I’m obviously a huge fan of Cecelia Ahern, and have read every one of her books that I can get my hands on (some don’t seem to be available in the US, unfortunately). I really wanted to love The Time of My Life, and I did like it, but it left me with mixed feelings.
Lucy is recovering from a break up, getting fired from her job (she totally deserved it), moving from a gorgeous apartment into a studio that comes with a free nutty neighbor, and is just generally having a bad time. She’s a pathological liar, doesn’t get along with her family (with good reason), and is pretty awful to her coworkers and friends. She keeps receiving letters from the Life Agency, but she ignores them until she can’t any longer. She sets up an appointment to meet with her Life, although she doesn’t take it seriously until about halfway (maybe longer?) through the book.
Her Life turns out to be a dirty, depressed man working in an office – and this is kind of where the storyline fell apart for me. There is very little explanation about how this whole Life Agency works and what it is. I like the concept – that each of us have an actual Life represented in human form, someone who keeps tabs on every single thing we do and say, someone who knows us better than we know ourselves. But the author never explains the details behind this. Is Life really just a person working in an office? Does he go home to a family at night? Does he die? Is he human? The reader is expected to just take this idea at face value and not ask too many questions, but I had a lot of trouble with that.
As you can probably guess, Life helps Lucy get her life organized and together, but not without some hijinks along the way. She has to deal with the issues surrounding her break up, she meets a new man, she is forced to come clean about her lying to both her boss and her friends, and she has to patch things up with her family.
While I enjoyed this story, it was not my favorite by Cecelia Ahern. If you like her work then I would recommend it, but it’s definitely not going on my “to re-read” pile.