A Man Called Ove

There are some things in life that can’t be explained. No matter how hard you search for the right words, there are none. It’s one of the most frustrating feelings in the world.

It wasn’t until recently that someone said to me, those are things that aren’t meant to be explained, they’re meant to be felt. How true is that? One of the things I think are really meant to be felt is the feeling you get when a book touches your soul.

When you finish a book that has made you think, consumes you completely and you know life will never be the same again.

I just finished a book that did that for me: A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman.

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The description on the back of the book is pretty vague so I don’t want to give you even the slightest spoiler. It’s a book about love, friendship, death and living. A book of unexpected relationships and the people who change your life .

I loved Ove. I loved Sonja. I loved Parvaneh. I loved the cat. I loved the daughters. I loved the silly Saab.

I would wake up early to get an extra chapter in, stretch my lunch breaks to the maximum, carry it around in my coat pocket so I didn’t miss any spare moments where I could dive back into Ove’s life.

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Remember when I wrote about the Little Paris Bookshelf and the literary apothecary who would prescribe the books people need?

Anyone who has ever felt alone, lost someone, counted on someone, formed unexpected friendships, loved animals, loved black coffee, felt a connection to a car. For anyone who has ever loved, lost, cried, laughed, cared for someone. Read this book. It starts a little slow but it’s worth it in the end.

I prescribe this book to you. Read it, come back and let me know what you think.

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