Olive, Again by Elizabeth Strout: A review

I've sometimes thought that Maine would be a great place to live. Land of four seasons; summers that do not feature 100 degree days with 90% humidity and the threat of devastating hurricanes; autumns that feature brilliant colors; and winters with snow. Sounds ideal.

But then I think about all those white people who live there. Not that I'm prejudiced against white people; after all, I'm one of them. But I do enjoy living in a place where, on any given day, one might encounter any color and any language available in the human condition. Diversity rules!

Still, Crosby, Maine sounds like an idyllic place and it does have its town character, Olive Kitteridge, to recommend it. Yes, I would love to live next door to Olive. She speaks her mind bluntly. She's irascible and does not suffer fools gladly. Or at all. In short, she is everything I aspire to be.

Olive loves her home town, but she recognizes its lack of color diversity and is delighted that a group of Somali refugees has settled in a neighboring town. One of the stories in the linked tales that feature Olive in Elizabeth Strout's latest book features one of these Somalis.

Strout once again uses the same method of storytelling that worked so well in Olive Kitteridge. She gives us what is essentially a series of short stories highlighting a large number of unrelated characters whose lives are touched in some way by Olive. Some of the early stories focus on Olive and her new husband, Jack Kennison, who those readers familiar with the first book will remember. But some stories only have Olive making a cameo appearance while in others she plays a more prominent role. Each of the stories in its own way reveals some aspect of Olive's life and personality. I personally think it is a brilliant way to write about such a formidable character.

Strout has said that she did not intend to write about Olive again, but the character kept nagging at her, and, in the end, she had to acknowledge that there might be more of the story to tell.

In this book, we see Olive age and face many changes in her life, most of them unwelcome. She goes from around 70 at the beginning to well into her 80s and has health issues as well as relationship issues to deal with. She's not happy with the world she sees changing around her, and yet she retains her love of Nature and the changing seasons and her tough-love empathy for the people around her. She is a marvelous character and I am so glad that Elizabeth Strout decided to write about her once again.

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

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My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

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