Book Review: People Watching by HBY
From the moment I heard about People Watching, I was drawn in by its provocative premise and the intriguing allure of HBY’s previous works. The title suggested a story filled with whimsical observations of human connection and flirtation, but what I discovered instead left me stunned and perplexed. Thank you, Dell, for the ARC, and my sincerest apologies to HBY—if you’re reading this, you might want to turn back now!
Right from the first page, a sense of discomfort washed over me that never quite lifted. This novel takes the “will they, won’t they” trope and spins it into a web of coercion and boundary violations, ultimately leaving me feeling more queasy than captivated. The central characters, Milo and (Prude)nce, are archetypes of the overused “bad boy versus sweet virgin” trope, yet HBY seems to have taken the worst traits of each and cranked them up to the maximum.
The portrayal of Milo—a tattooed bisexual man with an absurdly high body count—felt shockingly flat. Instead of a complex character, he seemed more like a caricature: predatory, objectifying, and oblivious to consent. His nickname for Prude(nce), “killer,” felt like a chilling reminder of how little respect he had for her autonomy, dominating page after page with a kind of creepy obsession. I found myself cringing, wondering how this character passed the red flag checks.
The writing itself often faltered under the weight of its ambition, trying to straddle the line between romance and sensuality. Instead, it landed awkwardly in a place where I felt the spark of romance was overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of discomfort. In a time when conversations about consent and healthy relationships are crucial, it pains me to see these themes treated so carelessly.
I couldn’t help but picture readers who might sweep through the rosy-glassed reviews that are bound to flood social media upon the book’s release. How could anyone not see the glaring issues? The internalized biases that make me wince at the cliché of the tattooed “bad boy” were amplified with Milo’s characterization. He often feels sweaty and unkempt, not exactly the swoon-worthy heartthrob the narrative seems to envision.
As for Prude(nce), she felt underdeveloped and almost infantilized—a virgin princess trapped in a fantasy. The infusion of serious themes, such as her family’s struggles with Alzheimer’s, felt like wasted potential that could have lent depth to her character instead of mere plot devices.
Despite the attempts at spice, which is typically my go-to when looking for engaging romance, I found myself repulsed by the interactions between the characters. There was no chemistry, only discomfort. The tension that should have fizzed and popped instead felt mechanized and forced, leaving me with a sense of eww rather than excitement.
So, who might enjoy this book? Honestly, I hesitate to say. It’s hard to point out the positives amidst the overwhelming negatives, but perhaps readers who revel in edgy romance with a hint of taboo might ignore the glaring flaws and find some sort of enjoyment. As for me, People Watching served more as a lesson in what I hope to avoid in romance novels moving forward.
In the end, I wish I could have connected with the characters and their story, but this journey into their world left me feeling like I needed to wash my hands after turning the final page. Let’s hope HBY returns to the heights of Out on a Limb, leaving the depths of disappointment behind.