An intimate and lyrical celebration of great love, great art, and the sacrifices we make for both

For fifty years Abe and Jane have been coming to Central Park, as starry-eyed young lovers, as frustrated and exhausted parents, as artists watching their careers take flight. They came alone when they needed to get away from each other, and together when they had something important to discuss. The Park has been their witness for half a century of love. Until now.

Jane is dying, and Abe is recounting their life together as a way of keeping them going: the parts they knew—their courtship and early marriage, their blossoming creative lives—and the parts they didn’t always want to know—the determined young student of Abe’s looking for a love story of her own, and their son, Max, who believes his mother chose art over parenthood and who has avoided love and intimacy at all costs. Told in various points of view, even in conversation with Central Park itself, these voices weave in and out to paint a portrait as complicated and essential as love itself.

I was drawn to this book immediately after reading the synopsis. A heartbreaking, decades-spanning love story sounded like something I would enjoy. And while I did end up really liking the book, it took me a while to settle in. The premise is pretty straightforward. Jane and Abe are a couple dealing with the fact that Jane is dying. She has been hit with cancer for a third time, and it’s pretty obvious there is no way she will beat it again. The book walks us through Jane and Abe’s story, alternating between third and second-person points of view to tell us the ups and downs of their love story. Most of the book focuses on Jane and Abe, but we also get some chapters focusing on Max, Jane & Abe’s son.

Soffer’s writing is undeniably poetic, but her stylistic choices – particularly the lack of quotation marks (I really hate this) and the shifting narrative perspectives made for a rocky start. I won’t rant yet again over how much I hate the lack of quotation marks. To get around it, I listened to the audiobook while reading, which helped a bit. Aside from the lack of quotation marks, the book alternates between third-person and second-person perspectives, a decision that initially felt very disorienting to me. While second-person narration is often meant to create intimacy, I found that it had the opposite effect – it distanced me from the characters rather than drawing me in. I understood what the author was going for, but for the first half of the book, I had a really difficult time settling into it.

However, once I adjusted to the rhythm, I found myself increasingly invested in Abe and Jane’s story. Their relationship is layered and beautifully messy. As artists, they are both passionate and driven, and their love is constantly challenged by their devotion to their work. Jane, in particular, is a fascinating character because she refuses to fit into the traditional mold of wife and mother. Her commitment to her art is unrelenting, and while this makes her a brilliant creator, it also complicates her relationships with Abe and especially their son, Max.

Speaking of Max, he was the one character I struggled to connect with. His resentment toward Jane is understandable – he feels abandoned, believing that she chose her art over him – but his bitterness felt so consuming that it became difficult to sympathize with him. While his perspective adds depth to the novel’s exploration of love and familial duty, I found myself far more engaged with Abe and Jane’s relationship than with Max’s internal struggles. There were several times when I wanted to grab him and scream at him to forgive his mom already! She’s dying.

One of the novel’s most unique aspects is how it uses Central Park as both a setting and an almost omniscient presence. The park is where Abe and Jane come to escape, to argue, to reconnect, and, eventually, to say goodbye. Soffer even gives the park a voice in certain sections, a narrative choice that seemed out of place at first, but again, the more I read, the more it made sense. I actually began to look forward to these chapters.

As I mentioned earlier, by the time I reached the final pages, I had grown to truly care for Abe and Jane and may have even shed a tear or two. What I found so special about this one is that it’s not a big, sweeping story, but it didn’t need to be. Sometimes, a quiet, honest love story is just as impactful as an epic one.

I mentioned earlier that I tandem-read this one, and Marian Ireland did a wonderful job of narrating the audiobook. She has a soft and calming voice that fits the book’s tone and structure perfectly.

Despite my initial struggles with the book’s structure and the lack of quotation marks, it ultimately won me over with its emotional depth and raw honesty. It is a novel that demands patience, but for those willing to settle into its unique rhythm, it offers a poignant and beautifully crafted meditation on love, art, and the passage of time. I would definitely recommend this one to those looking for a touching, character-driven novel.

Book Club/Book Box: