Release Day 5 Star Review, Excerpt, & Giveaway for The Bookshop on the Corner by Jenny Colgan

I loved everything about The Bookshop on the Corner.

Except the name. It’s a bookmobile not a corner store, which gave me the wrong mental image. Same with the book cover. I want to see the van. It’s awesome. Come on, work with me here!

So I should say, everything substantial was perfect. I knew when I started the Message to Readers dedication this was going to be good. That was adorable and sweet. Don’t skip it! I LOVE Colgan’s voice/writing. Her backlog is now on my TBR list.

About the Book

ARCREVIEW IconAdult IconContemporary IconRomance IconBook Love IconSexy IconWell-Written Icon

Genre: Contemporary, Romance,
Age: Adult
Format: Ebook, 560 pgs.
Source: Free for review
Rating: 5 Stars
Recommendable? Hell Yes
Nina Redmond is a literary matchmaker. Pairing a reader with that perfect book is her passion… and also her job. Or at least it was. Until yesterday, she was a librarian in the hectic city. But now the job she loved is no more.

Determined to make a new life for herself, Nina moves to a sleepy village many miles away. There she buys a van and transforms it into a bookmobile—a mobile bookshop that she drives from neighborhood to neighborhood, changing one life after another with the power of storytelling.

From helping her grumpy landlord deliver a lamb, to sharing picnics with a charming train conductor who serenades her with poetry, Nina discovers there’s plenty of adventure, magic, and soul in a place that’s beginning to feel like home… a place where she just might be able to write her own happy ending.

The problem with good things that happen is that very often they disguise themselves as awful things. It would be lovely, wouldn’t it, whenever you’re going through something difficult, if someone could just tap you on the shoulder and say, “Don’t worry, it’s completely worth it. It seems like absolutely horrible crap now, but I promise it will all come good in the end,” and you could say, “Thank you, Fairy Godmother.” You might also say, “Will I also lose that seven pounds?” and they would say, “But of course, my child!”
That would be useful, but it isn’t how it is, which is why we sometimes plow on too long with things that aren’t making us happy, or give up too quickly on something that might yet work itself out, and it is often difficult to tell precisely which is which.
A life lived forward can be a really irritating thing. So Nina thought, at any rate. Nina Redmond, twenty-nine, was telling herself not to cry in public. If you have ever tried giving yourself a good talking-to, you’ll know it doesn’t work terribly well. She was at work, for goodness’ sake. You weren’t meant to cry at work.
She wondered if anyone else ever did. Then she wondered if maybe everyone did, even Cathy Neeson, with her stiff too-blond hair, and her thin mouth and her spreadsheets, who was right at this moment standing in a corner, watching the room with folded arms and a grim expression, after delivering to the small team Nina was a member of a speech filled with jargon about how there were cutbacks all over, and Birmingham couldn’t afford to maintain all its libraries, and how austerity was something they just had to get used to.
Nina reckoned probably not. Some people just didn’t have a tear in them.
(What Nina didn’t know was that Cathy Neeson cried on the way to work, on the way home from work—after eight o’clock most nights—every time she laid someone off, every time she was asked to shave another few percent off an already skeleton budget, every time she was ordered to produce some new quality relevant paperwork, and every time her boss dumped a load of administrative work on her at four o’clock on a Friday afternoon on his way to a skiing vacation, of which he took many.
Eventually she ditched the entire thing and went and worked in a National Trust gift shop for a fifth of the salary and half the hours and none of the tears. But this story is not about Cathy Neeson.)
It was just, Nina thought, trying to squash down the lump in her throat . . . it was just that they had been such a little library.
Children’s story time Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Early closing Wednesday afternoon. A shabby old-fashioned building with tatty linoleum floors. A little musty sometimes, it was true. The big dripping radiators could take a while to get going of a morning and then would become instantly too warm, with a bit of a fug, particularly off old Charlie Evans, who came in to keep warm and read the Morning Star cover to cover, very slowly. She wondered where the Charlie Evanses of the world would go now.
Cathy Neeson had explained that they were going to compress the library services into the center of town, where they would become a “hub,” with a “multimedia experience zone” and a coffee shop and an “intersensory experience,” whatever that was, even though town was at least two bus trips too far for most of their elderly or strollered-up clientele.
Their lovely, tatty, old pitched-roof premises were being sold off to become executive apartments that would be well beyond the reach of a librarian’s salary. And Nina Redmond, twenty-nine, bookworm, with her long tangle of auburn hair, her pale skin with freckles dotted here and there, and a shyness that made her blush—or want to burst into tears—at the most inopportune moments, was, she got the feeling, going to be thrown out into the cold winds of a world that was getting a lot of unemployed librarians on the market at the same time.
“So,” Cathy Neeson had concluded, “you can pretty much get started on packing up the ‘books’ right away.”
She said “books” like it was a word she found distasteful in her shiny new vision of Mediatech Services. All those grubby, awkward books.

