I will try to make this as short as possible: I enjoy May / December relationships! It's a thing, and maybe it's a messed-up thing, but it's a go-to trope for me. (I blame it on yeaaaarrrs of reading Snape / Hermione fanfiction, you all.) That said, I think they're really hard to do well, especially when it's an older man and a younger woman. But anyway, this is part of the appeal - how will the author avoid having this relationship be creepy and paternalistic? how will they deal with the power dynamic that results from one party being older, wealthier, more established in their career, more worldly, whatever? ready, set, go!
So the premise of Dear Mr. Knightley is that it is a contemporary adaptation of Daddy Long Legs - itself a novel that is kind of creepy and paternalistic, but sometimes we're ok with those things when they're far away in the past. (I'm still inclined to side-eye, but whatever.) I was curious to see how Reay would handle having a more equitable relationship between Mr. Knightley / Daddy Long-Legs, and our heroine, Sam Moore.
Quick answer: she doesn't! They don't! And it's ok because God + forgiveness + he isn't even that old.
(1) So, because I feel like it needs to be said, this book is definitely Christian fiction. I didn't know that going in and probably would have chosen to save my $2 had I known. And, while it is generally not my bag, I don't actually have a problem with narratives about finding God. Here is what I do have a problem with: I have a problem with unequal power dynamics. I want to know, if someone finds God, that they consent to this conversion freely. That things that they want don't seem contingent upon this conversion. (It's like finding a partner - when Sam chooses Alex, for example, I want to feel like she chooses this freely). Anyway. Sam, our heroine, is an orphan. She's come out of an abusive family and abusive foster homes. She feels totally alone in the world. When she meets Alex - and Alex's found family, the Muirs - she has no one. She has real problems being open with people and engaging with them in a way that is genuine and honest and not structured by 19th-century literature. Ok? Ok. But she finds the Muirs, and loves them, and they bring her to Christ, saying "there is hope in God and hope in Christ," and "dropping hints and hope like breadcrumbs for me to follow." So my problem with Sam's eventual conversion is that it feels like the Muirs are preying on someone who is vulnerable and isolated. (It's why I am also sketched out by places that provide things like food / shelter but also proselytize - I feel like it's potentially icky, because it makes it seem like food / shelter, and in Sam's case - *family* - is contingent upon her acceptance of Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior. And it doesn't need to be explicitly stated, either, for it to be potentially creepy and coercive.)
(2) This isn't to say that the Muirs, her found family, are only creepy and awful, though. I was glad that the Muirs were on her side once Alex's betrayal of her - his posing as Mr. Knightley - becomes known. Mr. Muir say that Sam can "walk away" if she wants to, because "you trusted Mr. Knightley. Alex betrayed that trust. He played false." And I really, really wanted Sam to walk away. She doesn't because she decides that she's been running all her life, and keeping other people from getting in, and that she doesn't want to run anymore. And this is legit, I just honestly think that maybe sometimes there are people you should run from and keep out, and that Alex is one of those people. It's not merely that he deceives her - it's that he uses a position of power to gain knowledge about her (and access *to* her) that she doesn't want him to have. I am not convinced that he won't continue to be a paternalistic and creepy asshole forever. (It's only after she says that she loves him via letter that he drops the charade - so creepy! once he knows she's hooked, THEN he tells her, because he can't stand the idea that she might not choose him. So he doesn't give her the opportunity to. Because he's scared. AUGH.)
(3) Other things I disliked: I found Sam incredibly unlikeable. When she says that she's like either Anne Elliot, or Fanny Price, I wanted to smack her. YOU WISH. Fanny is ten times the woman you are! It's strange because although she dismisses some of her friends as Emmas (although Emma is also somewhat aspirational for her), she is very much like Emma to me - she does think she knows what's best for everyone, she's incredibly judgmental, and she's also a snob. The part that bothered me most - with regards to the book / Sam's preachiness - was the slut-shaming.
(4) On slut shaming: i.e., when Hannah (not an important character; only exists for Jesus-reasons) tells Sam that she shouldn't be sleeping with Josh because "if you're not married to the guy, that shouldn't be happening," Hannah uses this super convincing argument: "Take all those Austen and Bronte characters who went astray. They weren't villains, but they paid a price. Natural consequences for making poor choices. Those consequences still exist today." On the one hand, I'm peeved because these consequences (Marianne's crazy-ass illness, social ostracism, marrying an old dude, whatever) aren't "natural consequences" - they're *social* consequences that exist because Marianne Dashwood and Sam Moore both live in patriarchal societies where a woman's value is wrapped up in her sexual purity. To say that they're natural is wrong and also completely maddening. Calling these consequences "natural" implies that they are not socially formed, that they're not up for debate or open to change, and are the result of individual action rather than social forces. When Sam runs into her former roommate, Cara, who likes boys too much for Sam's liking (code in Sam for "omg that slut"), Cara is in an abusive relationship that eventually lands her in the hospital: Sam's charitable reflection is once again to think of this as an economy where sin = "natural consequences" - that there's a price for women slutting it up / going astray. She thinks specifically of Cara's alignment with Lydia: that "Cara still reminded me of Lydia Bennet." And although she sees "the differences in Cara's life and mine" as well as the similarities: "my Willoughby, her horrific Wickham," her earlier conversation with Hannah tells us why Sam is different: she didn't stray / sleep with Josh. The subtext is that when Cara ends up in the hospital, it's because there are "natural consequences" when you "go astray." Not because, hmm, maybe men shouldn't abuse women or throw them down the stairs, and that, if they do, it isn't because women do something to *earn* that - it's because the guy's an abusive asshole.
Ugh. I promised to keep this short. But these are my biggest problems with the novel. Mic drop, we out.