
January: "Gus, I won't fall in love with you."
Gus: "One more thing. Please just try your hardest not to puke."
January: "If I start to, I'll just swallow it."
Gus cupped his hand over his mouth and gagged.
January: "Kidding! I won't puke. At least not until you take me to that six-hour reading."
Somewhere deep in my mind, a self-preservation instinct was screaming, THOSE ARE THE EYES OF A PREDATOR, but that was exactly why nature gave predators eyes like that. So dumb little rabbits like me wouldn't stand a chance.
Don't be a dumb bunny, January!
His eyes wandered down to my mouth, and his crooked lips parted.
Oh, damn.
I was a bunny.
I took a cold shower. Or, at least, I took one second of a cold shower, during which I screamed the f-word and almost broke my ankle lunging away from the stream of water. How the hell were people in books always taking cold showers?
January: Do you have cowboy boots?
Gus: What do you think? From everything you know about me, take a wild guess whether I own cowboy boots.
I stared at the blank page then went for it:
January: You're a man or many secrets. You could have a whole closet full of ten-gallon hats. And if you do, wear one. 6pm.
January: "No hat?"
Gus: "No hat."
He pulled his other hand from behind his back. He was holding two flasks, the thing, foldable kind you could tuck under your clothes.
Gus: "But I brought these in case you're taking me to a Texan church service."
I crouched by the front door, tugging my embroidered ankle boots on.
January: "And once again, you reveal that you know much more about romance than you've previously let on."
Gus: "Just so you know, if I actually have to wear a cowboy hat at some point tonight, I will probably die."
January: "Cowboy hat allergy."
I grabbed my keys from the table.
January: "Got it. Let's go."
Gus: "Anyway, I actually prefer this beach in winter."
January: "Really? Because in winter, I'd just prefer to be dead."
Gus: "You're sick and twisted, January Andrews. That's what I love about you.
My stomach dipped and rose higher than it had started out.
January: "Oh, that's what it is."
Gus: "Well. One thing. It seemed too crass to invite you to my aunts' house and then bring up your ass."
January: "Oh my God,"
I murmured against his ear.
January: "Do you always have sex against your bookshelves? Are your books behind me right now? Is this an ego thing?"
Gus: "I really didn't show up to your sex dungeon to seduce you."
I sat up.
January: "How do you know I didn't seduce you?"
His smile crooked higher.
Gus: "Because you wouldn't have had to."
Gus: "I'm going to mess this up,"
he said helplessly.
January: "Maybe!"
I cried.
January: "But that's not what I asked. Tell me what you want, Gus. Not why you can't have it, or what you think I want, or why you can't give that to me. Just tell me what you want for once. That's all I'm asking you to do."
Gus: "I want you,"
he said quietly.
Gus: "I want you, in every way."
Gus: "I never wanted you to see the world like I see it."
January: "But the bet ..."
I said, trying to work it out.
Gus: "I just thought maybe if you tried to write what I write - I don't know, I guess I hoped you'd realize it wasn't right for you."
He hurried to add,
Gus: "Not because you're not capable! But because it's not you. The way you think about things, it's not like that. I always thought the way you saw the world was ... incredible."
A faint flush crept into his olive cheeks and he shook his head.
Gus: "I never wanted to see you lose that."
A jumble of emotion caught in my throat.
January: "Even if what I'm seeing isn't real?"
Gus's brow and mouth softened.
Gus: "When you love someone,"
he said haltingly,
Gus: "... you want to make this world look different for them. To give all the ugly stuff meaning, and to amplify the good That's what you do. For your readers. For me. You make beautiful things, because you love the world, and maybe the world doesn't always looks how it does in your books, but ... I think putting them out there, that changes the world a little bit. And the world can't afford to lose that."
January: "If we drank green smoothies like we drink alcohol, we would love forever."
Gus: "If we drank green smoothies like we drink alcohol, we would never leave the toilet, and that would do nothing to help you right now."
I guess I should tell you something about myself, about who I am at this very moment as I watch you sleep on your mother's chest.
Well, nice to meet you, January. I'm your father, the man you made from nothing but your tiny fingers and toes.
Since I started these letters, I've been a million different things, some good and some ugly.
But today, on your twenty-eighth birthday, I feel like the same man I was all those years ago.
Staring at you. Counting your fingers. Wondering what it is that makes you so different from the rest of the world. I don't know when it happened, but I'm happy again. I think, even if things don't stay like this, I will always carry this moment in me. How could I ever be sad, having watched my baby grow into the woman she is?
January, you are twenty-eight, and today I am your father.
January: "What's wrong with these pants?"
I gestured to my sweats.
January: "These are my official uniform now, on account of I've officially given up."
Gus: "When I watch you sleep."
he said shakily,
Gus: "I feel overwhelmed that you exist."