Nina dragged herself into the back room with a heavy heart and a slight redness around her eyes. Fortunately, everyone else looked more or less the same way. Old Rita O’Leary, who should probably have retired about a decade ago but was so kind to their clientele that everyone overlooked the fact that she couldn’t see the numbers on the Dewey Decimal System anymore and filed more or less at random, had burst into floods, and Nina had been able to cover up her own sadness comforting her.
“You know who else did this?” hissed her colleague Griffin through his straggly beard as she made her way through. Griffin was casting a wary look at Cathy Neeson, still out in the main area as he spoke. “The Nazis. They packed up all the books and threw them onto bonfires.”
“They’re not throwing them onto bonfires!” said Nina. “They’re not actually Nazis.”
“That’s what everyone thinks. Then before you know it, you’ve got Nazis.”

With breathtaking speed, there’d been a sale, of sorts, with most of their clientele leafing through old familiar favorites in the ten pence box and leaving the shinier, newer stock behind.
Now, as the days went on, they were meant to be packing up the rest of the books to ship them to the central library, but Griffin’s normally sullen face was looking even darker than usual. He had a long, unpleasantly scrawny beard, and a scornful attitude toward people who didn’t read the books he liked. As the only books he liked were obscure 1950s out-of-print stories about frustrated young men who drank too much in Fitzrovia, that gave him a lot of time to hone his attitude. He was still talking about book burners.
“They won’t get burned! They’ll go to the big place in town.”
Nina couldn’t bring herself to even say Mediatech.
Griffin snorted. “Have you seen the plans? Coffee, computers, DVDs, plants, admin offices, and people doing cost–benefit analysis and harassing the unemployed—sorry, running ‘mindfulness workshops.’ There isn’t room for a book in the whole damn place.” He gestured at the dozens of boxes. “This will be landfill. They’ll use it to make roads.”
“They won’t!”
“They will! That’s what they do with dead books, didn’t you know? Turn them into underlay for roads. So great big cars can roll over the top of centuries of thought and ideas and scholarship, metaphorically stamping a love of learning into the dust with their stupid big tires and blustering Top Gear idiots killing
the planet.”
“You’re not in the best of moods this morning, are you, Griffin?”
“Could you two hurry it along a bit over there?” said Cathy Neeson, bustling in, sounding anxious. They only had the budget for the collection trucks for one afternoon; if they didn’t manage to load everything up in time, she’d be in serious trouble.
“Yes, Commandant Über-Führer,” said Griffin under his breath as she bustled out again, her blond bob still rigid. “God, that woman is so evil it’s unbelievable.”
But Nina wasn’t listening. She was looking instead in despair at the thousands of volumes around her, so hopeful with their beautiful covers and optimistic blurbs. To condemn any of them to waste disposal seemed heartbreaking: these were books! To Nina it was like closing down an animal shelter. And there was no way they were going to get it all done today, no matter what Cathy Neeson thought.
Which was how, six hours later, when Nina’s Mini Metro pulled up in front of the front door of her tiny shared house, it was completely and utterly stuffed with volumes.

The Good:

  • LOVED Nina
  • Loved the writing
  • Loved the plot
  • Loved the message to readers in the beginning
  • Every character felt real
  • Quotable
  • Book recommendations

“They don’t know what a nine-year old needs to read after Harry Potter.”
“The Knife of Never Letting Go,” said Nina automatically.

