Dear Stupid Penpal by Rascal Hartley is an epistolary novel. The main character, Atticus (or Finch, as everyone calls him), is a linguist sent on a space mission together with five other astronauts. The corporation responsible for the mission assigns each of these travelers a penpal on Earth. For Finch, it is Aku, a man with a formal manner of expressing himself and a love for stargazing. Practically from the very beginning of their correspondence, the two bond and fall in love. Their romance unfolds as Finch and the crew of the spaceship get farther and farther from Earth and the solar system—the trip that reveals that the circumstances of the mission might not be what they expected.

Finch’s messages are often unedited because he doesn’t like using the backspace key, which creates an impression of unfiltered speech with all the character’s idiosyncrasies left intact: “Tolstoy ratted me out >:( ” (p. 59); “I uhhhhh miiiiiight have thrown up on myself instead” (p. 38); “The BERMUDA fucking TRIANGLE, MAN” (p. 16); “Okayyy, oky okayy okqy+!! Soooo thr cool thing bout chemiss is they can make ALCOH9L!!! WOO!!!” (p. 22). Aku, on the other hand, prefers a formal, slightly stilted style, characteristically writing at one point, “I, too, am a purveyor of sorts” (p. 2). The characters’ voices are differentiated this way at the beginning of the novel, although gradually they become more and more similar.

In addition to Finch’s and Aku’s letters, the narrative includes transcriptions of audio, diary entries, records of conversations, and a few illustrations made by Matt Blairstone, the publisher of Tenebrous Press. Elements of soft sci-fi are mixed with a pinch of horror and a sprinkle of lighthearted humor, but the genre at the core of Dear Stupid Penpal is definitely romance. Aku and Finch talk about their love for each other and what it means to love someone, which quickly becomes one of the primary themes of the novel. In one of his early letters, Aku writes, “Love feels like … wanting to experience everything together. Wanting to share all these little things about yourself, and learn theirs in return. It’s sleeping in and being content with doing nothing but laying in bed together. It’s just wanting to live, together, and being kind to one another” (p. 36). Not everyone would agree with his concept of love, but for Finch and Aku this definition holds true, and I think some readers will relate to that.

Other themes the novel explores are time, death, and cosmic dread—the things any person would probably be concerned with during space travel. Early in the narrative, Finch often feels lonely, anxious, bored, or misunderstood by other members of the crew. As the trip progresses, he becomes afraid—of what lies beyond, of losing Aku, of the way time passes differently on the spaceship and on Earth. The answer to all his concerns seems to be the same: love. In the world of the novel, love is a remedy for small worries, like not being able to fit in, as well as bigger problems, such as fear of the unknown, mortality, and the feeling of human insignificance.

For romantically inclined, young individuals, all this could be a joyful read. For people searching for something more complex or genre-heavy work, this might not be the right book. The biggest discrepancy between how the novel is presented and what it accomplishes lies in the characters, their voices, and the intended audience. From the very first lines of his writing, Finch appears extremely young. This is evident not only in his informal style, but also in his general mindset—his angsty, pessimistic attitude, his inexperience, his general naiveté—which does not correspond to his age stated in the text: twenty-eight. For no apparent reason, he dislikes other astronauts (that is, until he actually takes time to communicate with them). Likewise, he feels he doesn’t belong and states that his perception of the world is different from everyone else: “I’m intense and they’re not” (p. 30).

After getting drunk with his fellow crew members, Finch’s apprehension is somewhat mitigated, and he begins treating the other travelers as friends. Still, he has few hobbies or interests that don’t revolve around Aku. There aren’t even many authenticating details that would make Finch a linguist. He does ask Aku about his language, Akkadian, and learns a few words, but a common European language (French), which he is supposed to know for the mission, escapes his grasp. Gradually, all references to any interest in languages disappear out of Finch’s letters, except for his admiration of Aku’s expressions of love. From this point on, Finch has no goal other than being with his penpal, and it almost seems like, before starting his communication with Aku, Finch did not exist as a person—which, of course, is true, because this is fiction, but readers probably want characters that feel bigger than the scope of the text. We want to believe Finch is real and we want to relate to him.

