Erich Segal (1937–2010)

An interesting project. This is the story of Oliver eighteen months after his wife dies. He is getting pressured from all angles to get out there and start dating again so he doesn't end up permanently alone like his father-in-law Phil. Much of this book is consumed by Oliver dating a woman named Marcie, who unlike Jenny, is in the same class as Oliver's incredibly wealthy family.

This book gave me anxiety because I really did not want Oliver to move on from Jenny even though I knew he show more should. And then, as he enters into this relationship with Marcie, which is clearly happening too soon, its easy to see how unfair he's being to her and how hard she is trying to be the person she thinks he wants her to be when in reality all he wants is Jenny. He wants his wife back.

Marcie and Oliver have different communication styles and core values that make them a poor match no matter the situation, but Oliver can't see that because he's still trying to figure out what he wants out of life now that he can't have Jenny. He's a mess. And thankfully, he's seeing a therapist about it.

I've only known one person who's lost a spouse like this and pursued dating too soon afterwards and the issues presented in Oliver's Story feel fairly accurate. Weird judgements and decisions being made, impulsiveness, unfair treatment of potential partners. This felt like an accurate portrayal of dating while mourning.

I think I would have enjoyed this book more though if Segal had focused on more of Oliver's life, outside of work and dating Marcie. Every time his friends, his family, Phil or even his secretary Anita showed up in the book, it was so much more enjoyable. show less

I reread this classic love story that begins, "What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old-girl who died?" for the first time since I was a kid when when I wore out the paperback by reading it repeatedly. It's a short novel; a fast but powerful read. Oliver Barrett IV, a star hockey player/law student, descends from a line of high achieving, old money Harvard alumni, and is struggling to define himself away from the constraints of his judgmental, micromanaging father. Jennifer Cavilleri, show more who attends Radcliffe on a music scholarship, is the only child of a loving father, a widower who owns a small bakery in Rhode Island. She calls her father Phil. These two, Jennifer and Oliver, (nicknamed Preppie by Jenny), couldn't be more different. The book is in part heavy on dialogue and sparse on descriptive text. Erich Segal makes brilliant use of the verbal volleyball between the two main characters. I like the wit in their flirting. It's that age old tale of boy meets girl, they experience conflict, and then they fall in love. This story turns tragic when Jennifer is diagnosed with leukemia. That part of the story seems to have some logical problems with the doctor not telling her of her diagnosis at first, and then very quickly it seems she's dying. Segal does his best work showing how this couple from such disparate social and emotional backgrounds come together in love. He also shows what a profound impact these two had on each other and their respective families in the limited years they were together. This book struck a chord with me as a kid because my father died young. Also, the relationships feel absolutely authentic to me. Love Story is a masterpiece. show less

I inherited a bunch of Segal books from my grandmother when I was a teen and quickly fell in love with a few of them. I wanted to give this a re-read in adulthood to see if it'd be worth keeping and actually decided to listen to the audiobook which is read by Segal and has backing music from the film. It was so short and incredibly enjoyable. I've read the book, I've watched the film, Segal tells us she's gonna die with the first line, yet I still got all teary and weepy when it happened. show more

When I was a teen, I used to think the line that quickly became a tagline for this book "love means never having to say your sorry" was an extremely silly, misguided line. But as an adult, I realize that I've never really exchanged serious apologies with the people I love most in the world. We simply don't do things to each other that require apologies. We also know each other's intentions and hearts so well that the forgiveness is already assumed. At the moment Jenny utters this line, neither her or Oliver are owed an apology because their words and actions were completely consistent with who they were when they first met. They are who they are and an apology for their actions would mean they'd have to apologize for their identities, which one shouldn't have to do in a loving relationship.

When Oliver utters this line at the very end, it initially didn't sit as well with me because I felt Oliver owed his father an apology for the entire length of the book, something Jenny and I agreed on. But that actually reinforces the truth in Segal's line. Oliver's father feels he owes his son an apology because he knows his son doesn't love him nor accept the type of father he's been. And as a reader I think Oliver owes his father an apology because I don't understand how a parent can completely love and accept someone who's been so ungrateful. The relationship is so strained that they're practically strangers to each other, so apologies feel very necessary.

None of this is important though, because I actually hate that this line became what everyone remembered from Love Story. The most important line to me was from Jenny alone: "Screw Paris. Screw Paris and music and all the crap you think you stole from me." At its core, Love Story is really a story about holding on to the good things in life because you have no idea how long your life will be. Going out with no regrets is the major aim of living. If you have to let go of money and stability and success to hold onto something that really lights you up and makes you happy, then that's something you should probably do. Be happy and hope you live long enough for all that other stuff to come back around to you. show less

I woke up to my sister weeping. To my amazement, she was reading a book, not something she did often unless required for school. I reached across the space between our twin beds and pushed the book up enough to see the title - "Love Story." I rolled my eyes and pulled my tattered baby blanket over my face. Through her sobs, my sister insisted that I read this, the "best" book she ever read. Grumbling that it was the ONLY book she ever read, I tossed it on my bookstack.

Some time later, "Love show more Story" came off the bookstack and into my hands. I read it quickly, and recall making fun of my sister for deeming this the best book EVER. Maudlin, predictable, and way too gooey for my taste at 14 (and at 58).

Yet I remember this story above so many others that I would deem better plotted or written. Is it because my sister woke me as she cried her way through the end of it? My shock that she was actually reading a book for the pleasure of it? Or that Love Story became something of a cultural icon of the 1970's, a tale everyone talked of (mostly because they saw the movie) and mooned over? Or did it really do that thing that few books do-stick in my head so I can take it back out and examine it as I try to understand why this particular tale stays with me when others are gone the moment the last page is turned.

OK, I cried at the end, too. Don't tell my sister! show less