“Who would have guessed that four minutes could change everything?
Today should be one of the worst days of seventeen-year-old Hadley Sullivan’s life. She’s stuck at JFK, late to her father’s second wedding, which is taking place in London and involves a soon to be step-mother that Hadley’s never even met. Then she meets the perfect boy in the airport’s cramped waiting area. His name is Oliver, he’s British, and he’s in seat 18C. Hadley’s in 18A.
Twists of fate and quirks of timing play out in this thoughtful novel about family connections, second chances and first loves. Set over a 24-hour-period, Hadley and Oliver’s story will make you believe that true love finds you when you’re least expecting it.”*
Like Oliver, I love airports. I love the feel of being suspended, neither here nor there, waiting impatiently to be brought to different places, unfamiliar or otherwise, book and another book in hand. I love to travel, and I don’t get as much opportunity as I wish, so I just make up for it by reading books involving travel… which makes this book count.
The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight presents the exalting feeling of love and the downtrodden feeling of grief at its purest. The characters’ emotions are so raw, especially that of Hadley, the protagonist. I thought this would be a quick, fluffy read but it turned out to be so much more than that. Aside from the main story of Hadley and Oliver falling in love, both of them fight their own family issues, especially their relationships with their fathers. While that part of the story may be filled with so much angst, I can understand them, especially Hadley, quite a lot, because I’m close to my father and I could barely imagine how hard her father’s wedding must be for her.
Jennifer E. Smith’s writing managed to evoke so many emotions out of me, and I know I’m quoting so much, but I can’t think of another way to show you how touching and full of things unsaid the book was. Here is my particular favorite passage, which was a flashback Hadley had of her father. It’s long, but by the end of it I hope you’ll see what I mean when I say it made me emotionally vulnerable for a time.
“Do you want me to read you another one?” he asked, gently taking the book from her and flipping to the first page. “It’s about Christmas.”
She settled back into the soft flannel of his shirt, and he began to read.
It wasn’t even the story itself that she loved; she didn’t understand half the words and often felt lost in the winding sentences. It was the gruff sound of her father’s voice, the funny accents he did for each character, the way he let her turn the pages. Every night after dinner they would read together in the stillness of the study. Sometimes Mom would come stand at the door with a dish towel in her hand and a half-smile on her face as she listened, but mostly it was just the two of them.
Even when she was old enough to read herself, they still tackled the classics together, moving from Anna Karenina to Pride and Prejudice toThe Grapes of Wrath as if traveling across the globe itself, leaving holes in the bookshelves like missing teeth.
And later, when it started to become clear that she cared more about soccer practice and phone privileges than Jane Austen or Walt Whitman, when the hour turned into a half hour and every night turned into every other, it no longer mattered. The stories had become a part of her by then; they stuck to her bones like a good meal, bloomed inside of her like a garden. They were as deep and meaningful as any other trait Dad had passed along to her: her blue eyes, her straw-colored hair, the sprinkling of freckles across her nose.
Often he would come home with books for her, for Christmas or her birthday, or for no particular occasion at all, some of them early editions with beautiful gold trim, others used paperbacks bought for a dollar or two on a street corner. Mom always looked exasperated, especially when it was a new copy of one that he already had in his study.
“This house is about two dictionaries away from caving in,” she’d say, “and you’re buying duplicates?”
But Hadley understood. It wasn’t that she was meant to read them all. Maybe someday she would, but for now, it was more the gesture itself. He was giving her the most important thing he could, the only way he knew how. He was a professor, a lover of stories, and he was buildng her a library in the same way other men might build their daughters houses.Add that to the novelty of finding love in an unlikely place, and you get a beautiful novel. Of course, the fact that the cover is gorgeous doesn’t hurt.
I love how so many kinds of love were described in the book: young love, familial love, even a love for reading, and somehow it made me understand the characters more.
Bittersweet and poignant, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight proved to be a pleasant surprise, and for that I give it 4 stars.
In a nutshell…
Hardcover, 236 pages
Author: Jennifer E. Smith
Publisher: Poppy/Little Brown
Published: January 2, 2012
Genre: Contemporary Romance, Young Adult