Olive Kitteridge

Five minutes ago, I finished reading Olive Kitteridge while I gave Lucy and Noni a bath. Fortunately, I only had a chapter or so left, but even so they ended up pruned and playing in lukewarm water. It's probably a good thing I don't get that sucked into every book I read. When I read the last word, I felt like crying. Not because of the ending, which I won't of course discuss in this review, but because a perfect book, like a perfect day, only comes around so often.

Why is Olive Kitteridge a perfect book? The writing is beautiful, the characters are real and the stories that make up the novel are interesting. Most importantly, as I said to Toby when I handed the book to him to read next, there isn't a single word in there that shouldn't be there.

I have a whole new appreciation for writing like that now that I am attempting to write my own novel. I remember my friend Diana once told me that after film school she would never watch a movie quite the same way again. There might be a passionate kiss intended to sweep the audience away, and she'd view it not only with a whole new appreciation, but with a recognition of where the director chose to put the cameras in order to achieve the desired effect. When I'm reading now, I can't help but feeling the same way. As I read, I am thinking - How did the author know that Olive would say that? What made her think to write about whitecaps on the bay at that moment? How did she chose the exact words to portray a character with a simple, one sentence description of her coat?

As for my own writing, I can't decide if a book like that leaves me feeling inspired or simply intimidated. But I do know that I'm glad I read it. I'm only sorry that it's done.