Romantic fiction has deep roots. In a description of King Arthur’s court written around 1155, the poet Wace presented his patrons, Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, with a new idea. Knights, he suggested, do not strive for greatness on behalf of God, king or country. They do it for love. 

In earlier narrative traditions, romantic love was a dangerous distraction, a punishment or a by-product of success – rarely an end in and of itself. Wace’s justification of individual self-­fulfilment was unprecedented. But this new amorousness took off and, to this day, romance remains the generic juggernaut of the publishing industry. 

Big feelings are bigger than ever. Ella Risbridger served up generous portions in her debut, Midnight Chicken, which made the case for an appealingly emotive and permissive approach to cooking. Maintaining the same autobiographical inflection, In Love with Love moves the action from the kitchen to the library to consider