Some light relief

A Man Called Ove
Fredrik Backman

I must admit that I was determined not to like this book. I could tell even before I began the first chapter (from the cover and the marketing) that it was the kind of book that was going to pull at my heart-strings; the kind of book that wanted me to cry. I was determined to resist its emotional manipulations.

When I began to read, the first thing I noticed was that Backman was fond of similes. Very fond of similes. I counted five in the first two pages. And not unobtrusive similes either. Ludicrous similes that were hard to ignore. Similes like ‘Ove gives the box a sceptical glance, as if it’s a highly dubious sort of box, a box that rides a scooter and wears tracksuit trousers and just called Ove “my friend” before offering to sell him a watch’ and ‘Ove shakes his head in disbelief, as if he’s just witnessed the sales assistant walking round the counter and licking the glass-fronted display cabinet’. I found the proliferation of these absurdly detailed comparisons mildly annoying, and was thus reassured: I was going to be too irritated to cry.

And then, curse it, I got drawn into this story about a curmudgeonly man named Ove, his sad back-story and heart-warming transformation thanks to his kindness of his neighbours. I stopped noticing the ridiculous similes (or maybe even grew to like them). The book’s gentle comedy made me smile. And then it made me cry. Twice.

I could complain that the plot is predictable, that the characters are a bit one-dimensional and the message is slightly saccharine. But to complain would be to miss the point – this book is exactly what it promises to be and its predictability is part of the pleasure. Every now and then, some novelistic light relief of this kind is exactly what I need, and this book delivers it with aplomb.