Review
“Sometimes you just need a smart love story that will make anyone, man or woman, laugh out loud.”
—San Francisco Chronicle
“Move over, Sheldon Cooper. There’s a new brilliant, socially inept scientist poised to win over a huge audience, and his name is Don Tillman, in The Rosie Project. . . . It’s not surprising that debut novelist Graeme Simsion has a background in science—The Rosie Project, already a success in Australia, seems almost precision engineered to keep readers turning pages. But unlike its unexpectedly lovable hero, this rom-com is bursting with warmth, emotional depth, and intentional humor.” (A–)
—Entertainment Weekly
“It’s natural to be wary of a novel that’s been the target of such gushy praise. Publishers in at least thirty-eight countries have snapped up the rights to The Rosie Project, which has been touted as a ‘publishing phenomenon,’ an ‘international sensation’ and no less than ‘the feel-good hit of 2013.’ Well, squelch your inner cynic: the hype is justified. Australian Graeme Simsion has written a genuinely funny novel. . . . This is classic rom-com.”
—The Washington Post
“Simsion’s attention to detail brings to life Don’s wonderful, weird world. Instead of using Don’s Asperger’s syndrome as a fault, or a lead-in to a tragic turn of events, Simsion creates a heartwarming story of an extraordinary man learning to live in an ordinary world, and to love. As Don would say, this book is ‘great fun.’”
—USA Today
“An utterly winning screwball comedy. . . . If you’re looking for sparkling entertainment along the lines of Where’d You Go, Bernadette and When Harry Met Sally, The Rosie Project is this season’s fix. . . . This charming, warmhearted escapade, which celebrates the havoc—and pleasure—emotions can unleash, offers amusement aplenty. Sharp dialogue, terrific pacing, physical hijinks, slapstick, a couple to root for, and more twists than a pack of Twizzlers—it’s no surprise that The Rosie Project is bound for the big screen. But read it first.”
—NPR.org
“Filled with humor and plenty of heart, The Rosie Project is a delightful reminder that all of us, no matter how we’re wired, just want to fit in.”
—Chicago Tribune
"Another great favorite: The Rosie Project, a hilarious novel by Graeme Simsion. It’s truly one of the funniest and most poignant novels I’ve read, and when you’ve finished it, there’s an excellent sequel as well."
—Nicholas Kristof, New York Times Newsletter
“The Rosie Project opens as strongly as any comic novel I’ve read in a long time. . . . The book roars at high speed to its conclusion. . . . A highfunctioning but emotionally illiterate guy like Don makes a perfect unreliable narrator. . . . Happily, Simsion doesn’t give Don an unbelievable emotional makeover. Our man just learns to live by a more complicated algorithm.”
—Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel
“One of the year’s most promising and original novelists.”
—The Wall Street Journal
“Funny, touching, and hard to put down, The Rosie Project is certain to entertain even as readers delve into deep themes. For a book about a logic-based quest for love, it has a lot of heart. . . . [an] immensely enjoyable novel.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“Read-out-loud laughter begins by page two in Simsion’s debut novel about a thirty-nine-year-old genetics professor with Asperger’s—but utterly unaware of it—looking to solve his Wife Problem. . . . What follows are his utterly clueless but more often thoroughly charming exploits in exploring his capacity for romance. . . . This novel is perfectly timed.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Polished debut fiction. . . . Simsion can plot a story, set a scene, write a sentence, finesse a detail. A pity more popular fiction isn’t this well written. . . . A sparkling, laugh-out-loud novel.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“[A] bright, whip-snappingly funny romantic comedy. . . . Readers, too, will push eagerly through the narrative, and at the end they’ll have one thought: thank goodness there’s a sequel.”
—Library Journal
“Don Tillman helps us believe in possibility, makes us proud to be human beings, and the bonus is this: he keeps us laughing like hell.”
—Matthew Quick, author of The Silver Linings Playbook
“The Rosie Project is the best, most honestly told love story I’ve read in a long time.”
—Kristin Hannah, author of Fly Away and Home Front
“A world so original, in a story so compelling, I defy you not to read through the night. Read this glorious novel now, in the moment, where it lives.”
—Adriana Trigiani, author of The Shoemaker’s Wife
“The Rosie Project is an upbeat, quirky, impertinent gem of a read. As the novel makes its logically irrefutable progression, readers will become enchanted by what may well be the world’s first rigorously evidence-based romantic comedy.”
—Chris Cleave, author of Little Bee and Gold
“This clever and joyful book charmed me from the first. Professor Tillman is an unlikely romantic hero but a brave, winning soul, and his quest to find a wife goes to show that rationality is no match for love.”
