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A review by leigh_ann_15_deaf
A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman
2.0
This book is about a mean old man, who’s apparently been socially apathetic his entire life, who only ever does anything nice for one of two reasons: either Sonja (the real person and/or the construct called “Ove’s wife”) expects it of him or convinces him to, or he steps in to take over because he believes the person doing a job is doing it incorrectly.
Ove is all around unlikeable. There were moments I pitied him, sympathized, such as the house fire, and others I cheered for him, such as getting his father’s watch back, but the vast majority of the time I could not bring myself to like him, and even downright hated him at points, such as punching a clown who returned the “wrong” 5-crown coin. He’s antagonistic, hypocritical, and apparently lacks theory of mind—he doesn’t understand what others are thinking or why they do things, and prefers that everyone be a carbon copy of himself so he doesn’t have to exercise his brain in any capacity. It’s annoying. I love a routine and have a strong sense of justice, but Ove takes it to such an extreme that it makes me reflect all the more on how I might come across to others—though I suppose that in itself means I’m not like Ove and don’t have to worry about it. Sigh.
Also, Ove’s wife is Sonja- by p. 113 it’s only stated twice amid what seems like hundreds of “Ove’s wife,” like she’s a possession or an abstract thought, known only in relation to Ove. I guess it’s the same lack of human connection with others, whom he almost exclusively refers to with descriptors like “Lanky One” and “Blonde Weed.”
Ove is all around unlikeable. There were moments I pitied him, sympathized, such as the house fire, and others I cheered for him, such as getting his father’s watch back, but the vast majority of the time I could not bring myself to like him, and even downright hated him at points, such as punching a clown who returned the “wrong” 5-crown coin. He’s antagonistic, hypocritical, and apparently lacks theory of mind—he doesn’t understand what others are thinking or why they do things, and prefers that everyone be a carbon copy of himself so he doesn’t have to exercise his brain in any capacity. It’s annoying. I love a routine and have a strong sense of justice, but Ove takes it to such an extreme that it makes me reflect all the more on how I might come across to others—though I suppose that in itself means I’m not like Ove and don’t have to worry about it. Sigh.
Also, Ove’s wife is Sonja- by p. 113 it’s only stated twice amid what seems like hundreds of “Ove’s wife,” like she’s a possession or an abstract thought, known only in relation to Ove. I guess it’s the same lack of human connection with others, whom he almost exclusively refers to with descriptors like “Lanky One” and “Blonde Weed.”