Olive Kitteridge



Just finished watching the HBO mini series.  I knew better; I read the book when published some years ago and my general impression was a seriously depressing story.  I got sucked in because the movie version starred Frances McDormand, who I admire greatly.  Go figure, the story hasn’t lightened in any measure in the retelling. 

It slowly, slowly builds the dark gloom of depression.  Hand me a dull exacto knife now.  Suppressed emotions, mental illness, withheld love, misplaced affection, ungrateful children; it’s got it all in terms of doom and gloom.  The absolute clincher is the trip to the vet to put the aged family dog down (While my sweet Mooser is perched on the ottoman with his head on my lap, gazing at me in adoration as I stroke his paw.  Rip my heart out now.)

It’ll probably take a couple days to regain my equanimity. 

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