It seems low self-worth is the world’s new favourite pastime. Add a pinch of underachieving—measured, of course, against the invisible checklist we’re all meant to tick off by a certain age—and suddenly, you’ve got a large demographic.
Enter Soho Summers: 24, grieving, slightly chaotic, and clinging to Pinot grigio and questionable dating choices as if they might magically fix everything. In Love, Grief, & More Sex Than Pinot (2026), Dorset-based author Sacha Hughes introduces us to a protagonist whose main goal isn’t exactly great, and that’s precisely the point. Soho is trying (and often failing) to navigate loss, self-worth, and the quiet panic that life should feel more “sorted” by now.
The story unfolds in a haze of late nights, bad decisions, and emotional avoidance. Soho’s coping mechanisms? Let’s just say they’re not therapist-approved. As her dating life spirals into increasingly absurd territory, the novel leans into both humour and discomfort. Picture loads of cringe-worthy moments followed by a very real sense of “oh, I can relate to that”.
Throughout its pages, the chaos carries the reader. Messy relationships, fleeting highs, and the persistent illusion that the next person, the next drink, the next distraction might finally make things click. But of course, it doesn’t. And when a disastrous bedroom incident forces Soho to confront what she’s been running from, the tone shifts.
What follows is a deeper, more introspective look at grief and healing. One she’s long avoided. Where Hughes really succeeds is in how painfully recognisable Soho feels. She’s flawed, self-sabotaging, occasionally exhausting, but also incredibly human. Her belief that “Mr Right” will fix everything is both frustrating and oddly tender.
And her reliance on Pinot grigio becomes less of a cliché and more of a quiet cry for help. The plot highlights just how disconnected she’s become from herself. You’re not just reading about Soho; you’re wincing with her, laughing at her, and, at times, wanting to give her a very firm reality check (followed by a hug).
That said, the novel doesn’t always hold its rhythm. At nearly 500 pages, it does feel a little overdone in places. The grief-processing chapters, while important, can drift into repetitive inner monologue, occasionally pulling you out of the story rather than deeper into it. A slightly tighter edit here would have made the emotional impact hit even harder, and the journey smoother.
Still, there’s something undeniably compelling about Hughes’ debut. It’s messy in the same way life is messy, and that works in its favour more often than not. With a sequel already in the works, Soho Summers’ journey is clearly far from over. And, based on this first instalment, we can safely expect more chaos, more questionable choices, and (hopefully) a bit more growth.
If you enjoy character-driven stories that balance humour with emotional depth, and don’t mind a bit (a lot) of second-hand embarrassment along the way, Love, Grief, & More Sex Than Pinot is worth adding to your TBR. It’s not perfect, but it is honest. And sometimes, that’s exactly what makes a story stick.
Little Chilean 