As it is, suspension of disbelief is only possible with regards to the main character’s relationship with Aku. Finch’s feelings are very specific to his perceived youth: It’s this falling-head-over-heels kind of love, when your first thought in the morning is your loved one, your last thought before going to bed is him; when you reread his letters, dream about him, and live for the moments of getting in touch with him. The author is skilled at presenting two young people in a long-distance relationship, and this is a strength of the book. But beyond that, I’m not sure what Finch’s or Aku’s motivations are. For example, why is Finch on the space mission? On page one, he explains, “They needed a linguist … so they offered me the job. And I, being somewhat young, extremely dumb, and horrifically broke, had basically no choice but to agree.” There is nothing wrong with this explanation. There are certainly people who lack motivation or act out of boredom, financial strain, or an absence of better options. What strikes me as odd is Finch’s insistence on blaming others for his own decisions, as if he didn’t have a say in them: “[I]t wouldn’t be an issue if they didn’t make me some weird sci—Fi [sic] time traveler,” he writes, hoping to “get a little rebellion” against the heads of the space program (p. 59). Wasn’t it his decision to participate in the mission? Weren’t money and his lack of judgment the main forces behind Finch’s choice?

His anger toward people running the space program reaches its peak when the spaceship hits hyperspeed. Finch learns that time on Earth and time on the spaceship pass differently, so every few minutes for him is a year for Aku. Here is where things get confusing. Time dilation may be news to a linguist, but it shouldn’t surprise scientists. Yet Mateo and Ashraf, the pilots of the ship, Chloe, an astronomer, Meredith, a chemist, and Todd, a mechanical engineer, are as shocked by the discovery as Finch. They thought they would be in space for four years, but they didn’t realize that much more time would pass on Earth.

This misunderstanding is strange. In a world where space travel is possible, wouldn’t people know about the theory of relativity? Is there some technology that isn’t mentioned in the text that would allow the crew to avoid the unfortunate consequences of space travel? Did the organization that sent them on the mission promise to use this technology and then go back on their word? Any of these plot points would explain the crew’s frustration and anger. But none of these questions are answered or even hinted at in the novel. At one point, referring to grief counselors, Aku writes, “There should be someone trained in these sorts of things there with you” (p. 66). I think this stands true for all the characters: A mechanical engineer with a bunch of degrees should be competent, experienced, and trained for a space mission. They should know time dilation exists. Moments like these make me doubt the common sense of the people in charge of the mission. They also undermine the novel’s plausibility.

As stated above, the core genre of this book is romance. Its SF elements are secondary, so readers shouldn’t expect much in this regard. With this thought in mind, worldbuilding should not attract unnecessary attention or get in the way of the main conflict. Yet it does. The novel evokes so many questions that it’s hard to concentrate on Aku and Finch’s dynamics. All the references to life on Earth, from Monty Python and Pokémon to Taco Bell and Hozier, create an impression that the novel is set in or near the present time. If this is the case, it’s unclear not only why people don’t know about time dilation, but also why there are so few safety regulations on the spaceship, or what the point of the mission is in the first place. It’s implied that the six astronauts have been sent to find new planets to live on or to collect samples, but I can’t be sure: If the future of humanity depends on it, why did they send a group of very young people to their rescue? Are there other, more serious missions? Is this one sponsored by a shady company? Do any of the astronauts have family members on Earth that can stand up for them? Meredith’s husband, for one, could have filed a lawsuit against the head of this space mission if the promises on paper (chief among them Meredith’s return home in four years) didn’t match the reality. And is it really so easy to sneak into the Command Center? All Aku needs to achieve that, it emerges, is a fake ID.

Speaking of Aku, it is interesting how Finch doesn’t seem to be good at anything, while his penpal excels at any task. At some point, Aku becomes an astrophysicist. There is an excerpt from Aku’s doctoral analysis, and he helps Finch with some specialized knowledge at a climactic moment. Still, as in the case of Finch’s profession, there aren’t many authenticating details beyond that. Because of his love for Finch, Aku turns from a poet to a scientist, which is stated directly in the text but not reflected through his point of view. Some tangible changes in the character’s way of thinking or expressing himself would make the transition more believable. But, again, we get nothing of the sort.

The question of plausibility and the mannerisms of the characters make me think that the novel is intended for a much younger audience than the one for which it seems currently positioned in the market. Readers of John Green or fans of Twilight (this title is particularly important to the narrative) might find Dear Stupid Penpal charming, and ignore its unusual craft choices and mismatched expectations. The themes are certainly relatable: fear of death (your own or your partner’s), awe at the vastness of the universe, never-dying, all-encompassing first love. But an adult audience looking for a science fiction novel with a mature treatment of them is unlikely to be thrilled by this book. Still, the short “chapters” in the form of letters make the novel a fast, easy read. If love across light-years is your thing, give it a try.