Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine

by Gail Honeyman

If I’m ever unsure as to the correct course of action, I’ll think, “What would a ferret do?” or, “How would a salamander respond to this situation?”

I did not own any Tupperware, having had no need of it until this point. I could go to a department store to purchase some. That seemed to be the sort of thing that a woman of my age and social circumstances might do. Exciting!

My nails are always clean—clean nails, like clean shoes, are fundamental to self-respect.

The thought did strike me, as she painted on various coats of various varnishes, that she could have perhaps combined the two professions by becoming a dog groomer.

Such small coincidences can pepper a life with interest.

“Well,” she said, “what do you think?” “I look like a small Madagascan primate, or perhaps a North American raccoon,” I said. “It’s charming!”

Black make-up on both men and women, applied in a way that Bobbi Brown would not have endorsed.

someone or something had turned vodka into water. This was not my preferred kind of miracle.

“Yes, of course they do, Eleanor,” he said calmly. “But when people are feeling sad they have a little cry, maybe eat too much ice cream, stay in bed all afternoon. What they don’t do is think about drinking drain cleaner, or opening their veins with a bread knife.” Despite myself, I shuddered at the thought of those sharp, sharp teeth. I shrugged, acquiescing. “Touché, Raymond,” I said. “I can’t counter your reasoning.”

I took the basket into the kitchen and put it on the table. Thinking of me. The scent of a summer garden, sweet and heady, was released when I removed the cellophane. They’d been thinking. Of me! I sat down and stroked the petals of a red gerbera, and I smiled.

“I feel like a spy or something,” said Raymond, looking at the sealed envelope that lay between us. “You’re completely unsuited to a career in espionage,”