The Open Era by Edward Schmit Review

Game. Set. Perfect Match?

Recently-turned-pro tennis player Austin Hardy has been out since high school, and it’s never been a big deal. That is, until he becomes the first openly gay man to compete in a Grand Slam tournament. Suddenly, being gay is a huge deal.

If the newly found fame wasn’t enough to send Austin spiralling, then tripping and falling in front of the very talented, very attractive, (probably) straight World #2, Diego Cruz, is the last straw.

Only, the awkward gaffe marks the start of a blossoming friendship off the court. But when Diego admits his attraction to Austin, the flirty banter and mixed signals start to throw Austin off his game. And neither player wants to acknowledge their looming showdown at the fourth round of the US Open.

Only one can win in the game of tennis, but who will win in the game of love?

Set point, forty‑love to Austin Hardy’s intrusive thoughts. The Open Era by Edward Schmit is a wonderfully written queer lit novel that doubles as a sports romance book. Covering difficult topics such as mental health and anxiety, grief and familial loss, and finding one’s confidence beneath stadium spotlights and public judgment, Schmit serves and delivers an ace of a debut novel (I know these puns are bad, just let me roll with it). Humorous, relatable, and romantic when it wants to be, this book is incredibly wholesome and warm in all the right ways. A sports romance with actual sports content and a book of queer joy without feeling contrived or sanitized, The Open Era is a brilliantly written novel that I picked up and wouldn’t put down until I finished it.

“Anxiety wrecks me almost daily. It makes me question everything. It makes me believe things that aren’t true. It makes me spiral. It knocks me out. Falling in love does all those things too. At this point it’s all the same.”

Sporting one of the most beautiful and striking covers of the year, The Open Era was one of my most anticipated queer titles. While I don’t consider myself a heavy sports romance reader nor do I follow professional tennis, Mario Tennis 64 and Power Tennis are two of my all‑time favorite video games, which probably doesn’t instill as much confidence in my sports knowledge as I think it does. What I mean is, I quite like the sport and found the recent trend of tennis romance books interesting. Unlike most queer tennis romances, The Open Era backs up its genre with real sports content and storylines rather than simply using tennis as an aesthetic backdrop. Set over the course of a single US Open tournament, the book follows two true athletes skilled and experienced in the sport. Numerous training sessions, coaching pep talks, intense play‑by‑play scenes, and the high‑tension quiet hours before each match make this a genuine sports story.

While the romance is a clear draw, the book is far more than that. As a fan of the sport in real life Schmit’s writing authentically portrays professional tennis and the challenges athletes face—from scrutinized press interviews to sponsorship deals to social media judgment. As described in the book’s forward and synopsis, sports mental health and anxiety are central themes, and Schmit delivers. Many queer lit and romance books touch on mental health, therapy, and recovery, but I often find the exploration of the topics to be basic, surface-level, or overly sanitized to avoid potentially triggering material. Other books end up feeling like a circle of affirmation, self-validation, and therapy bonding, which isn’t inherently a bad thing, but is disappointing when there’s not much story, development, or chemistry beyond that. The Open Era avoids that, offering solid portrayals of anxiety attacks, calming methods, and thoughtful discussions on reducing external noise. Austin’s therapy sessions with Helen are especially impressive, refusing to treat therapy as a quick fix, specifically highlighting that anxiety attacks may not have specific triggers or causes which is a point often glossed over. As a sports fan and mental health advocate, Schmit’s experiences are directly reflected in his book.

“You’re trying to win therapy… Sometimes there isn’t a breakthrough. Sometimes you just wake up one day and feel a little bit better-not because you’re lucky, but because you put in the work.”

Along with the story, the characters are all‑around well written and lovable. Austin, prone to dramatic outbursts, is easy to root for with his hilarious narration and internalized thoughts. Diego is a hot athlete on the court and a geeky, shy guy off it who just wants to play video games at home. The two have good romantic chemistry but even better platonic chemistry in a way that’s a little awkward, endearingly shy, but really sweet and wholesome. Their dialogue is effortlessly funny and flirty while also feeling natural and fitting for their characters. It’s also important to note that the two players are rivals but follow the friends-to-lovers trope which is different from the more common and typical sports enemies-to-lovers trope. While rivals on the court, their dynamic is quite cute, goofy, and honestly refreshing to read about. Both characters’ history, worries, and carried baggage are incredibly relatable, the story’s depth and honesty likely hitting much harder for queer readers vs straight readers who may not necessarily notice and appreciate how good Schmit’s characterizations are. This is a great example of an #ownvoice book.

“I’m good now, though, perfectly fine.”
“Good. Good that you feel good.”
“Yeah.”
Another awkward moment. More nodding. A bunch of bobbleheads over here.
“Do you like Mario Kart?” he finally asks.
“I’ve… been known to shred some rubber as Princess Peach,” I say and instantly want to die. My trusty yeh would have been fine here, but I had to get fancy.