Nina is wonderful and flawed. I connected with her so much it hurt. She’s been coasting through her life with books and her life is in upheaval with the library’s new direction.

It’s a mid-life crisis. She’s a hopeless romantic. It’s brilliantly introspective rather than external cruising for dudes and make-overs. I am so impressed with how real her character is, her internal dialogue, and her progression.

The first third is set-up: her life at the library, what’s changing, and getting on the path to the aforementioned bookmobile store. At no point was I anxious to move on. I loved every minute of it.
She’d managed to hold reality at bay for the best part of thirty years, but now it was approaching at an incredibly speedy rate, and she was absolutely going to have to do something—anything—about it.

And then the fun of her new venture began. OH BOY! Here’s two non-spoiler pieces that I picked out: the ewe birth and silly conversation about what kind of a sofa Nina's is.

After that, I sped through it. I couldn’t stop to make Goodreads updates. I did make pages of bookmarks and highlights though. Including like every passage about book recommendations.

Not only was it a book lover's dream, it wasn't predictable. I didn't know who, how or why as far as the romance and Nina's business went.
“He’s not hot because he’s a dick,” said Nina.

There are some sex scenes later on. It’s glossy perfection rather than erotic details, which can be read in public without embarrassment. I was reading my copy at work because it was slow and I couldn’t resist.

P.S. very disappointed Up on the Rooftops isn’t a real book. I honestly searched for it after finishing The Bookshop on the Corner, desperate to read it. ☹ That’s just mean, Colgan.

Have I mentioned that I loved it?

Recommendation: If you read Adult Contemporary Romance, get it NOW.

She felt, at twenty-nine, oddly surplus to life’s requirements.

She always had a pen; she bought stationery the way other women bought lipsticks.

A dead Web site was a sad thing, she thought. Full of hope when it had been set up, and now floating away down the Google drain, gently decaying.

In Nina’s experience, the more sensibly dressed the person, the more unutterably depraved they liked their fiction; no doubt there was a cosmic balance in it somewhere

“I’m not a photograph from Back to the Future!”

“You like to appear a pushover, but inside you’re as tough as old boots.”

She just seemed to be a woman absolutely in need of the right book. There was, Nina was fervently convinced, one out there for everyone. If only that went for everything in life.

“It’s as if you pull something around yourself, make yourself look smaller and more insignificant. Than you really are.”

“Are you do-gooding?”
“Well, you appear to be do-nothing, so I might as well.”

About the Author

Jenny Colgan is the New York Times bestselling author of numerous novels, including Little Beach Street Bakery, Christmas at Rosie Hopkins’ Sweetshop, and Christmas at the Cupcake Café, all international bestsellers. Jenny is married with three children and lives in London and Scotland.

Connect with Jenny Colgan

Praise for Jenny Colgan and THE BOOKSHOP ON THE CORNER:

“Losing myself in Jenny Colgan’s beautiful pages is the most delicious, comforting, satisfying treat I have had in ages.”
— Jane Green, New York Times bestselling author of Summer Secrets

“With a keen eye for the cinematic, Colgan (Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery, 2016, etc.) is a deft mistress of romantic comedy; Nina's story is laced with clever dialogue and scenes set like jewels, just begging to be filmed. A charming, bracingly fresh happily-ever-after tale…”
— Kirkus

“This is a lovely novel with amazing characters who are hooked on books… at least some of them. The plot is believable and is a joy to read. The main female character, Nina, is the librarian who always figures out the best choice for a patron without fail. Jenny Colgan thinks outside the box and creates a memorable book.”
— RT Book Reviews

“This charming tale celebrates the many ways books bring people together”
— Booklist

“This light, fresh romantic comedy is the perfect escape for bibliophiles. Enjoy it with a cup of tea on a crisp day.”
— Real Simple

“[A] love story about reading and the joys books can bring to people’s lives.”
— All About Romance

Win 1 of 3 Print Copies of The Bookshop on the Corner!

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I can't wait for ya'll to read this so we can gush together :D


  1. I have this one to review so now I am excited to read it as it sounds like it's going to be a good one! :)


    1. Awesome! I can't wait to read your review too :D


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