A Man Called Ove

Ove really just wants to die. He's not picky about how; really, he'll try anything: hanging, carbon monoxide poisoning, being hit by a train, pulling the trigger...and yet, every time he gets close to carrying out his plans, something goes wrong. Or rather, someone needs something, and Ove, in his cantankerous, hilarious way, is the only one who can do it right.

There is, for example, the new neighbor who is so incompetent as to be unable to back up a moving truck without crashing it into Ove's mailbox. To say nothing of the community recycling room that must be monitored constantly for the least transgression. Who but Ove can ensure that the metal caps are unfailingly separated from the glass bottles? (Oh, those Scandinavians!)

Ove is charmingly, lovingly curmudgeonly. He is also desperately sad since the death of his wife, and longs for nothing but to join her in the hereafter, although this must certainly be done properly: subscriptions canceled, affairs in order, the lights shut off. Ove is nothing if not firm in his principles, a staunch believer in routines, in the world being a black and white place, in order, and the belief that right must always prevail. Have I mentioned that I loved Ove?

Yes, I loved Ove, and I loved A Man Called Ove. I especially love Fredrik Backman's voice, the inappropriate hilarity that crops up regularly, yet unexpectedly, the layers and layers of Ove that Backman reveals almost begrudgingly. In both the hilarity of non-hilarious situations and the depth of emotion, all emotions, that Backman strikes so well, I was reminded of one of my old favorites, A Prayer for Owen Meany. 

If I have read a better book anytime recently I cannot recall it.

Five stars.