“Will you watch something with me?”
“Sure, let’s watch something,” I say through a smile. I can’t wipe it from my face. I don’t think he can wipe his off either. “We can do a coin toss. Phineas and Ferb or Gilmore Girls.”
“Will it make you feel better if we do your show?”
“I’m fine. I’m feeling fine.”
“No, let’s do yours,” he insists. “Golden Girls it is.”

The strong character work extends beyond the two players. The book’s authentic sports content is also shown through Austin’s coach Robbie, a family friend who has coached him for many years. His own professional dreams cut short by an injury, his closed off nature and difficulty with handling emotions, and well-intentioned “hetero” support is handled beautifully and his professional and personal relationship with Austin as a pseudo father figure is the book’s secret sauce. The British therapist Helen is a delight every time she comes up, both for her insightful advice as well as her lack of tennis knowledge. And while not quite as prominent as the other two, Austin’s sister Charlotte with her PR expertise and sisterly commentary about the boys provides constant comic relief. Besides the good sports content, the strong character work outside of the two tennis players is what cements this book as a standout queer lit novel beyond the romance genre.

The book’s tone is another highlight. Though it covers heavy topics like anxiety, grief, mental spiraling, and the pressures of being the first openly queer male tennis player, it maintains an optimistic and hopeful tone. This book is very on-brand and fully captures queer joy without sacrificing its heavier substance or coming off as too juvenile. It also feels like a book authentically written for queer readership as the focus is not about yet another coming out story that is quite tiresome, but instead about living authentically as oneself vs what others see or expect from them. Austin’s journey as an athlete and as a young man is about the journey and finding himself, not his sexuality or his romantic interest which goes against the very premise of the book.

While I personally enjoyed this book immensely, the biggest consideration and potential drawbacks have actually nothing to do with its story and everything to do with potential readers’ expectations and wants. For better or for worse, Heated Rivalry’s popularity has caused the already popular M/M sports romance genre to explode and has led to a bit of an unfair assumption of what similar books should include. I don’t mean to stereotype or make assumptions on readers’ preferences, but you can somewhat tell when a book is written by a queer author for queer readership (in this case, queer men specifically) vs one that caters more towards the typical M/M romance fanbase that isn’t only but consists largely of straight female readers. It’s a trend I’ve been seeing far more often in recent years which is quite harmful when these negative sentiments lower a book’s review or reputation, especially for debut author novels like this one.

I’ve seen a lot of reviews for this book that negatively criticize this book for having lackluster romance, no passion (again, this not an enemies-to-lovers book that some assume it to be), too many reflections on mental health awareness, disappointing spice (there is one scene but it’s more sweet than spicy), etc. I’ve seen many that claim this isn’t even a romance book at all because it doesn’t pander to some of the expected genre “requirements” of having a clean happily ever after, an epilogue on Austin and Diego together, or that the story only covers a brief two-week period. I find these points ridiculous, as if a book with romance isn’t allowed to cover other topics that are very much on brand with sports and athletes’ lives. I can understand a point being made that this is more of a queer lit fic book than a romance one, but to call the romance poor is not it. This is definitely a queer sports romance book but not the common and popular contemporary romance, spice-heavy formula.  You can even tell the intent given that the summary is sports-focused instead of feeling spicy and the cover only features one player on it. If this were a typical M/M romance book, it would have both Austin and Diego on it and probably look a bit sexier rather than its aesthetic and sophisticated look. Some marketing announcements are even calling this the tennis version of Heated Rivalry, which is a terrible and inaccurate representation of what this book is about. Minor grievance and rant aside, my point is this book is for those that want to read a queer story about sports, romance, and life challenges. Let’s be honest with ourselves, if you want the sports setting and spicy scenes but not the sports content, that’s on the reader and not the book’s fault or intent.

A great mix of sports, mental health awareness, and romance, the Open Era is a wonderful queer novel that does a little bit of everything well. Featuring strong sports-related themes and nuanced topics that are explored safely without being dumbed down, it’s a great book that is easy to get into and difficult to put down. Though the ending can be a bit open-ended for some, it actually makes perfect sense and is thematically on brand, the title makes complete sense in the final chapter. The humor is solid, the character work is excellent, the therapy sessions and portrayals of anxiety great, all held together by its hopeful and optimistic tone. This book truly feels like a warm hug and one written for queer readers looking for joy or support. I was so invested in its characters while marathon reading it in two days which is quite rare for me, particularly with romance-heavy books; this is a new personal favorite. I’m also surprised that this is a debut for how relatable and easy the whole book’s crafting feels when I’m sure it was anything but. I almost felt wistful when I finished this book knowing there was nothing else out there and I’m eagerly looking forward to whatever Edward Schmit comes up with next, as like Austin and Diego’s send off, his writing future certainly looks bright!