I couldn’t have claimed to be an addict of romance genre, had I not read the profoundly magical pages of “Love Story” written by Erich Sehgal, an American author. The story, requires no introduction, for its romantic yet funny and subtly tragic plot, does the work too perfectly. It introduces the story of two people, young and untamed, explicitly in love, wherein no tests thrown their way, could dampen their spirits or their bond. It runs no longer than a century and half of pages, suitable enough for the trance it creates to behold in its majesty.
Oliver Barrett IV, a Havard undergraduate and a wealthy heir to the legacy, and Jennifer Cavilleri, a quick wit, and music major at Radcliffe College, are polar distances apart. But the world’s impromptu eagerness pulls them together, keeps them attracted and deepens their love. Come graduation and the couple, against the wishes of Oliver’s parents, marry, thereupon bringing the vow of severed ties from family. The couple struggles their way through money, debts and bills, with Jennifer being an aide, working as a teacher. As fate decides it, a sheer painful news strikes them low, leaving Oliver asking money from his father, blending into a turn of events that leaves him broken forever.
This book isn’t what you expect at the first glance, at the least I didn’t. Reading the first few pages, you receive an immense nostalgia of reading cliché books, of hopelessly in love, people from the lower rung of society and those with richness bestowed upon them. But, once you are into a twenty pages or so, you realize, this is nowhere to be. The plot doesn’t delay the bringing of them together, and rather lights up the world after the fantasy marriage. It doesn’t sugarcoat the inevitable; neither does it conjure up some scientifically improvable conjecture. As you walk through the journey with these souls merged into one, you feel the pull of never keeping the book down. You laugh at the way they weave into each others’ lives, and stifle a sob, at the tragedy that awaits them. And, without a substantial warning, you possess the wish of being in love as magical, as true and as pure as they hold. It portrays you the possibility of such a love being real rather than fiction, holding you for seconds more after you finish the last word of the last page, as you hope for a miracle, before returning to the harsh reality.