"Death is a strange thing. People live their whole lives as if it doesn't exist, and yet it's often one of the great motivations for living. Some of us, in time, become so conscious of it that we live harder, more obstinately, with more fury. Some need it's constant presence to even be aware of its antithesis. Others become so preoccupied with it that they go into the waiting room long before it has announced its arrival. We fear it, yet most of us fear more than anything that it may take someone other than ourselves. For the greatest fear of death is always that it will pass us by. And leave us there alone. "
When I read that the premise was about a bitter, grumpy, old man, I thought to myself "this should be refreshingly funny!" To a degree it was quite funny, but it could have easily stuck in predictable caricature territory. To be honest I can't say I would have minded reading a hilarious story about an old man looking down his nose at the rest of us whippersnappers, reminiscing of better days long ago, and awaiting for his time to die. A Man Called Ove had more heart in its 237 pages than anything I have read in a long time. I caught real feelings for this book so quickly and without warning, that unusually enough, I cried through the last 12 pages. What Fredrick Backman has done here is very special. He causes the reader to form a face value opinion of Ove in the first several pages, and then he challenges that opinion with every new chapter. As the story uncovers the kind of man Ove is, it births a special kind of fierce affection for all that Ove is at his best and worst.
5/5 Stars
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