Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine

by Gail Honeyman

Time only blunts the pain of loss. It doesn’t erase it.

Grief is the price we pay for love, so they say. The price is far too high.

These days, loneliness is the new cancer – a shameful, embarrassing thing, brought upon yourself in some obscure way. A fearful, incurable thing, so horrifying that you dare not mention it; other people don’t want to hear the word spoken aloud for fear that they might too be afflicted, or that it might tempt fate into visiting a similar horror upon them.