I recently re-read Me Before You by JoJo Moyes. It’s admittedly a saptastic cry-fest, but I loved it. Yeah, it had romance, but it was good, proving that “romance” and “good” can coexist. Lulled into this false sense of security, I decided to try out Nicholas Sparks’ The Choice. The novel was recently made into a movie – as all Nicholas Sparks books are – and the previews are catered towards people that enjoy crying. Looking for a good cry myself, I certainly found it in The Choice, but not for the reasons I was hoping. I cried because of this sixth sense I have that enables me to constantly locate the worst books ever written.
Sparks’ latest effort again chronicles a forbidden romance, and again throws in circumstances to test said romance. Travis the neighborhood veterinarian falls in love with his neighbor Gabby, who has a boyfriend. Apparently Gabby wasn’t too fond of this guy, as she rather unceremoniously dumps him once she has secured Travis as her boyfriend-in-waitting. The two get married and pop out some kids. Happily ever after? Not so fast! One dark and stormy date night, Travis decides to drive like an asshole, landing both himself and Gabby in the hospital. Travis is ok, but his wife is in a coma and he is being pressured to pull the plug. Oh no! What choice will he make?
I guess I only have myself to blame here – I knew what I was getting into when I started The Choice, and I knew five pages in that I was in trouble. It’s not that I’m incapable of falling victim to Nicholas Sparks. I have cried watching The Notebook on more than one occasion. The big problem with The Choice is that it felt forced, and largely recycled. Slightly different situations perhaps, but the characters aren’t novel in any way, and neither is the plot. And the dialogue is downright cringeworthy.
So, make THE CHOICE to not read The Choice. Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.