Book Review — Olive Kitteridge
This is a book of short stories, whose thread connecting them is the presence of the character Olive. In some of them, her presence is merely a citation, and in others, she is the protagonist. We follow her adult life in Crosby, Maine, and her relationship with the people who live there. The setting is this small town where practically everyone knows each other, and at first glance, you think it is a peaceful and calm place, but later you realize it is much more about loneliness than about tranquility.
This can be considered a slow-burn read, but I did not feel it that way. Maybe it was a very personal feeling of mine, but I did not feel it dragging or lacking any grand events. In fact, the book has very few epic events, as one would expect from fiction — and this is precisely one of the points that stood out the most to me: the boredom and the mundane, which almost always intertwine. The stories are not here to make us reflect on important philosophical or political issues, but rather for us to understand how the characters deal with their daily and ordinary lives. Not because the ordinary is bad, but because it is simply there, accompanying us. And I found it fascinating how the author describes the daily, in a way that really resembles our own real life. This book not only draws you into the stories but also makes you reflect on your own life through the lives of the characters — not in an existential/cosmic sense, but in the ordinary sense. You could argue that being about the ordinary is a form of philosophical questioning in itself., the exploration of why our lives can feel like they’re lacking a sense of grandiosity.
But this wouldn’t be as good if it were not for the author’s ability to delve into the characters’ thoughts. I think it would be common sense to say that we want to read fiction whose characters are so well crafted that they seem real. But here it is elevated exponentially. It seems that Elizabeth Strout made a documentary instead of fiction, precisely because the interior of the characters is so well thought out. Their thoughts are often the ones we would have in many daily situations. I must highlight here what for me became my favorite point about this book: the quick transition between the internal and the external. There are several examples, in all the stories, where the author is inside a character’s head and, in the blink of an eye, returns to the external world (and vice versa). And the coolest thing is that you realize how the internal perspective interferes with the characters’ external actions (often contradicting each other).
The text presents a very well-crafted dialogue construction, which contributes to the quality of the work and the reader’s understanding. Besides, the physical setting is another strong point, as it is possible to clearly visualize the scenario in which the plot unfolds. Another aspect that deserves mention is the internal setting, which features several metaphors that make us reflect on our own experiences and thoughts. It is interesting to note how the metaphors are used subtly and effectively, contributing to enrich the text and make it deeper and more meaningful.
A book could not be complete without the presence of a captivating main character. Even in the stories where Olive is only mentioned, you realize that her existence is relevant to the characters in question. She starts as a woman who is very difficult to empathize with, much less to even like her. She is like that neighbor you only tolerate. I, at least, began more interested in the other characters than in her. Indeed, a truculent, grumpy, pessimistic, and, in short, annoying woman. But as time goes by, you grow fond of her — not because she changes her personality, but because you begin to realize how similar you are to her. More and more, she faces loneliness, and at a certain point, the feeling engulfs her just as a blanket wraps around you during the night, and you spend a good few seconds trying to escape its entrapment. Her flaws, if not justifiable, become increasingly understandable. Her anxieties are ever more real — until you start to imagine what you would do if you were in her place. Again, it’s not about epic things, but about the course of life itself. Olive Kitteridge gradually wins over the reader, not for her kindness, strength, courage, or redemption, but for how real and close she appears before us.
Death is present in this book (I will say only this about this theme, you’re welcome) 😉
Go to a family lunch on Sunday. Observe what the people around you do as much as you pay attention to your own thoughts — not those that appear after several others that culminate in deep reflection, but those that appear instantly, raw. Combine that with the mundane, the activities that are performed almost automatically. And, as a topping, add your fear of the passage of time, of death, of loneliness. This, to me, is what Elizabeth Strout did in Olive Kitteridge.