Book Review: The Things We Water by Mariana Zapata
I want to start this review by sharing how excited I was for The Things We Water. When Mariana Zapata re-emerged after a three-year hiatus, I held onto the hope that her return would bring a captivating contemporary romance to fall in love with—all the emotional depth, the slow-burn tension, and those characters I could live alongside. Instead, I found myself captivated by something I didn’t expect: a fantasy! But rather than being swept off my feet, I felt like I had taken a tumble into a narrative that—sadly—didn’t land as gracefully as I had hoped.
The premise had all the makings of a delightful story: meet Nina, a thirty-something woman who stumbles upon a magical puppy, leading her into a secretive ranch brimming with magical beings. Add in a brooding love interest named Henri Blackrock, and you should have a delightful blend of whimsy and romance. However, as I immersed myself in the pages, I quickly felt overwhelmed by chaos rather than enchantment.
From the get-go, the pacing was jarring, and the tone shifted like the wind—a stark contrast to the deliberate build-up I’ve come to adore in Zapata’s previous works. The world-building felt haphazard, lacking the lush details that make a fantasy setting immersive. Instead of a rich tapestry, I found scattered threads, a few interesting ideas buried under a barrage of quirky characters, none of whom had the chance to truly breathe or develop. By the time I reached the halfway point, I recognized that much of this cast felt more like caricatures than people to connect with.
As for Nina, I found myself cringing at her immaturity. The playful nicknames for her magical pet—“Dunky-Dunk”—didn’t evoke endearment; they veered into the realm of grating. For an author known for her deep, meaningful character relationships, seeing a protagonist miss that mark was disappointing. In Kulti or Wait for It, the protagonists’ slow dance to intimacy and mutual respect felt earned and profound, but here, I felt none of that.
The romance, a staple in Zapata’s storytelling, fell short as well. It skated on the surface, with anticipation thrown out the window. Henri’s possessiveness didn’t create tension; it felt repetitive, turning what should have been sizzling into something one-note and dull. I wanted to root for them—root for that tantalizing slow-burn arc—but instead, the emotions felt rushed and empty.
By the time I reached the 50% mark, I had to take a breath and admit I was reading out of obligation rather than joy. This wasn’t the return I had hoped for; this felt more like a chaotic brainstorming session than the fully developed world I was ready to immerse myself in.
That said, perhaps this book will resonate with readers who enjoy a lighter touch in fantasy or quirky character dynamics. Perhaps it’s a matter of mismatched expectations. Other readers might find something here that happy-go-lucky magic can deliver.
In a way, my journey with The Things We Water is a reminder: not every experiment lands, and that’s okay. I’m still a massive fan of Zapata’s craftsmanship in contemporary romance, and even as I set this book aside, I remain hopeful for her future endeavors. Sometimes the road to rediscovering an author takes a few unexpected turns.
Discover more about The Things We Water on GoodReads >>