This is a book of short stories, whose common thread is the presence of the character Olive. In some of them, her presence is only a mere mention, while in others she is the protagonist. We follow her adult life in the small town of Crosby, Maine, and her relationships with the people who live there. The setting is a small town where almost everyone knows each other, and at first glance, it seems like a peaceful and calm place, but later on, you realize it’s more about loneliness than tranquility. 

This can be considered a slow-burn read, but I didn’t feel that way. Maybe it was just my personal perception, but I didn’t find it dragging or lacking in significant events. Actually, the book has very few epic events, as one would expect from a fantasy—and that’s precisely one of the things that stood out to me: the boredom and the mundane, which often intertwine. The stories are not here to make us reflect on important philosophical or political issues, but to show us how the characters deal with their daily and ordinary lives. Not because the ordinary is bad, but because it’s just there, accompanying us. And I found that fascinating, the way the author describes everyday life in a way that really feels like our own real life. This book doesn’t suck you into the stories, but it makes you reflect on your own life through the characters’ lives—not in an existential/cosmic sense, but in an ordinary sense. The proposal of being a book about the mundane is fully achieved, making it one of my favorite books in such a purpose so far. 

But, this wouldn’t be so good if it weren’t for the author’s ability to dive into the characters’ thoughts. I think it’s commonplace to say that we want to read fiction where the characters are so well-crafted that they seem real. But here, that’s taken to another level. It feels like Elizabeth Strout made a documentary instead of a fiction, precisely because the characters’ inner lives are so well-crafted. Their thoughts are often the ones we would have in many daily situations. Again, it’s not something philosophical—it’s real, the real that happens in our own daily life too. I must highlight here what became my favorite point about this book: the quick transition between internal and 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, she goes back to the external world (and vice versa). And the coolest thing is that you realize how the internal look influences the characters’ external actions (often contradicting each other). 

The book presents a very well-elaborated and informal dialogue construction, which contributes to the quality of the work and to the reader’s understanding. In addition, 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 highlighting is the internal setting, which presents several metaphors that lead us to reflect on our own experiences and thoughts. It is interesting to note how metaphors are used in a subtle and effective way, contributing to enrich the text and make it deeper and more meaningful. 

A book couldn’t 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 being a woman who is difficult to empathize with, let alone like. It’s like that neighbor you don’t like but put up with. At least, I started to be more interested in the other characters than her. In fact, she’s a rough, cranky, pessimistic and, in short, annoying woman. But as time goes by, you start to become fond of her—not because she changes her personality, but because you realize how much you’re like her. More and more, she faces loneliness, and at a certain point, loneliness engulfs her like a blanket wrapping you up at night, and you spend a few good seconds trying to escape from your imprisonment. Her flaws, if not justifiable, become more understandable. Her anxieties, more and more real—until you start imagining what you would do if you were in her place. Again, it’s not about epic or philosophical things, but about the walk of life itself—the felt walk, not the reflected one. Olive Kitteridge gradually wins over the reader, not by her kindness, strength, courage or redemption, but by how real and close she appears before us. 

Death is present in this book (I’ll only say that about this topic, thank me later).

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 the ones that appear after several others that culminate in a deep reflection, but the ones that appear instantly, raw. Add to that the mundane, the activities that are performed almost automatically. And on top of that, like a topping, add your fear of the passage of time, of death, of loneliness. That, to me, is what Elizabeth Strout did in “Olive Kitteridge.”