—Maggie Shipstead, author of Seating Arrangements
“Graeme Simsion has created an unforgettable and charming character unique in fiction. Don Tillman is on a quirky, often hilarious, always sincere quest to logically discover what is ultimately illogical—love. Written in a superbly pitch-perfect voice, The Rosie Project had me cheering for Don on every page. I’m madly in love with this book! Trust me, you will be, too.”
—Lisa Genova, author of Still Alice and Left Neglected
“With the demands of children and work, it’s rare that I find myself so caught up in a novel that I literally cannot put it down—not for food nor for conversation nor even for sleep. Charming and delightful, I was so enamored of The Rosie Project that I read it in a single, marathon sitting.”
—Ayelet Waldman, author of Red Hook Road, Bad Mother, and Love and Other Impossible Pursuits
“Although there are many laughs to be found in this marvelous novel, The Rosie Project is a serious reflection on our need for companionship and identity. Don Tillman is as awkward and confusing a narrator as he is lovable and charming.”
—John Boyne, author of The Boy in the Striped Pajamas
“Charming, funny, and heartwarming, a gem of a book.”
—Marian Keyes, author of The Brightest Star in the Sky and This Charming Man
“I couldn’t put this book down. It’s one of the most quirky and endearing romances I’ve ever read. I laughed the whole way through. And now I want to meet Don!”
—Sophie Kinsella, author of the Shopaholic series and Wedding Night
“I wanted to race through The Rosie Project but had to make myself slow down from my usual reading pace, because of the number of sly jokes that I almost missed. A lovely, original, and very funny read.”
—Jojo Moyes, author of Me Before You
From the Back Cover
Don Tillman wants to find a wife.
Don is brilliant, handsome and well-off. But social situations confound him. His solution? A sixteen-page questionnaire designed to find the perfect partner: the Wife Project.
Rosie Jarman wants to find her biological father.
Don’s genetics expertise makes him the perfect man to help Rosie on her quest. Sarcastic, non-punctual Rosie would fail the questionnaire in a second, so why is Don putting the Wife Project on hold for the Rosie Project?
Will the Rosie Project and the Wife Project become one and the same?
The more Don tells himself that Rosie is completely unsuitable, the more reasons he finds to keep her in his life. As an unlikely relationship blooms, Don is about to realise that you don’t find love: love finds you.
About the Author
Holly Black is the author of bestselling contemporary fantasy books for kids and teens. Some of her titles include The Spiderwick Chronicles (with Tony DiTerlizzi), the Modern Faerie Tales series, the Curse Workers series, Doll Bones, The Coldest Girl in Coldtown, The Darkest Part of the Forest, the Magisterium series (with Cassandra Clare), and the Folk of the Air series. She has been a finalist for the Mythopoeic Award, a finalist for an Eisner Award, and the recipient of both an Andre Norton Award and a Newbery Honor. She lives in New England with her husband and son in a house with a secret door. Visit her at BlackHolly.com.
Tony DiTerlizzi is a #1 New York Times bestselling author and illustrator who has been creating books for twenty years. From fanciful picture books, such as Jimmy Zangwow’s Out-of-This-World Moon-Pie Adventure and The Spider and the Fly (a Caldecott Honor Book), to fantastic middle grade novels like Kenny & the Dragon and the WondLa trilogy, Tony imbues each story with his rich imagination. He created The Spiderwick Chronicles with Holly Black, which has sold millions of copies around the world. You can learn more about Tony at DiTerlizzi.com.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One One
I may have found a solution to the Wife Problem. As with so many scientific breakthroughs, the answer was obvious in retrospect. But had it not been for a series of unscheduled events, it is unlikely I would have discovered it.
The sequence was initiated by Gene’s insisting I give a lecture on Asperger’s syndrome that he had previously agreed to deliver himself. The timing was extremely annoying. The preparation could be time-shared with lunch consumption, but on the designated evening I had scheduled ninety-four minutes to clean my bathroom. I was faced with a choice of three options, none of them satisfactory.
- Cleaning the bathroom after the lecture, resulting in loss of sleep with a consequent reduction in mental and physical performance.
- Rescheduling the cleaning until the following Tuesday, resulting in an eight-day period of compromised bathroom hygiene and consequent risk of disease.
- Refusing to deliver the lecture, resulting in damage to my friendship with Gene.
I presented the dilemma to Gene, who, as usual, had an alternative solution.
“Don, I’ll pay for someone to clean your bathroom.”
I explained to Gene—again—that all cleaners, with the possible exception of the Hungarian woman with the short skirt, made errors. Short-Skirt Woman, who had been Gene’s cleaner, had disappeared following some problem with Gene and Claudia.
“I’ll give you Eva’s mobile number. Just don’t mention me.”
“What if she asks? How can I answer without mentioning you?”
