Between energetic guests, an out-of-town husband, and a book I couldn't get into, I didn't finish reading anything last week except a few National Geographics, which was fun, but hardly worth blogging. So I set aside my book for another try later and read Olive Kitteridge instead, and loved it.
It's not a particularly cheery book, but I didn't think it was depressing. Instead, it was a series of little pieces of one woman's real life. I liked that it focused on her older years; so many books are about people when they are young. I also liked that Olive wasn't necessarily likable, but that you cared about her. She felt like a real person. Several of the stories weren't really about Olive, although she made at least a brief appearance in all of them, but all told a little about her. Maybe it felt a little like a grown-up E.L. Konigsburg? Anyway, it was a good book to get my reading back on track.