Olive finished the doughnut, wiped the sugar from her fingers, sat back, and said, "You're starving."
The girl didn't move, only said, "Uh - duh."
"I'm starving, too," Olive said. The girl looked over at her. "I am," Olive said. "Why do you think I eat every doughnut in sight?"
"You're not starving," Nina said with disgust.
"Sure I am. We all are."
Olive Kitteridge sat on my shelf for months before I picked it up over the holidays. I think I harbored some secret loathing of the possibility of yet another eccentric protagonist from Maine. New England no-nonsense sensibilities tested by the strong emotions of crisis. Something to that effect. It was not until I happened across a review that likened the novel to one of my favorite works of American literature, Sherwood Anderson's Winesburg, Ohio, that I finally started reading. I just wish I remember where that review was? If it was yours, I beg your pardon for not giving you credit for the great insight.
Anderson's grotesques were not undesirables as the name might suggest to some, but the damaged that walk among us for whom the truth of their nature has been distorted by unfortunate experience. The town drunk for example. The grotesque finds tacit acceptance in their community. Their existence is neither celebrated nor overtly condemned as they wade though the grey zone of human experience that is their life.
Olive Kitteridge is just such a grotesque. In this series of thirteen interconnected short stories, Olive appears in each one as if almost a refrain to the work. The reader waits for her next appearance not because she is a likable or admirable character, but because she is the lightning rod of the book that reflects the unsentimental truth of the salty coastal residents about her. She errs only in self-assessment at times as she fails to recognize how her bluntness wounds others. She is both physically and figuratively large as she moves through her life as intimidating middle school teacher and less-than-model spouse and mother.
The quote at the top of this post comes from a conversation between Olive and an anorexic young woman that she attempts to help. It is one of my two favorite sections of the book. It is the explicit introduction of the themes of appetite and hunger that run through the book. What does one become when one's natural appetites have never been satisfied or when the satisfaction of those appetites proves morally unacceptable as is the case with with the chilling story of Olive's visit to the reclusive parents of a shamed resident.
The betrayals central to every story in this book may weigh heavily on the reader at first, but become increasingly easier to accept as we age with Olive in this chronological progression. As with the residents of Winesberg, Ohio, these flawed characters become an accepted part of the story. Acceptance is the key here as the need to interact with others, to depend upon others, transcends the darkest emotion.
I could not have loved this book more. It restored my ability to revel in an unlikable character. And the writing's unflinching directness has such great impact that I had to read and re-read certain sections so as not to lose the impact of Strout's words.