A Man Called Ove

by Fredrik Backman

She believed in destiny. That all the roads you walk in life, in one way or another ‘lead to what has been predetermined for you’.

It’s a strange thing, becoming an orphan at sixteen. To lose your family long before you’ve had time to create your own to replace it. It’s a very specific sort of loneliness.

‘Men are what they are because of what they do. Not what they say,’ said Ove.

And that laughter of hers which, for the rest of his life, would make him feel as if someone was running around barefoot on the inside of his breast.

‘We can busy ourselves with living or with dying, Ove. We have to move on.’

‘This is not education, this is storage.’