I wanted to be sure and review a romance book for Valentine’s Day. But—and I don’t mean to hurt any feelings when I say this—most romance books just put me right off. They’re either too cutesy or else too hot and heavy for my taste. The latter type are what my mother calls “bodice-rippers” and Kevin Brennan calls “naked torso” books, after the typical cover art. We will discuss this more later.

There’s nothing “wrong” with either type of book, of course. But I like to seek out the strange, the esoteric, the bizarre… something that defies easy categorization by genre.

In Love With Eleanor Rigby was exactly what I was looking for. One way I could tell this was from the reviews on Amazon, most of which are from baffled fans of “normal” romance books who aren’t sure what they just read.

Well, I can see why. It’s ostensibly about a romance between a man named Joe and a woman named Tabitha. Already, you can see where the confusion sets in. “Eleanor Rigby” is not a character, but is a reference to a song of that name by the Beatles. If you know the song, it gives some idea of the tone of the book. I didn’t know the song and only listened to it as part of my research for this review.

Anyhow, Joe loves Tabitha, and hopes that Tabitha loves him back. But Joe has a secret: he’s a recovering alcoholic, and for some time he’s reluctant to tell Tabitha this, and when he finally works up the courage to do so, it is a tense moment in their blossoming relationship.

And that, in a nutshell, is the story. It’s a short story, and you might even suggest that not much happens. That’s because it’s really all about how the story is told. In other words, it’s literary fiction. The phrasing is intricate, philosophical and rambling. Joe, the narrator, is given to over-intellectualizing, as his AA therapist frequently reminds him. At times, he calls the nature of reality into question.

This is probably why a lot of the reviewers were flummoxed. And then there is the matter of the cover, which you’ll notice I didn’t post at the top like I normally do. Well, that’s because I think it’s important to know what the book is before seeing the cover. But now we need to talk about this:

So, it’s not exactly one of the “naked torso” books, but as you can see, a more southerly portion of the anatomy is highlighted. And given that there is only a passing reference to a beach in the book, it’s fair to say that this cover, while in some sense eye-catching, does not accurately reflect what kind of book it is. It’s rather like this early poster for Fritz Lang’s Metropolis.

On one hand, it’s probably not a good idea to market a work of literary fiction about struggles with addiction and loneliness with a cover that looks like a sexy romp. On the other hand, everyone I know who writes literary fiction tells me it’s basically impossible to sell it, so it’s hard to blame someone for resorting to such methods. Better to have a thought-provoking book marketed like tawdry pulp than a trashy story marketed like it’s something profound, don’t you think?

Well, I think so. But, it may be that the Venn diagram of people who read serious literary fiction and people who read books with swimsuit-clad posteriors on the cover are simply two non-intersecting circles. Which can lead to misunderstandings. For example, some reviewers claimed the book is full of typos. Believe me, I have read books that were full of typos. In fact, I may have even written books that were full of typos! And I don’t think most of the oddities in this text are typos. Rather, they are deliberate attempts by the author to convey a stream-of-consciousness.

Personally, I enjoyed the book, and I sympathized with the protagonist. This may come as a shock, but I too tend to over-think things. I think anyone else who does that will be likely to enjoy this story as well. I recommend checking it out. Whether you also choose to check out the models on the cover, I leave to your discretion.