Caroline Upcher’s The Boathouse is one of those rare examples of a romance novel that I don’t end up massively annoyed with by the time I reach the end of it. I don’t know what it is about these sort of books that always somehow manages to get on my nerves, but for some reason, a vast majority of them just aren’t my cup of tea. As for this book, in particular, it was okay. And that’s all there is to it, really.
Nothing really stands out as impressive or really interesting in any way. There’s a bit of a mystery about the main character’s mother and the romance included is at least a little bit better than a lot of the typical nonsense that I’ve known many romance books to spew. I didn’t really hate anyone or roll my eyes a lot at obviously ridiculous writing or descriptions.
But the big thing about this book is that it’s very forgettable. You don’t leave it feeling like you’re going to remember these characters or this story very well. You didn’t love them, didn’t have any strong connection, and so the book falls to the wayside as one that wasn’t exactly bad but wasn’t really worth your time either.