The Things We Water: A Disappointing Dive into Whimsy
When I heard that Mariana Zapata was emerging from her nearly three-year silence with a new book, I was practically buzzing with anticipation. After all, to me, she isn’t just a romance author; her works are emotional havens I continually return to. Think Kulti and Wait For It—crafted with such depth and insight that they linger long after the last page is turned. So, when I learned that The Things We Water would not be a contemporary romance but a venture into fantasy, I was both thrilled and curious. How would this queen of slow-burn romance navigate the realms of magic and mystical creatures? The answer, unfortunately, left me feeling disillusioned.
The premise should have been delightful: Nina, a thirty-year-old woman, discovers a magical puppy and is whisked away to a hidden ranch in Colorado, populated by fantastical beings and a brooding love interest named Henri Blackrock. It sounded charming! But from the very first chapter, things began to spiral into confusion. The infusion of quirky side characters quickly felt overwhelming rather than endearing. Instead of being vividly distinct, they veered into the realm of the absurd, making this read feel more like an unedited brainstorming session than a polished narrative.
As I turned the pages, my enthusiasm waned. Nina’s character, who was meant to be relatable and whimsical, came off as annoyingly immature. With frequent baby-talk nicknames for her magical dog—let’s just say “Dunky-Dunk” was one of the many—my patience wore thin. Rather than rooting for her journey, I cringed and questioned how I could possibly be expected to invest in a protagonist whose quirks felt forced and repetitive.
For me, the heart of any Mariana Zapata book lies in the gradual buildup of emotional intimacy. Yet, in The Things We Water, the slow-burn romance I cherish was conspicuously absent. Instead of a delicate dance towards attraction, Henri’s possessiveness and jealousy felt heavy-handed right from the start. This didn’t blossom into a tension-filled journey; it felt more like a rushed plot with fast emotions—none of which were earned. At one point, I caught myself thinking, “Is it too early to DNF?” But I pressed on, hoping desperately for the magic to appear.
By the time I reached the halfway mark, I had come to a disappointing conclusion: I was reading out of obligation rather than enjoyment. This was not the emotional ride I had been hoping for. Instead of a fantastical escape filled with wonder, I felt stuck in a chaotic, surface-level narrative lacking the depth Zapata is known for.
That being said, not every novel is destined for me, and I acknowledge that some readers might find charm in these quirky characters and whimsical fantasy. If you enjoy lighthearted escapades without heavy emotional stakes, this may delight you. But for those of us looking for the emotional depth that has been Zapata’s trademark craft, this book felt like a misstep.
In the end, The Things We Water was a significant disappointment in contrast to what I had hoped for. As I reflect on my journey through its pages, I find myself holding tight to the shimmering memories of her previous works. Sometimes, experimentation doesn’t yield the expected magic, and that’s okay—it’s all part of the complex tapestry of a writer’s evolution. I look forward to seeing where Mariana goes next, hoping she returns to the emotional richness we adore.