What does insight offer us, given the ability to observe oneself or others? Psychologists might answer it supports change and develops empathy and compassion. Yet, even for ourselves, understanding who we are and why is no small achievement. How can we hope, then, to have that understanding of others? And surely, there are some people we’re plain put off by. Why would we want insight there, with them? We gratefully see some in a limited way, with distance, and that can offer us differentiation, even a sense that, thank goodness, we’re not like that.
Strout’s newest novel, Olive Kitteridge, offers us the chance – and challenge – to grow better acquainted with someone whom we might not choose to know close-up. We observe the title character – a prickly, trying woman – through a series of vignettes (what Strout calls “episodes”) loosely related by time, place, and characters. It is Strout’s third book to be set in fictionalized towns in Maine, the state where she grew up. Her first two novels, Amy and Isabelle and Abide with Me (WWF May 2007), were set in rural environs and a mill town inland. Here, “Crosby” is a small coastal town near Portland, with a few unexpected links to the other locales and characters. (Or maybe this is not so surprising; doesn’t this kind of thing happen in Maine routinely?)
Initially, we’re introduced to Olive’s husband of many years, Henry, the town’s pharmacist and a mild-mannered, hard-working, well-respected man. Soon, his old-style pharmacy will be razed and replaced, launching him into retirement. Some “weaknesses” of his character (depending, one must suppose, on one’s perspective) are quickly revealed to us: he hates confrontation and avoids it at all costs, he’s conciliatory and placating to a fault, and he comes to feel great affection for the young woman who has just begun to work for him at the pharmacy. As his choice of profession might indicate, he is thoroughly optimistic, believing that health, and perhaps happiness too, should be attainable, knowable. We first see Olive in conversation with Henry, giving her assessment of the new employee: “Mousy. Looks just like a mouse.” Henry interjects, “But a nice mouse. A cute one.” And Olive replies, summarily ending the conversation: “No one’s cute who can’t stand up straight.” Olive has the last word, as we discover she is prone to.
We come to know Olive, a former schoolteacher in town, as intimidating and difficult for many, including her only child, now a grown man. Olive is short on patience and tolerance; she is sharp-tongued and lacks tact. She regrets little and reflects little. In her childhood, her father killed himself. As an adult, she seems to deny herself the ability to be affected by things, going on the offense as a defense. One coda of Olive’s, we learn, is, “people endure things.”
Part of the beauty of Strout’s beautifully written book is that, in her own embrace of off-putting Olive, we get a big-hearted look at moments of small-mindedness and heartlessness. Observing from a number of perspectives and over time, some of Olive’s stumbles, jabs, and compromises, we come to appreciate the value of insight as Olive slowly acquires some. Insight is, after all, what facilitates real change. A comment to Olive by her daughter-in-law suggests the helpful role therapy could play, which was nothing Olive availed herself of, but her son and his wife did, the daughter-in-law explaining to her: “If we learn why we do things, we won’t make the same mistakes.”