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What if I were to blurt out on the live stream that Tia Amboro is a fake?
I’ve got myself into a right pickle about a book I’m meant to promote. The thing is, I can’t go around accusing people of cheating the system, yet I can’t shake the certainty that I’m right. That Tia – she, he, droid maybe – is a fake, a phony. An imposter, if you will.
Possibly.
‘Lily, I’m so torn about this.’ No one else in the book community has raised any doubts about the debut writer; so far they’ve only labelled it ‘the hottest book this side of the sun!’ And surely, if others have the same inkling I do, there would be behind-the-scenes whispers at the very least. In saying that, Tia’s stratospheric rise has happened so fast that there hasn’t really been time to whisper about it. ‘I might be wrong.’
My best friend Lily sits on the other end of the sofa and is only half-listening as she lazily flips the page of a book. ‘Yeah, yeah.’
Lily’s been by my side since we were in pigtails, long enough that there’s no need for a dusting of politeness when I wrangle another bout of inner turmoil. She’s heard it all before and then some. She’s the sarcastic sidekick to my more neurotic self. We balance each other out and so I debate whether to reiterate my concerns, so she’ll listen this time or just get on with the Bookstagram live I’m supposed to be doing.
‘Tia is a fraud,’ I insist. ‘A counterfeit author.’
Without definitive evidence I can’t risk sharing my views with the world. Therein lies the problem. All I’ve got is a hunch, coupled with many years of book devouring, and a tingling spidey sense that all is not what it seems when it comes to Tia’s first novel. Still, it’s not my place to kick up the dust on the off-chance I’m right. I’m not a writer, but I am a prolific reader and Tia’s book stands out for all the wrong reasons. This kind of accusation is verboten in booklover land because it can ruin careers. And I never want to be that person.
Lily finally swings her gaze to me after she bookmarks her page. ‘Harper.’ Cue the inevitable stare down. ‘Why are you even worrying about it? Who cares if Tia’s some shadowy figure trying their hand at the romance genre? They come, they go. Not everyone writes for the pure love of it or plunges themselves deep into the book community.’
‘I care.’
‘It’s going to bite you in the butt, just like always. You have this inordinate talent for getting yourself into very avoidable scrapes in the pursuit of “doing the right thing” when you should just mind your business. It’s not your battle to fight, so why make trouble for yourself?’
I’m the act-first, think-later sort, she’s right. ‘But if I don’t speak up, who will?’
She raises a cynical brow. ‘Speak up? With what proof?’
Damn, she’s got me there. ‘Why must you be so rational?’ It’s infuriating but so very like Lily, who gets her drama strictly from police procedurals. I’m playing with fire even considering making my feelings known. It wouldn’t be right yet that persistent voice in my head is telling to do something. Anything.
‘Why do you have to fight for the underdog all the time? It’s not worth it. And this, this is a whole can of worms that could have some serious blow back. You’ll end up getting cancelled over it.’ With all the grace of a Bridgerton damsel, Lily does a chest-heaving sigh. ‘Just stick to reading books that you do like and let this go.’
Books have always been my escape hatch. A ladder I can slide down and land in another realm. A few years ago this adoration of the written word led me to Instagram where I stumbled on the wonderful world of Bookstagram, essentially a corner of the internet dedicated to bookworms. There I finally found my people. I have my own book review page, Harper’s Book Haven, where I champion romance books.
Over time the page has taken off to the point that it’s become a healthy little side hustle for me. I’m somewhat awkward in the spotlight… OK, a lot awkward, but the love of chatting about romance novels with likeminded souls helps conquer that. I’m sure bookworms relate to me because my voice is a bit shaky and I’m not polished perfection – far from it. That’s what’s so great about Bookstagram – it’s full of readers, and readers are largely an accepting bunch. Empathetic souls who’ve experienced so many walks of life, living vicariously through the pages.
I don’t have all the fancy props to record and make content. I use a cheap ring camera that’s held together with sticky tape. But when I chat about books, I’m authentic; at least I try to be, even if I still get breathless with nerves.
My backdrop is the books on my pretty colour-blocked shelves, and I take great pride in sorting the aesthetic on a regular basis. In spring I add colourful artificial flowers to match the spines; in autumn I use pumpkin spice décor for cosy fall reads. Summer is for beach reads and outdoor shots taken in parks and by the sea. In winter, I go all out with Christmas decorations, festive candles and fairy lights.
As my followers continue to climb, my very helpful brain warns me this is all dumb luck because what else could it be? But then I figure, it’s not me that bibliophiles are tuning in to see, it’s the stars of the show, the books themselves. And so, I continue because reading is as essential to me as breathing and I’ve found a community that intrinsically understands the desire to be immersed in books.
All that said, imposter syndrome does sometimes insidiously creep up to remind me I’m not special, I’m a nobody and I have no right to accuse Tia of being a fake. An infiltrator. A… liar. I’m one of those people who flit from job to job, because nothing ever sticks, with the exception of Bookstagram over the last few years, so that doubt always rises that it’ll all be snatched away, if I ever fumble it.
Yes, I’m super fun at parties too!
When I’m not filming Bookstagram videos about my favourite romance books, I’m selling them. I work part-time at Paddington’s, one of the biggest independent bookshops in London, a dream job.
Who doesn’t like chatting about books all day and getting paid for it? It’s the only job I’ve managed to hold down longer than a year and that’s because I try my best not to get involved in petty disputes, which takes a lot of willpower on my part. I’m inherently nosy and if I see a wrong, I’m compelled to right it. Lily, absolute armchair psychologist and tough love enthusiast, says this behaviour stems from growing up rudderless after the death of my parents and spending my teenage years in foster care. I don’t like to admit she’s right. And so at Paddington’s, I zip my lips against everything except books.
I get a real thrill when customers ask for novels with the vaguest of clues like:Do you have that one about the cats? Or was it dogs? The author’s name started with an S, or maybe an M. I take it as a personal challenge to solve these customer puzzles. That curly enquiry wasThe Art of Racing in the Rainby Garth Stein, a book best read with a bulk pack of tissues on hand. That heart wrencher reminded me that we humans don’t deserve dogs, but I digress.
While I’m living the life I always wanted, I find myself twisted into a human-sized pretzel, assuming it will all be snatched away. Lily says I’m looking for validation from social media, and that’s never a good idea. Maybe she’s right. The more followers I have, the worse it gets. Some days it feels like all I do is create content, like my phone is glued to my hand like an extra appendage. And I question whether this is a worthy time-suck because it does take me away from reading the books themselves.
And here I am debating whether to stick my nose in Tia’s business, knowing full well it’s a bad idea and will most likely have dire consequences, but I can’t let it go unchecked. I just can’t.
Thankfully these quirks of mine haven’t scared away the new man in my life. He’s a fit-fluencer and even that didn’t put this mostly sedentary bookworm off. While he’s outside pounding the North London pavements, I’m snuggled up in bed with an epic romantasy. He’s more of an alpha male than I’d usually go for, but I couldn’t fight the spark I experienced when we met at a party. Still, I often compare him to the heroes in my romance novels and find myself hoping he’s an alpha with a soft underbelly and not just a Chad 2.0; the guy who gets the girls but doesn’t keep them for too long, if you know what I’m saying…
Opening my heart and trusting in Caleb is adding to my sudden life angst. Real-life romance is so much harder than it is in the books. Fickler in a lot of ways. The enemies don’t always become lovers. Conflicts don’t get resolved and tied up in a neat bow. There’s no guarantee of happy ever after.