“Just say you’re contacting her because she’s the only cleaner who does it properly. And if she mentions me, say nothing.”
This was an excellent outcome, and an illustration of Gene’s ability to find solutions to social problems. Eva would enjoy having her competence recognized and might even be suitable for a permanent role, which would free up an average of 316 minutes per week in my schedule.
Gene’s lecture problem had arisen because he had an opportunity to have sex with a Chilean academic who was visiting Melbourne for a conference. Gene has a project to have sex with women of as many different nationalities as possible. As a professor of psychology, he is extremely interested in human sexual attraction, which he believes is largely genetically determined.
This belief is consistent with Gene’s background as a geneticist. Sixty-eight days after Gene hired me as a postdoctoral researcher, he was promoted to head of the Psychology Department, a highly controversial appointment that was intended to establish the university as the Australian leader in evolutionary psychology and increase its public profile.
During the time we worked concurrently in the Genetics Department, we had numerous interesting discussions, and these continued after his change of position. I would have been satisfied with our relationship for this reason alone, but Gene also invited me to dinner at his house and performed other friendship rituals, resulting in a social relationship. His wife, Claudia, who is a clinical psychologist, is now also a friend. Making a total of two.
Gene and Claudia tried for a while to assist me with the Wife Problem. Unfortunately, their approach was based on the traditional dating paradigm, which I had previously abandoned on the basis that the probability of success did not justify the effort and negative experiences. I am thirty-nine years old, tall, fit, and intelligent, with a relatively high status and above-average income as an associate professor. Logically, I should be attractive to a wide range of women. In the animal kingdom, I would succeed in reproducing.
However, there is something about me that women find unappealing. I have never found it easy to make friends, and it seems that the deficiencies that caused this problem have also affected my attempts at romantic relationships. The Apricot Ice Cream Disaster is a good example.
Claudia had introduced me to one of her many friends. Elizabeth was a highly intelligent computer scientist, with a vision problem that had been corrected with glasses. I mention the glasses because Claudia showed me a photograph and asked me if I was okay with them. An incredible question! From a psychologist! In evaluating Elizabeth’s suitability as a potential partner—someone to provide intellectual stimulation, to share activities with, perhaps even to breed with—Claudia’s first concern was my reaction to her choice of glasses frames, which was probably not even her own but the result of advice from an optometrist. This is the world I have to live in. Then Claudia told me, as though it was a problem, “She has very firm ideas.”
“Are they evidence-based?”
“I guess so,” Claudia said.
Perfect. She could have been describing me.
We met at a Thai restaurant. Restaurants are minefields for the socially inept, and I was nervous as always in these situations. But we got off to an excellent start when we both arrived at exactly 7:00 p.m. as arranged. Poor synchronization is a huge waste of time.
We survived the meal without her criticizing me for any social errors. It is difficult to conduct a conversation while wondering whether you are looking at the correct body part, but I locked on to her bespectacled eyes, as recommended by Gene. This resulted in some inaccuracy in the eating process, which she did not seem to notice. On the contrary, we had a highly productive discussion about simulation algorithms. She was so interesting! I could already see the possibility of a permanent relationship.
The waiter brought the dessert menus and Elizabeth said, “I don’t like Asian desserts.”
This was almost certainly an unsound generalization, based on limited experience, and perhaps I should have recognized it as a warning sign. But it provided me with an opportunity for a creative suggestion.
“We could get an ice cream across the road.”
“Great idea. As long as they’ve got apricot.”
I assessed that I was progressing well at this point and did not think the apricot preference would be a problem. I was wrong. The ice-cream parlor had a vast selection of flavors, but they had exhausted their supply of apricot. I ordered a chocolate chili and licorice double cone for myself and asked Elizabeth to nominate her second preference.
“If they haven’t got apricot, I’ll pass.”
I couldn’t believe it. All ice cream tastes essentially the same, owing to chilling of the taste buds. This is especially true of fruit flavors. I suggested mango.
“No thanks, I’m fine.”
I explained the physiology of taste bud chilling in some detail. I predicted that if I purchased a mango and a peach ice cream, she would be incapable of differentiating. And, by extension, either would be equivalent to apricot.
“They’re completely different,” she said. “If you can’t tell mango from peach, that’s your problem.”
Now we had a simple objective disagreement that could readily be resolved experimentally. I ordered a minimum-size ice cream in each of the two flavors. But by the time the serving person had prepared them, and I turned to ask Elizabeth to close her eyes for the experiment, she had gone. So much for “evidence-based.” And for computer “scientist.”
