The funniest book about loneliness

Last week I read Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, by Gail Honeyman, in three days. This is faster than I finish a lot of books. One day on the bus I shook laughing till tears really did run down my face, the next I had to put on my sunglasses and stop reading when I realised I had no tissues. It’s the funniest book about loneliness you’ll ever read. 

The author wrote the book after hearing a story on the radio about a young professional woman who said she went home from work on Friday and often didn’t talk to anyone again until Monday. I know this story (though it might be up for debate whether I am young or professional anymore). There are some weekends where until I got to church on Sunday afternoon I haven’t spoken to anyone, because I didn’t organise any social events. But introvert that I am, after being out at work all week I don’t necessarily want to have to initiate a weekend of social activities, every weekend, and need some time at home. Then the trade-off for staying home is not talking to anyone - and sometimes I’m completely fine with that.

Here’s a paragraph I noted:

All of the people in the room seemed to take so much for granted: that they would be invited to social events, that they would have friends and family to talk to, that they would fall in love, be loved in return, perhaps create a family of their own.

I think we all take those things for granted early in life, until it becomes apparent that they might not happen, or are much more difficult than we thought they were ever going to be. There's a somewhat extreme back-story to the main character, which was something of a shame because her experience could have been more 'ordinary' than that, and if the statistics on loneliness are true you don't need a horrific childhood to find yourself a solitary adult, but ’tis a book worth reading, and for all the sadness it’s a gladsome and soul-stirring tale.

On Saturday I went to the Lifeline Book Fair, and, you know how it is, I wasn’t going to buy much at all, because my bookshelves are dangerously swelling. But the picture above is the pile that nearly dragged my arms free walking back to my car. I can’t say as I’ve ever heard of the books by Louisa May Alcott or Lucy Maude Montgomery, but on the strength of Little Women and Anne of Green Gables these charming hardcovers came home with me. I’m fairly sure that is a first edition of CS Lewis’s An Experiment in Criticism, not that I expect that title was his best-seller. And I’ve wanted his letters for a long time and that edition is out of print. So those were my wins.