Book Review: Keanu Reeves Is Not In Love With You by Becky Holmes

There’s something chilling about being told a fantasy isn’t real—especially when you wanted so badly for it to be. Becky Holmes doesn’t just rip the curtain away in Keanu Reeves Is Not In Love With You—she burns the whole stage. And yet, in the ash, something fiercely human is left standing: the raw desire to connect, and the peril that comes with it in the age of digital love.

Reading this book felt like standing in two worlds at once. In one hand, there’s Holmes’ razor-sharp humor, honed from years of baiting scammers on Twitter with delightfully absurd nonsense—telling fake princes that she stores her milk in a handbag, or informing a pretend Keanu that she has a third arm. These moments are laugh-out-loud funny and deeply cathartic, especially if you’ve ever sensed the ridiculousness of romantic performance gone wrong.

But on the other hand, Holmes holds a quieter, darker truth: people are getting hurt. Terribly. Sometimes irreparably. The victims whose stories she tells are not fools—they are kind, curious, vulnerable people who opened their hearts and got swallowed. Some lost money. Others lost years. A few lost their sense of self. Holmes treats these stories with respect, even when they’re tucked in between punchlines.

What struck me most was how she captured the slow erosion of a person under fraud—not just the moment of loss, but the way suspicion creeps in over time. The way you start to question your own instincts. The way the world, when you finally look up from the screen, feels colder than before.

This is not a guidebook. It’s not a manual. It’s a field report from the trenches—equal parts satire and elegy. It shines most when Holmes leans into the tension between humor and heartbreak, when she reminds us that even the funniest stories are shaped by real consequences.

At times, her tone is a bit too flippant. There are jokes that land with a thud, particularly when they touch on issues like weight, cultural stereotypes, or trauma without enough context. But that rawness, that almost unfiltered quality, is also what makes the book feel urgent. You get the sense that Holmes is doing her best to speak plainly, to shake people awake before they get drawn in by a stranger who “just needs a little help.”

This book isn’t just about romance scams. It’s about what happens when connection becomes a commodity. It’s about how easy it is to fake closeness in a world obsessed with performance. And it’s about the bravery it takes to laugh, not because you’re cruel—but because if you don’t, you might never stop crying.

It’s a book for people who’ve been burned and still want to believe. For those rebuilding their boundaries. For anyone who’s ever stared at a too-perfect message and felt something tug inside—a hope, a warning, a question.

Holmes reminds us: it’s okay to want to be seen. It’s okay to want magic. But wanting doesn’t mean settling for a lie. Not even if it shows up in your inbox wearing Keanu Reeves’ face.

Verdict:

An irreverent, sharp-edged, and ultimately compassionate exploration of online love scams. Read it if you want to laugh, grieve, and reawaken your trust—cautiously, but without apology.