Someone Else's Love Letter

by Deborah Blumenthal

[Linda]

This review was originally posted on (un)Conventional Bookviews
Someone Else's Love Letter had a great premise, but I never felt like I became a part of the story of fully invested in the characters.



I fell in love with the premise of Someone Else's Love Letter as soon as I read the summary, and at the very beginning of the story I was a happy reader indeed! Sage seemed to have everything going for her, and she was determined to figure out who had written the love letter she found in the back of a cab. The story quickly turned into a sort of puzzle where there seems to be either some pieces too many, or a few pieces short in some ways. There are a lot of characters to follow, and this made it difficult for me to get attached to Sage as she went on her wild chase for a person she built up in her head to be fantastic - based on the words written for someone else.

Sage started out as a character that seemed strong and competent, but little by little, she showed that she had no self-confidence, was riddled with self-doubt that bordered on self-loathing. I found her obsession with the letter, and her search for its author quirkily funny at first, but that kind of wore off, especially as she found herself with different people who might be the actual writer. Then, there were her friends Jennelle with her boyfriend, a client who became a friend, a young girl she met when she volunteered at the children's hospital, her neighbor and friend, Arnie, and three other characters that both confused and intrigued her.

In the end, I became frustrated with all those characters and loose ends for such a short story, and I was a bit disappointed because the plot didn't deliver what I expected based on the summary. The writing is good, though, written in first person point of view, past tense, but I never got invested in Sage nor did I understand her attraction to the person who had written the letter in the first place.



I tugged at the corner and it slid free. The paper was thick, luxurious, and addressed in amethyst ink. I lifted the flap, tracing my finger over the midnight-blue lining embedded with whispery white threads. I held it to my nose. A faint perfume. Two sheets were neatly folded inside.

I was a peeping tom, peering into someone else's emotional life. Still, he was a kindred spirit. He knew the importance of putting things in the proper wrapping, too. 

Like the letter? My mind kept circling back to it. He might live in a house like this. He'd sit by a window staring at the ocean, or run o the beach for miles trying to get Caroline out of his head.