We all know a grumpy old man. Or at the very least have seen one on TV, whether he be an old-in-spirit-only curmudgeon like Ron Swanson, or one of the classic geriatrics from (what else?) Grumpy Old Men. People say that oldsters get so crotchety because they've endured so much and have had enough already. Which I thought I understood. But then I read Fredrik Backman's A Man Called Ove and realized I didn't understand anything.
Not too long ago, I read -- and very much enjoyed -- Backman's Anxious People. But A Man Called Ove was Backman's first novel. I'd always wanted to read it, and when Ellie of Ivy's Closet and Caitlin & Megan said I'd like it, I made an Amazon order. As a librarian, Ellie knows books.
So, Ove. When we meet him in suburban Sweden, he's the epitome of the irate, set-in-his-ways, hates-everyone senior citizen. He loathes technology, people who aren't punctual, and cats. He's always driven a Saab and distrusts anyone who drives anything else. Never mind that he's only fifty-nine. Ove is the kind that's been old all his life. But the death of his adored wife, Sonja, as well as the loss of his job have exacerbated his already cantankerous ways. Every morning, he patrols his neighborhood in search of burglars and other miscreants. He oils his kitchen counters whether they need it or not. He fixes things in his toolshed. And he does it all not to pass the time, but because he needs to be useful. As Ove's own Sonja said, ' "All people want to live dignified lives; dignity just means something different to different people." ' (274)
Backman does this clever thing where he alternates between Ove's past and present, making everything seem at the same time old-fashioned and timeless. It turns out that Ove's life has been exceptionally sad, and Backman fleshes out each flashback with details so heartbreaking -- and, yes, sometimes funny -- that I couldn't help but be endeared to this angry old man who has very good reasons for being angry after all. In this way, A Man Called Ove reminds me of another beloved book, Gabrielle Zevin's The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry. Both are about seemingly misanthropic men who've been burned but turn things around just in time to trust again and appreciate life. And that's my favorite kind of story.
If Ove knew that he was the subject of this post -- well, if Ove were a real person and knew that he was the subject of this post -- then he would hate it, right down from the publicity (if you could call it that) to the hot pink background. And that amuses me.
Because documenting stuff with humor and heart is where I find my dignity.
And I like to think that Ove would respect that -- if only because I made a pun about Saab.