As I’m reading « A man called Ove », I realize what makes me connect so strongly with the main character : I am always trying to do things properly (I did not say « the right thing ») and always have. And doing things properly, in this fucked up world of dummies, is looked at as an anomaly.
Some people have love, they are cherished and cared for.
Some people have money or power or status.
Some have luck or good looks.
Some people have laughter or faith.
I have anger.
Not the kind that comes from fear or hatred. My anger comes from the frustration of living in a world I’m no longer fitted for and from a constant sense of injustice. I could wear myself out fighting against it, as I have done for so many years. Or I could simply accept it.
That’s just as good a fuel as any.