Some books entertain you. Some books impress you. And then there are books like Indigo by Beverly Jenkins that change you a little once you’re done and reminds you exactly why Classics last.

First published in 1996, Indigo feels rich, intentional, and so deeply layered that I honestly forgot I was reading a romance at times. I found myself slowing down, rereading passages, just soaking it all in. That’s how you know an author has you exactly where she wants you.

I couldn’t help but think about my own grandparents, their romance, how they started, how they met, how love flourished for them in a world that wasn’t always gentle or fair. I thought about my ancestors. About love stories that existed long before me, some written down, some never spoken aloud, but all just as real and enduring. Indigo made love feel generational. Inherited. Remembered.

What I loved most is that Indigo is doing so much at once. It’s a romance, yes, but it’s also a story about classism, racism, survival, dignity, and hope. And somehow, Jenkins balances all of that without the story ever losing its heart. Nothing feels wasted. Every page earns its place.

The historical aspect of this story is stunning. The Underground Railroad, the danger, the bravery, the quiet acts of resistance, it all adds such weight and beauty to the narrative. Beverly Jenkins doesn’t shy away from history; she places you directly inside it. I could see it. I could feel it. Especially Hester, her hands and feet stained blue from indigo dye, a detail that felt symbolic and unforgettable.

And the romance? Oh, the romance.
Galen and Hester. Please. This is the kind of love story that reminds you why slow burns are superior. The yearning was present. Thick. Heavy. Delicious. This was not rushed, not flashy, not surface-level. This was a love that unfolded patiently, deliberately, and with purpose. Bring back yearning. Bring back restraint. Bring back romances that make you ache a little. It’s thoughtful, emotional, and incredibly well-crafted.

By the time I reached the last page, I already knew this was a book I would come back to. One of those stories that stays with you long after you’ve closed it. A reminder that historical romance isn’t just about the past, it’s about love, resilience, and humanity in its rawest form.

If Indigo is any indication of Beverly Jenkins’ body of work, then I am more than ready to explore everything else she’s written. Because this? This was special.

Happy Reading.