Boyfriend — Unconventional Love Meets Conventional Expectations

This is not the kind of book I typically review. Let me be upfront about that.

I teach Hemingway and Faulkner. I have opinions about the Oxford comma. My podcast episodes on Middlemarch put my own mother to sleep. So when I say I finished Boyfriend by Abigail Barnette during a particularly brutal week of grading sophomore essays on The Great Gatsby, understand that I was looking for something that required absolutely nothing of me intellectually. What I found instead was surprisingly thoughtful—and complicated in ways I didn't expect from a book with this title.

What Hemingway Never Wrote About

The premise here is a polyamorous relationship between Sophie, her husband Neil, and their boyfriend El-Mudad. It's book seven in a series, and Barnette (pen name for Jenny Trout, apparently a USA Today bestseller—my students would know this; I did not) clearly assumes you've been along for the ride. The emotional stakes are established. The dynamic is set. What this book grapples with is what happens when unconventional love meets conventional expectations—disapproving family, teenage stepdaughters, a dreaded thirtieth birthday.

Hemingway's old advice about showing rather than telling? Barnette does this well. The trip back to Michigan, the scene where Sophie gives Tony notice—these moments carry weight because the relationships feel lived-in. The prose rewards attention, even when it's describing situations my 1998 graduate school self would've clutched pearls over. I had a similar reaction to Cat's Cradle—writing that pays off when you lean in, even when the subject matter makes you uncomfortable.

CJ Bloom's Complicated Performance

Here's where I have to be honest. CJ Bloom's narration is... a mixed bag. Her Sophie is consistent and emotionally grounded. When the book hits real-life event scenes—caregiving struggles, relationship tensions—Bloom delivers. You believe her.

But the male voices. Oh, the male voices.

Bloom is a female narrator voicing multiple male characters, including Neil (British, dominant, sardonic) and El-Mudad (protective, passionate, presumably with a different vocal quality). Some listeners apparently hear a "distinct male English voice" that works for them. I heard a woman doing an impression of a man doing an impression of authority. It's not bad, exactly. It's just... unconvincing in moments that require conviction.

Worse, the tone sometimes runs frantic when the scene calls for tension, not panic. There's a difference between intensity and abrasiveness, and Bloom occasionally crosses that line. I found myself adjusting my expectations rather than being swept along. (Principal Martinez, I was definitely paying attention to the budget meeting during these sections. Mostly.)

When Bloom Gets It Right

When she's on, she's on. The relationship dynamics come through clearly. You understand the power structure between Sophie and Neil, the tenderness with El-Mudad, the chaos of suddenly parenting teenagers who didn't ask for any of this. These are not simple characters, and Bloom handles Sophie's internal contradictions with care.

But this is not background listening. Don't try it while grading papers. Don't try it during faculty meetings. (I tried both. I missed things.) The narration demands your attention—sometimes because it's compelling, sometimes because you're working to parse who's speaking. At 1.0x, I needed focus.

If You Loved The Boss, You're Already Here

This is book seven. You either know what you're getting or you don't. For newcomers, start earlier in the series. For veterans, Boyfriend delivers on the promise of complication. Sophie's juggling act—guardian, stepmother, daughter dealing with her mother's remarriage to their former chauffeur, woman turning thirty while society tells her she should have figured things out by now—feels honest.

My students would hate this. They'd roll their eyes at the explicit content, the unconventional structure, the earnest examination of what commitment means outside traditional frameworks. But I found myself genuinely engaged. Not because it's transgressive, but because it takes its own premise seriously. Barnette isn't writing shock value. She's writing people trying to make something work.

The Professor's Office Hours

Listen if: You're already invested in this series and can handle Bloom's vocal limitations with male characters. The emotional payoff is real. The writing is sharper than the genre often gets credit for.

Skip if: Female narrators voicing men pulls you out of stories, or you haven't read the earlier books. Consider reading this one in print instead.

I listened at 11 PM, essays half-graded, Denise asleep, lakefront walk postponed until morning. It was exactly what I needed—complicated, warm, occasionally frustrating, ultimately satisfying. Like most relationships worth having.