This was my first time reading Love Story by Erich Segal, a classic considered to be the embodiment of romance. I had the vague idea it would be a sweet, innocent cliché of a book. Like its title, it would be the epitome of a sad love story with the heroine dying with her hero vowing to live on for her.
Love Story, by the end, had me tearing up, but not for the reasons I’d expected. It was so much more than a fiery relationship between two college students. It delved deep: breaches in society, broken families, marital relationship, and self-blame.
The first scene is a lively, foul-mouthed argument between two people whom we’d soon learn to be the protagonists: Oliver Barrett IV, the narrator, an impulsive and ambitious athlete, and Jennifer Cavilleri, a music-loving and snarky young lady. Even within the first few moments, the tension between Harvard and Radcliffe is evident. Later, more societal uneasiness is revealed: having a rich father and a family name, maintaining a reputation, expectations of law school or the Peace Corps. By introducing Oliver’s father, Oliver Barrett III, Segal contrasts the increasing breach between father and son while the bond between Oliver and Jenny is swiftly strengthened, eventually welded together by marriage.
The author does not treat marriage lightly, either: another thing I respect about the book. It described the struggle of trying to make ends meet while keeping their friendships alive, the difficulty of keeping in touch with parents, sparking the first genuine fight between the couple. In doing so, Segal illustrates the kind of relationship that is imperfect yet beautiful, with all the love needed for a reconciliation afterward, no matter how intense a fight.
And of course, there was the inevitable sad ending, even worse now that I’d grown to truly like both the characters. Jenny saw straight through Oliver’s survivor’s guilt, and told him, with genuine anger, to stop blaming himself. Personally, I’ve never had to watch a loved one die, but I know that I will someday. Will I feel survivor’s guilt? Perhaps. But Love Story illustrates how the desire to obey the wish of a dying lover can overpower that feeling. Heartbroken people aren’t broken; they’re able to be strong for their loved one until the very end. It’s not only a tear-jerking scene, but a memorable and empowering one.
Above all, I think, as Francesca Segal put it in the introduction, Love Story contained a second love story: between father and son. The love of a father was expressed in two polar opposite ways through Phil Cavilleri and Oliver Barret III. The final reconciliation took place between a father and his son, closing the breach that had opened between them, the breach that Jenny had desperately wanted to bridge. This book was a love story between a man and a woman and between a family, the main reason I found it so unique and endearing. I now know why Love Story is so adored by the world.
