Book Review #61 - Olive Kitteridge

I have never liked the idiom, "You can't have your cake and eat it too," because it doesn't make sense. What are you talking about? I have cake and eat it all the time. Too frequently, in fact. But that isn't my point.

I do understand its intended meaning, however. I've seen it written instead, "You can't eat your cake and have it too," which really clears things up (the two desires are mutually exclusive. Choice and sacrifice are obligatory), but, I doubt the saying will ever change. And if I say it the way I like it, I'll just be accused of messing it up, blasted creatures of habit that we humans are.

When Elizabeth Strout wrote Olive Kitteridge, it appears she couldn't choose between eating the cake or having it.

To explain, you need to know something about the book, which, I should do regardless because this is, after all, a book review. Olive Kitteridge is a compilation of short stories that are sometimes strongly, but more often loosely, tied together through one character, Olive Kitteridge. The book is roughly chronological and whether in the periphery or forefront, Olive's abrasive and direct personality stand out. She and other inhabitants of Crosby, Maine, lead outwardly ordinary lives but with Strout's masterful story telling, their motivations, vices, guilt and hope are all achingly uncovered. It's really something, the way she captures the natural man (or woman) on her pages.

Imagine, for the sake of the above allegory, that Olive Kitteridge is a cake. She is the title character. She is the foundation. Olive all alone, however, is boring. She needs decorating. She needs a plot and supporting characters and conflict and all the eye-dazzling fondant that makes you take notice and want the actual food - the cake underneath. In other words....she needs a novel. I wonder if Strout started dressing Olive up, and saw that she had so much going on that her cake looked like a hot mess so she licked off all the icing, hoping, I suppose, the naked cake left behind would be enough. Unfortunately, and perhaps because I am overly fond of icing, I noticed its absence. As enjoyable as each short story was, Olive Kitteridge needed the icing and the icing needed Olive.

While I applaud Strout's idea, which is brilliant, entire chapters felt disappointing and unproductive because Olive's presence was so minimal. At times, the thought crossed my mind that Strout had some of these stories written beforehand and once she came up with Olive Kitteridge, and her idea to assemble stories containing Olive together in a book, she threw in a few of her other favorite short stories, briefly mentioning Olive as a 7th grade math teacher or down-the-street neighbor so that they earned an "Olive" label. Like drinks that claim to be 10% fruit juice. Not near enough juice but that's another analogy for another day.

For a book to connect so...haphazardly, was unsatisfying. Even though each chapter had the structure to stand alone, I felt preoccupied with Olive. When was she going to enter the story? How did this person know Olive? Olive, Olive, Olive. It was distracting.

I understand and even agree with the book's critical acclaim because the premise is unique and clever. Strout's writing is superb and certain chapters are undoubtedly engrossing. But what am I supposed to do with an unfrosted cake? Eat it or have it? Without the frosting, I'm not sure I want to do either.