Jessica Soffer’s second novel, This Is a Love Story, lives up to its straightforward title while simultaneously subverting expectations of what a love story can be. Unlike her 2013 debut, Tomorrow There Will Be Apricots, which explored the complex relationship between a young girl and an elderly Iraqi Jewish widow, Soffer’s latest work examines the profound, sometimes painful love between husband and wife, mother and son, and perhaps most significantly, between artists and their art.
At its heart, the novel follows Abe and Jane, a writer and visual artist who have been married for nearly fifty years. Jane is dying of cancer, and Abe recounts their life together as she fades, remembering their courtship, marriage, artistic careers, and the complicated relationship with their son, Max. The narrative weaves between perspectives, including Jane’s, Abe’s, Max’s, and even Central Park itself, which serves as both setting and character throughout their decades-long relationship.
Soffer’s prose is lyrical yet precise, with a distinct rhythm that mimics the ebb and flow of memory. The novel’s structure—fragmented, circular, sometimes disorienting—mirrors Jane’s deteriorating condition and the non-linear nature of remembering a shared life. While this technique creates an immersive emotional experience, it occasionally makes the narrative difficult to follow, particularly in the latter half of the book when perspectives shift more rapidly.
The Park as Witness and Character
One of the novel’s most innovative aspects is Central Park’s role as both backdrop and narrative voice. Soffer personifies the Park in interludes that offer a broader perspective on love and relationships:
“In the Park, romance is alive and well. Among the tulips, fritillaries, and anemones, juniors from Bronx Science make promises across the Whisper Bench—I want to exist in the same quantum state as you.”
These sections provide welcome breathing room from the intensity of Abe and Jane’s story, showcasing Soffer’s talent for observation and her ability to capture the essence of New York City. The Park becomes a sanctuary, a testing ground, and ultimately a constant in the characters’ changing lives. It’s where Abe and Jane meet, where they bring their son, where they walk during Jane’s illness, and where Abe returns after her death.
However, these Park interludes sometimes feel disconnected from the main narrative, more like beautiful set pieces than integral parts of the story. While they establish atmosphere effectively, they occasionally interrupt the emotional momentum of Abe and Jane’s story.
The Complexity of Creative Lives
The novel excels in its exploration of artistic identity and the tension between creativity and relationships. Jane and Abe are both dedicated to their art—she to her visual creations, he to his writing—and this shared passion both binds them together and drives them apart.
Jane’s postpartum depression after Max’s birth coincides with a creative drought, showing how these aspects of identity are inextricably linked for her:
“You remember that it was the longest time in your life without art. Making it or looking at it, or thinking about it even. You had nothing left.”
Particularly moving is Soffer’s portrayal of Jane’s gradual return to her art after this difficult period, and how her creative rebirth helps her reclaim herself. This speaks to a larger theme in the novel: that art can be both salvation and separation, a way of connecting to others and a way of retreating from them.
Abe’s brief affair with Alice, a student in his writing class, serves as a catalyst for examining the costs of creative ambition. While this subplot introduces necessary tension, Alice herself remains underdeveloped, functioning more as a plot device than a fully realized character. Her sections, told in third person, lack the emotional resonance of the rest of the novel, making it difficult to understand what drives her beyond a superficial admiration for Abe’s work.
The Painful Distance Between Parent and Child
Perhaps the most heartbreaking aspect of the novel is the strained relationship between Jane and her son, Max. After her postpartum depression creates an initial distance between them, neither can bridge the gap as Max grows older:
“You remember sometimes, with him, keeping the words in your mouth like toothpaste water, wanting to spit. You remember wishing you could start over with him. Be a different mother from the get-go.”
Max emerges as a fascinating character—talented, charismatic, and deeply wounded. His sections, written in third person, reveal a man who keeps everyone at arm’s length, particularly women. His complex feelings toward his mother—resentment, concern, and a reluctant love—are rendered with nuance and empathy.
However, the novel sometimes falls into the trap of oversimplifying the causes of this estrangement, suggesting that Jane’s early inability to bond with Max is the primary source of their difficulties. This explanation feels reductive, particularly given the novel’s otherwise sophisticated treatment of family dynamics.
Strengths and Weaknesses
What Works Well
The examination of love through time: Soffer skillfully portrays the evolution of a marriage through both mundane moments and major life events.
The portrayal of illness: Jane’s cancer is depicted with unflinching honesty, avoiding both sentimentality and excessive grimness.
The sensory details: From the “salt breeze” at their Orient home to the “rose water and oil” Jane uses after doctor’s appointments, Soffer creates a vivid sensory landscape.
The treatment of memory: The novel captures how memories shift and change, how they’re selectively preserved and reinterpreted.
Where It Falters
Pacing issues: The novel moves slowly in places, particularly in the middle sections when Jane and Abe are recounting their earlier years.
Too many perspectives: While the multiple viewpoints add richness, they sometimes fragment the narrative unnecessarily.
The Alice subplot: This storyline feels underdeveloped compared to the main narrative.
Occasional overwriting: Some metaphors feel strained (“Jane is a white leopard in a crocheted dress until the dress pools on the floor like spilled milk”), distracting from the emotional impact.
Final Verdict: A Flawed but Moving Meditation on Love and Art
Despite its imperfections, This Is a Love Story succeeds as a meditation on the ways love persists through difficulty, change, and even betrayal. Soffer doesn’t shy away from the complexities of long-term relationships or the sometimes conflicting demands of art and family. The result is a novel that feels honest even when it’s painful.
For readers of Meg Wolitzer’s The Wife or Lauren Groff’s Fates and Furies, this novel will resonate with its portrayal of a complex marriage between creative people. Fans of Maggie O’Farrell’s Hamnet will appreciate Soffer’s unflinching look at grief and loss. And those who enjoyed Rachel Cusk’s Outline trilogy will find similarities in the novel’s meditation on art, identity, and human connection.
This Is a Love Story reminds us that love isn’t always beautiful or easy, but it can be enduring. In Soffer’s hands, even the most difficult moments between Abe and Jane, or Jane and Max, contain a kernel of connection—fragile and imperfect, but undeniably present. As Jane observes near the end of her life: “It is not that I haven’t had a full life.”
Readers seeking a straightforward romance may be disappointed by the novel’s complexity and sometimes challenging structure. But those willing to engage with its deeper questions about art, parenthood, and mortality will find much to appreciate in Soffer’s thoughtful, lyrical prose and her clear-eyed view of what it means to love someone, in all their imperfections, through a lifetime.
Pros:
Beautiful, lyrical prose
Complex, realistic portrayal of a long marriage
Innovative structure and narrative techniques
Moving exploration of creativity and illness
Cons:
Uneven pacing
Some underdeveloped subplots
Occasionally overwritten passages
Structure can be disorienting
For those who loved Soffer’s debut, Tomorrow There Will Be Apricots, this second novel shows growth in ambition and technique, even if it doesn’t quite achieve the emotional clarity of her earlier work. This Is a Love Story confirms Soffer as a writer of considerable talent and ambition, one who isn’t afraid to tackle difficult subjects with honesty and grace.