In “This Is a Love Story,” Jessica Soffer’s second novel following her debut “Tomorrow There Will Be Apricots,” we find a meditation on love that is simultaneously tender and clinical, beautiful and frustrating. Like many real love stories, it’s neither perfect nor perfectly told—but within its fragmented narrative lies moments of genuine insight about what it means to build a life with someone, to create art, and to face mortality together.
At its heart, this is a story about endurance. Abe and Jane have been married for nearly fifty years, spending countless moments together in New York’s Central Park. Now, with Jane dying of cancer, Abe chronicles their life together in what amounts to a final act of remembrance and love. What unfolds is a non-linear narrative that shifts between perspectives—Abe’s devoted retrospection, Jane’s artistic struggle with motherhood and illness, their son Max’s emotional distance, the brief affair that threatened to unravel everything, and even Central Park itself, which serves as both witness and character throughout.
The Art of Memory and the Memory of Art
The novel’s structure mirrors the fragmentary nature of memory itself. Soffer employs a refrain of “you remember” throughout Abe’s narration to Jane, creating a hypnotic, almost incantatory quality to their shared history. Each memory feels like a brushstroke in a larger portrait—some vivid and precise, others blurred by time and perspective.
Jane and Abe’s artistic pursuits form the backbone of their identities. Jane is a visual artist whose work becomes increasingly recognized over time; Abe is a writer whose career flourishes somewhat more easily. The novel raises provocative questions about what we sacrifice for art and what art sacrifices for us.
Jane had to make something.
Without art, there is no daydream, forgiveness, trust. There is no ground, unwavering. There is no Abe even. Just sea. And Jane adrift, maybe even swallowed down.
While there are gorgeous moments of insight about the creative process, the novel sometimes gets lost in its own lyricism. The fragmented style, while purposeful, occasionally struggles to cohere into a satisfying whole—much like the characters themselves.
The Central Park Connection: Setting as Character
One of the most innovative elements of Soffer’s novel is her treatment of Central Park as both setting and character. Interspersed throughout the narrative are sections titled “CENTRAL PARK” that provide a broader context for the personal story being told.
Soffer writes:
“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 serve as a Greek chorus of sorts, reminding us that Abe and Jane’s story is just one of countless love stories that have unfolded within the Park’s 843 acres. While conceptually interesting, these chapters sometimes feel disconnected from the main narrative, creating a disjointed reading experience that interrupts rather than enhances the flow.
Strengths and Weaknesses: A Balanced Assessment
What Works:
- Evocative prose that captures the small, tender moments of a long relationship
- Complex portrayal of motherhood through Jane’s devastating postpartum depression and her difficult relationship with Max
- Realistic depiction of illness and caregiving as Jane faces cancer multiple times
- Nuanced treatment of infidelity that avoids both easy condemnation and easy forgiveness
- Artistic struggle portrayed with authenticity and depth
Jane’s struggles with motherhood are particularly well-rendered. Her postpartum depression after Max’s birth is portrayed with unflinching honesty:
“The first time Jane leaves the house, it is months later, though she’s lost all sense of time. It takes her hours to get out the door. She has forgotten how buttons work; she keeps having to change her pants; they hurt where the elastic touches her skin.”
What Falls Short:
- Fractured timeline that occasionally confuses rather than illuminates
- Underdeveloped supporting characters, particularly Max who remains somewhat opaque
- Overwrought metaphors that sometimes strain credibility
- Uneven pacing with some sections feeling repetitive
- Central Park chapters that don’t always integrate smoothly with the main narrative
The novel’s greatest weakness may be its pacing. The middle section drags, with some memories feeling repetitive rather than revelatory. And while the multiple perspectives provide different angles on the story, the shifts can be jarring—particularly the Alice section, which feels somewhat underexplored despite its significance to the plot.
The Affair: A Love Story Within a Love Story
The brief affair between Abe and Alice—a student in his writing class—represents the novel’s central conflict. This subplot offers some of the book’s most interesting psychological insights but ultimately feels rushed and somewhat underdeveloped.
Alice’s perspective chapter provides a counterpoint to Abe and Jane’s long, established love:
“For a moment, for Jane, there is grace. Jane imagines Abe saying that he knows about the appointment, the pads in the garbage, all the bleeding, the pain. She imagines Abe telling her that everything will be okay, they’ll get through this together. As they have so many things, over so, so many years. That would be very much like Abe, wouldn’t it?”
But instead, Abe confesses his infidelity just as Jane is processing her cancer diagnosis—a cruel coincidence that the novel handles with appropriate weight.
Max: The Missing Perspective
For a book so concerned with familial relationships, Max remains somewhat distant as a character. His strained relationship with his mother—rooted in Jane’s postpartum depression—is central to the novel’s emotional landscape, yet his chapters feel less developed than the others.
The novel tells us:
“Max promised himself he’d never get married. He believes that motion is a virtue, the world could do with less compassion, and monogamy is for the witless.”
Yet his development feels somewhat static compared to the rich evolution we see in Abe and Jane. This creates an imbalance in what is ostensibly a family story.
Final Assessment: Flawed But Memorable
Jessica Soffer’s “This Is a Love Story” is an ambitious novel that doesn’t quite reach all of its lofty goals. Like her debut “Tomorrow There Will Be Apricots,” it showcases her talent for lyrical prose and emotional honesty. Readers who enjoyed Meg Wolitzer’s “The Wife” or Lauren Groff’s “Fates and Furies” might appreciate Soffer’s exploration of the interior lives within a marriage, though those novels offer more narrative cohesion.
At times, the novel’s experimental structure works against it—the central metaphor of Central Park, while clever, sometimes feels forced rather than organic. And the fragmented timeline, while reflecting how memory actually works, occasionally makes it difficult to track the emotional throughline of the story.
Yet despite these flaws, there are moments of genuine beauty and insight that will stay with readers long after the final page. Soffer’s meditation on how we remember and how we create meaning feels authentic and earned. Her portrayal of a marriage weathering infidelity, illness, professional jealousy, and the challenges of parenthood rings true.
In the end, “This Is a Love Story” is exactly what its title proclaims—not a perfect love story, but a real one, with all the messiness, heartbreak, and endurance that genuine love entails. It reminds us that love stories don’t end neatly, that forgiveness is an ongoing process, and that sometimes the most profound connection we can make with another person is simply to witness their life, to remember it, and to tell it back to them with care.
