Macmillan, £7.99, ISBN 978-1-0350-0620-5
Paranormal Fiction, 2022 (Reissue)

The blue button on the cover of Dustin Thao’s You’ve Reached Sam screams at me: “The Must Read TikTok Sensation”. That’s the equivalent of a guy in a T-shirt that says “I’m with Herpes” so I guess I have only myself to blame for buying this just because it’s on sale with a lovely 50% discount. Also, the cover is nice.

That will teach me for being such a shallow and cheap person.

Before anyone asks, no, I don’t care that I’m Asian and I am “represented” in this story—to be honest, I’d be embarrassed if these characters were supposed to represent me. I’m not going to give this a free pass because it’s #OwnVoices or other nonsense touted by people to force others to overlook the glaring problems in their products just because said products tick off the check boxes on a most superficial level. These people can fully represent me by pasting my face over the young lady’s on the cover and I’d be the first to scream for the book to be burned out of shame.

Okay, first, let’s have the story.

Julie Clarke is the usual young adult female protagonist archetype. She’s passed off as somehow quirky, bookish, hot, yet incredibly overlooked but somehow has many, many friends that treat her like a cool kid in spite of her being so modest and humble all at the same time. What I get on paper is a vapid, selfish, self-absorbed narcissistic bore—Young Adult Heroine 101, in other words.

Her priorities are simple: in theory, it’s to go to college and spend time in Japan because Japan is so totally in now; on paper, everyone is to keep paying her attention and cater to her sense of entitlement because everything is about her.  Young Adult Heroine 101, definitely.

In theory: quirky but stunning, ditsy but amazing, plain but sexy-hot Julie meets Sam Obayashi at a cafe, he is charmed by the fact that she keeps a notebook and hence is so bookish and charming, and they fall in love.

What I get on paper: Sam Itchibunny is in the company of some hot ho that naturally gets jealous when Sam pays more attention to Julie. He falls in love with Julie so the fat bookish reader plain but sexy-hot Julie has won and the reader can feel validated that the hot jock not putting out because she wants him to is all the fault of those skinny hos that he prefers.

Then Itchibunny dies. But that’s okay. Julie still talks to him over the phone.

First off, the romance is vapid beyond belief. Sam starts making speeches nobody in the real world will say on a spontaneous basis almost right away, as if Julie’s self has launched invisible eldritch horny tentacles into the guy’s brain and mind-raped him into a cringe-liner generator.

Also, the romance is full of mawkish moments that make me feel like my skin wants to tear itself off of me and serve me divorce papers.

He texted me the night before.

Hey. This is Sam! I just got my license!
Do you want a ride to school tomorrow?
I can pick you up on the way if you want

Oh my god, is this the prequel to that drivers license song?

Not that it’s all cringe. Sometimes, the author will spin a sentimental scene that works, drawing me in into a maelstrom of tumultuous emotions. I feel choked up, and I begin to think that maybe I am judging the story too harshly… and then I’d be slapped with something so oh-my-god-this-is-so-corny like this:

“It’s ruined now.”

The paper is torn and wet from the mist.

“Don’t worry,” Sam says. “I can make you another one. I can make you a thousand more.”

Please stop. I think I have developed peripheral neuropathy just from reading these three lines.

The biggest problem here, aside from the semi-permanent you’re-gonna-cringe fest on practically every page, is the horribly underdeveloped romance that is supposed to be the heart and soul of this story.

Sam has zero personality, just a chunk of cute meat that exists to say and do all the nice things to reinforce the heroine’s notions that she is the most awesome person in the universe. He just falls for her just like that, and as expected, this romance is all about how Julie feels, what she wants, and how she likes it.

Naturally, when he dies and Julie starts to flail around in theatrical grief, I can only imagine that she’s sad because she doesn’t have a cute guy to keep reinforcing her own delusions about herself.

If Sam is a blank plank, Julie is… well, a typical heroine of a young adult story. She’s entitled, self-absorbed, and expects the world to go or stop at her whim. Does this make her a relatable 17-year old? Yes, if that 17-year old is meant to be an unlikable bore. The author could have tampered the heroine’s abrasive personality with some hint, any hint, that she is aware that not everything is about her, but no, it is always all about her. A vapid heroine mourning over the loss of a vapid love story makes a vapid story, alas.

There is one thing that I like about this one: the author captures very well how grieving is solitary, but my god, everyone and their dog will tell you how to grieve and judge you on it. Not everyone grieves by crying melodramatically, but if you don’t, prepare to be judged. Oh, you never love the deceased! Oh, you are a heartless person! Think of the deceased’s other family members, how will they feel when you don’t conform to their expectations of how you should grieve? And on and on and so forth.

Julie gets this reaction from the people around her, and she understandably withdraws into herself because of this. These days, many people don’t get that one needs space and time to grieve in the manner that is best for them, and they presume that they have the right to judge and tell other people how to mourn.

Unfortunately, because the heroine also reeks an unpleasant sense of entitlement (check out her reaction to being rejected by her college of choice) and isn’t much better in other areas of her personality, it’s hard to empathize with her. Hence a potentially hard-hitting message is lost; in fact, I suspect some readers may cheer on the people that are making Julie cry more often. Ahem, that’s not me, of course, because I’m full of kindness.

At any rate, this one could have been a tearjerker based on its premise of not being able to let go of a love that is captured in its most perfect moment, only to be forcefully ended shortly after. However, even to the last page, the heroine can’t really let go, she’s been a passive and whiny and tedious bore for way too much of the story, and every character here acts, talks, and thinks like a badly done puppet show.

It’s easier to just hang up on this thing early and move on to something else better written.