Afterward, Claudia advised me that I should have abandoned the experiment prior to Elizabeth’s leaving. Obviously. But at what point? Where was the signal? These are the subtleties I fail to see. But I also fail to see why heightened sensitivity to obscure cues about ice-cream flavors should be a prerequisite for being someone’s partner. It seems reasonable to assume that some women do not require this. Unfortunately, the process of finding them is impossibly inefficient. The Apricot Ice Cream Disaster had cost a whole evening of my life, compensated for only by the information about simulation algorithms.
Two lunchtimes were sufficient to research and prepare my lecture on Asperger’s syndrome, without sacrificing nourishment, thanks to the provision of Wi-Fi in the medical library café. I had no previous knowledge of autism spectrum disorders, as they were outside my specialty. The subject was fascinating. It seemed appropriate to focus on the genetic aspects of the syndrome, which might be unfamiliar to my audience. Most diseases have some basis in our DNA, though in many cases we have yet to discover it. My own work focuses on genetic predisposition to cirrhosis of the liver. Much of my working time is devoted to getting mice drunk.
Naturally, the books and research papers described the symptoms of Asperger’s syndrome, and I formed a provisional conclusion that most of these were simply variations in human brain function that had been inappropriately medicalized because they did not fit social norms—constructed social norms—that reflected the most common human configurations rather than the full range.
The lecture was scheduled for 7:00 p.m. at an inner-suburban school. I estimated the cycle ride at twelve minutes and allowed three minutes to boot my computer and connect it to the projector.
I arrived on schedule at 6:57 p.m., having let Eva, the short-skirted cleaner, into my apartment twenty-seven minutes earlier. There were approximately twenty-five people milling around the door and the front of the classroom, but I immediately recognized Julie, the convenor, from Gene’s description: “blonde with big tits.” In fact, her breasts were probably no more than one and a half standard deviations from the mean size for her body weight and hardly a remarkable identifying feature. It was more a question of elevation and exposure, as a result of her choice of costume, which seemed perfectly practical for a hot January evening.
I may have spent too long verifying her identity, as she looked at me strangely.
“You must be Julie,” I said.
“Can I help you?”
Good. A practical person. “Yes, direct me to the VGA cable. Please.”
“Oh,” she said. “You must be Professor Tillman. I’m so glad you could make it.”
She extended her hand but I waved it away. “The VGA cable, please. It’s six fifty-eight.”
“Relax,” she said. “We never start before seven fifteen. Would you like a coffee?”
Why do people value others’ time so little? Now we would have the inevitable small talk. I could have spent fifteen minutes at home practicing aikido.
I had been focusing on Julie and the screen at the front of the room. Now I looked around and realized that I had failed to observe nineteen people. They were children, predominantly male, sitting at desks. Presumably these were the victims of Asperger’s syndrome. Almost all the literature focuses on children.
Despite their affliction, they were making better use of their time than their parents, who were chattering aimlessly. Most were operating portable computing devices. I guessed their ages as between eight and thirteen. I hoped they had been paying attention in their science classes, as my material assumed a working knowledge of organic chemistry and the structure of DNA.
I realized that I had failed to reply to the coffee question.
“No.”
Unfortunately, because of the delay, Julie had forgotten the question. “No coffee,” I explained. “I never drink coffee after three forty-eight p.m. It interferes with sleep. Caffeine has a half-life of three to four hours, so it’s irresponsible serving coffee at seven p.m. unless people are planning to stay awake until after midnight. Which doesn’t allow adequate sleep if they have a conventional job.” I was trying to make use of the waiting time by offering practical advice, but it seemed that she preferred to discuss trivia.
“Is Gene all right?” she asked. It was obviously a variant on that most common of formulaic interactions, “How are you?”
“He’s fine, thank you,” I said, adapting the conventional reply to the third-person form.
“Oh. I thought he was ill.”
“Gene is in excellent health except for being six kilograms overweight. We went for a run this morning. He has a date tonight, and he wouldn’t be able to go out if he was ill.”
Julie seemed unimpressed, and in reviewing the interaction later, I realized that Gene must have lied to her about his reason for not being present. This was presumably to protect Julie from feeling that her lecture was unimportant to Gene and to provide a justification for a less prestigious speaker being sent as a substitute. It seems hardly possible to analyze such a complex situation involving deceit and supposition of another person’s emotional response, and then prepare your own plausible lie, all while someone is waiting for you to reply to a question. Yet that is exactly what people expect you to be able to do.
Eventually, I set up my computer and we got started, eighteen minutes late. I would need to speak forty-three percent faster to finish on schedule at 8:00 p.m.—a virtually impossible performance goal. We were going to finish late, and my schedule for the rest of the night would be thrown out.
Why do we focus on certain things at the expense of others? We will risk our lives to save a person from drowning, yet not make a donation that could save dozens of children from starvation.Highlighted by 3,651 Kindle readers
