A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
Honestly, I REALLY thought I'd love a book about an angry old coot sitting on a lawn, yelling at all the kids to get the hell off it, because ever since I was 10 years old, that's what I wanted to be.
Reading this, however, made me lose some blood and feel just as anemic as the story. It wasn't very funny. It wasn't heartwarming. Every accidentally nice thing he did was a stupid accident and he really never learned a damn thing. I've enjoyed Backman's other books much more than this one. It was too little, too late, and Ove, himself, was... how should I put this... not the curmudgeon hero I wanted him to be.
Sure, maybe that's just a personal problem. But damn. Mr. Black and White was just super annoying and his attempts to off himself was worse. I get it. Engineering types can be like this. But at least to me, it couldn't be redeemed even with cute kids and needy neighbors who ALL seemed to mistake him for what he was: a bloodless, tired, two-feet-in-the-grave character.
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