Fic­tion

Eight Ways to Say I Love You

  • Review
By – November 10, 2026

Like her pre­vi­ous book, Love You A Latke, Aman­da Elliot’s lat­est nov­el is a romance that cen­ters around Hanukkah. In Love You A Latke, the read­er was met with an ene­mies-to-lovers sto­ry; in Eight Ways To Say I Love You, it’s friends-to-lovers. Shi­ra and Leo were child­hood friends, whose friend­ship was dis­rupt­ed in their ado­les­cence by Leo’s abrupt move out of state fol­low­ing his par­ents’ divorce. Eight years of sep­a­ra­tion then ensues, before Leo moves back to town. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, Shi­ra has moved across the coun­try in that time, and is only able to see him when she returns home every year to throw her annu­al Hanukkah par­ty. For the next eight years, as their careers and aspi­ra­tions change, they reunite dur­ing the Fes­ti­val of Lights, their romance build­ing, reced­ing, and build­ing once again.

Eight Ways To Say I Love You​’s struc­ture does much to ben­e­fit the nov­el, par­tic­u­lar­ly in the char­ac­ters’ devel­op­ment and con­nec­tion. Unlike most romances, where the lovers are placed togeth­er for a brief but intense peri­od, this nov­el allows the char­ac­ters to explore their lives beyond the con­text of their rela­tion­ship, because they only meet up once a year; both strug­gle, at dif­fer­ent times, to bal­ance their desires for a ful­fill­ing career and cre­ative expres­sion, and to man­age the expec­ta­tions of oth­ers. These peri­ods of growth — which, unfor­tu­nate­ly, do neces­si­tate some expos­i­to­ry catch-up at the start of every year — gives the char­ac­ters much more depth than is typ­i­cal­ly seen in the romance genre. It also allows them, too, to swap posi­tions, with Shi­ra at times thriv­ing when Leo is not, and vice ver­sa. In that, they grow envi­ous of the oth­er and more reflec­tive of their posi­tion in life, which cre­ates com­pelling inter­nal and exter­nal tension.

The novel’s focus on blend­ing pas­sion with career is also illu­mi­nat­ing, if at times too on-the-nose. Shi­ra quick­ly finds suc­cess in the art world, both as an artist and in work­ing in a gallery, but mount­ing set­backs in fail­ing to secure a sec­ond show­ing of her work and get­ting over­whelmed with the respon­si­bil­i­ties at the gallery cause her to recon­sid­er what she finds impor­tant. Does turn­ing art into a career sap some of the ener­gy out of it? Is chas­ing after a pres­ti­gious posi­tion worth­while if it flat­tens your self-con­fi­dence and eats up all of your free time? These ques­tions, which appear in Leo’s life, too, effec­tive­ly demon­strate the insta­bil­i­ty that marks many twenty-something’s com­ing-of-age expe­ri­ences, and does so in an affect­ing manner.

Per­haps most impor­tant­ly, though, Eight Ways To Say I Love You offers endear­ing char­ac­ters whose love for one anoth­er is earnest and well-earned. From the start, the read­er can feel the con­nec­tion between the two of them, the shared his­to­ry, and the sup­port they show for one anoth­er as they try to become adults in a chal­leng­ing eco­nom­ic land­scape. This is a closed-door romance, with­out even any allu­sion to sex­u­al attrac­tion and sex­u­al moments, which might dis­ap­point some read­ers, but it seems appro­pri­ate for a nov­el that focus­es heav­i­ly on the hol­i­day sea­son and the famil­ial warmth and whole­some­ness often asso­ci­at­ed with it.

The genre of Jew­ish romances — and specif­i­cal­ly, Jew­ish romances that cen­ter a par­tic­u­lar Jew­ish hol­i­day — is grow­ing, and Aman­da Elliot’s love-affirm­ing writ­ing is at the cen­ter of it.

Ben­jamin Selesnick is a psy­chother­a­pist in New Jer­sey. His writ­ing has appeared in Bare­ly South Review, Lunch Tick­et, Tel Aviv Review of Books, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. He holds an MFA in fic­tion from Rut­gers University-Newark.

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