This question may not be of interest to you, but it is to me. This spring I read the Pulitzer Prize winning book, "Olive Kitteridge" by Elizabeth Strout.
Olive is some character. She's a decent but terrorizing elementary school teacher, a domineering wife and mom, a scary enemy and scarier friend.
The book is made up of 13 separate stories about the people in the little town of Crosby, Maine. Olive pops in and out of the stories. Sometimes the main character - sometimes a passerby.
I know a few women like Olive. Strong life forces who have no idea of the wreckage they leave behind. Or, as their families might say, don't care about or even sometimes seem to enjoy the wreckage they create.
The astonishing part of the book is that, in the last chapter, when Olive is 74 big, sagging years old, she finally gets a deeper understanding of herself through, of all things, a love affair.
But, prior to that she gets some clues via a visit to see her son who hasn't had anything to do with her in many years.
Here's a bit of dialogue:
The son speaking: "You say you're going to leave and then accuse me of kicking you out. In the past that would make me feel terrible but I'm not going to feel terrible now. Because this is not my doing. You just don't seem to notice that your actions bring reactions."
"I just don't want to put up with it anymore."
"You have a bad temper. At least I think it's a temper. I don't really know what it is."
"I'm not going to be ruled by my fear of you, mom"
And then Olive thinks something that is her first big insight into her long unhappy life.
Fear of her? How could anyone be afraid of her? She was the one who was afraid!
Here's what I know. We're all afraid. I would hope that a couple of the old women I know who seem to operate somewhat like Olive Kitteridge would gain enough self understanding to mend relationships with the people the love before it's too late.
It's possible. I totally believe in the changed life.
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