The Last Bookshop in London

The Last Bookshop in London is a World War II novel that promises a deep emotional journey but doesn’t quite deliver on that front. The premise is solid—Grace Bennett arrives in 1939 London to take over a small bookstore just as the world is on the edge of chaos—but the story often feels detached, as if we're watching the war through a window rather than experiencing it firsthand with the characters.

Martin does an excellent job of capturing the physical details of wartime London, from the sandbags to the blackout curtains. The city’s transformation during the Blitz is rich with historical detail, but the emotional weight of the story doesn’t always match the effort put into those details. I found myself wishing the book leaned more into the messiness of war, the emotional chaos of it, rather than keeping things at arm’s length.

The novel does find some heart during the air raids, when Martin’s writing starts to show the raw, terrifying reality of living through constant bombings. These moments—when Grace reads Mary Poppins to children seeking escape in a shelter—are when the book truly shines. It’s here that the importance of books becomes clear, how stories serve as lifelines in times of unimaginable fear. These scenes felt authentic, and the way Martin shows how literature provides a sense of connection and solace was one of the few parts of the novel that really got to me.

However, Grace’s personal transformation, from a woman who barely reads to a passionate defender of literature, felt too predictable. The development of her character didn’t capture the messy, unpredictable nature of how people change under pressure. It felt a little too clean and neat, lacking the emotional depth I was hoping for. The romance with George, too, was sweet but safe—nothing wrong with it, but I was hoping for more risk, more exploration of how war changes love and relationships.

The supporting characters like Mr. Evans and Mrs. Weatherford were far more interesting than Grace at times. Both had layers of complexity that, sadly, weren’t fully explored. It felt like there were untold stories hovering just outside the narrative that deserved more attention. And the bookshop itself, which should have been another character in the story, often faded into the background, missing an opportunity to act as a lens for exploring how the war affects everything it touches.

The strongest moments, in my opinion, came from the exploration of literature’s healing power. The book is at its best when it shows how books create connections between people, offering a much-needed escape and a sense of hope. The scenes of Grace reading to people in bomb shelters reminded me that stories don’t just distract from the horrors of war—they help people find meaning when it seems like the world has lost all sense.

Overall, The Last Bookshop in London is a pleasant enough read, but it doesn’t push boundaries or fully explore the psychological complexities of surviving wartime. For those looking for an uplifting historical fiction novel with a bit of romance, it might do the trick. But if you're hoping for something that delves deeper into the emotional and psychological impact of living through war, this may leave you wanting more. It does offer a gentle reminder of how stories can keep us going through dark times, but it never quite digs deep enough to make it feel like more than just a comfortable escape.