A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman
Washington Square Press, 2012
Meet Ove. He’s a curmudgeon, the kind of man who points at people he dislikes as if they were burglars caught outside his bedroom window. He has staunch principles, strict routines, and a short fuse. One November morning, a chatty couple with two curious young daughters move in next door and launch a comical—and heartwarming—tale of unexpected friendship.
I cried, laughed, and shifted uncomfortably through A Man Called Ove.
Shortly in, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to finish the book. Ove is bigoted, egotistical, and pessimistic. Did I really want to invest a book’s worth of my time with a character this tiresome? But by the end of the third chapter, I had shed a few tentative tears over Ove—and once I had cried about Ove, it was easier to laugh about him.
As the story progresses, we learn that Ove’s life has been, at its heart, a survival through grief. Overall, I felt compassion toward Ove, but at times my response was tinged with impatience, annoyance, and disappointment. Why couldn’t Ove stop griping, even for one minute, and accept offers of friendship? A varied, entertaining cast supports Ove. Unfortunately, Ove maintains a closed-minded system of labels for referring to these individuals.
Also bothersome was Ove’s lack of appreciation for the stray cat who so unnaturally attached itself to him. It is not easy for this reader to forget that Ove would have let the cat, who is never given the dignity of a proper name, die in his front yard if a benevolent neighbor hadn’t stepped in.
And reader, I want to be honest here about a sensitive subject. Throughout much of the book, Ove contemplates and attempts to kill himself. But as a reader, I was seeing so much going on around Ove that held potential for beautiful relationships and growth, that I found myself becoming impatient with Ove’s falsely glamorized vision of death. Why would he opt for the easy out instead of embracing the more challenging, but also more rewarding, work of living at peace with others?
But maybe this is the book’s pertinent message, that the more we understand someone, the more forgiving and patient we become. By the end of the book, I was so attached to Ove, faults and all, that I cried for everything he was—instead of everything he wasn’t.
Dear reader, if you are struggling with depression or thoughts of suicide, please seek help. Other people in your life may be able to help show you all the beauty that surrounds you, all the goodness that only you can contribute to this world. I believe that there are promises out there for you to take hold of—and it’s okay if you need help finding them. Consider talking to a trusted friend or pastor or contacting the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (Tel. 800-273-8255). Click here for a list of resources in areas outside of the United States.
Reader, is there an Ove in your life that you’ve grown to love?
