A review of 'A Man Called Ove' by Fredrik Backman

"Well, in Whoville they say -- that the Grinch's heart grew three sizes that day."  Dr. Seuss

There is a lot of the Grinch in Fredrik Backman's 'Ove,' and also some Gru from 'Despicable Me.' In fact, as the the story unfolds, the only living thing that wants anything to do with the 59 year-old Swedish curmudgeon is the neighborhood stray cat. But as the chapters pass, more and more is revealed about Ove. His early days are harsh to be sure, but his path leads to a tender and bittersweet romance with the only love of his life. But his days, he feels, are nearly over -- until the new neighbors move in and run over his mailbox. She's Iranian and he's, well, Ove. His greatest compliment to anyone is "You're not entirely without hope." The new neighbor has her work cut out for her, but she's up for it even while several months pregnant. A Man Called Ove was so funny and touching that I had to put it down several times just think about it. So many customers and friends recommended this book to me, and so I'm recommending it to you. As I toured my neighborhood the other day picking up trash and guarding against possible malfeasance, I thought, "My gosh, I'm Ove." You probably know one too.   

The Girl on the Train

I've recently finished reading The Girl on the Train, though I've yet to see the movie version. It was a very good mystery, but I fear a proper review might give away some key plot points. Therefore, you'll have to suffer through a poem instead. But I do hope you will either read or see the movie version of The Girl on the Train. It was special to me because I read it while riding on the train back and forth to work. I was the boy on the train reading about the girl on the train. Anyway, here comes the poem. I hope it doesn't spoil anything for anyone.


Girl on the Train

She feels nothing special,
no need to dress, kind of plain.
Her best days behind her,
she’s just a girl on the train.

She’s kind of a loner,
and barely sober,
her whole life going down the drain.
She’s just a girl on the train.

She can’t feel your pain,
she’s got much of her own.
You can’t sit next to her,
she wants to be alone.
She’s a girl on the train.

She’s seen something strange,
but what can you do?
One of the suspects 
just might be you.
She’s a girl on the train.
She’s just a girl on the train.

But maybe there’s hope,
if she can only remember.
It’s closer than she thinks,
and they’ll want her to surrender.
She’s a girl on the train.
She’s just a girl on the train.

It’s getting clearer now,
but time’s not her friend.
One false move 
and it might be the end.
She’s a girl on the train.

She’s just a girl on the train.

“Track number nine will be departing in one minute… Track number nine will be departing in one minute… All aboard!”

Tuborg: The Runt of the Litter. A tale of about a little guard puppy. Storytime Magazine says "Two Paws Up!"

Tuborg: The Runt of the Litter


The big day had finally come. It was adoption day for Miss Applebutter’s seven little puppies. They were all brothers and sisters and eager for their forever homes. From biggest to smallest they were as follows: Jocko, Hildy, Leslie, Pablo, Reese, Cookie, Wayne, and -- really a half-puppy because he was so small -- Tuborg, the runt of the litter. 

“You may have to stay here with Miss Applebutter,” said Leslie to Tuborg. “Who would want to adopt such a scrawny, little puppy?”

“Miss Applebutter says it’s what’s on the inside that counts,” replied Tuborg. “And I’ve got a lot going on inside me.”

“Well, I hope so,” said Jocko, “because there ain’t much on the outside that I can see.”

“I’ll show you,” said Tuborg. “I’ll get adopted. Just you wait.”

And wait he did. For once the adoption began, all six of Tuborg’s siblings found their forever homes. It was getting late in the evening and Tuborg found himself all alone at the feet of Miss Applebutter. “Don’t you worry, Tuborg,” she said to him. “You’ll always have a home here if nobody else comes round.”

“I know,” said Tuborg. “I was just hoping so much to be adopted.”

The sun was just about to set for the night and poor Tuborg still waited by the door. Just then, a thundering knock startled the whole house. “Who could that be?” asked Miss Applebutter. “I thought the adoption was over for the day.”

She opened the door to a big, burly older man with an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth. The coat he wore was thick and long like that of a wooly mammoth. He towered above Miss Applebutter and Tuborg rose just above his ankles. “I hear you got some puppies up for adoption,” said the giant man. 

“Well, we did earlier,” admitted Miss Applebutter. “But I’m afraid they’ve all been adopted  -- except for little Tuborg here.”

“Tuborg, you say,” said the large man. “And you say that’s a dog?”

“Of course I’m a dog!” protested Tuborg.

“Now, Tuborg,” said Miss Applebutter, “you must mind your manners. Our visitor was probably just expecting something…”

“Bigger,” said the man, “much bigger. Mildred instructed me to come home with a pup, but this one could fit into my own palm. You sure you don’t have one more in a larger size?”

“But I am a larger size,” said Tuborg. “You just can’t see it.”

“Now wait here,” said the man. “Let’s begin again. My name is Jack Kingsley and I’m in need of a dog. Now if Tuborg is all that you’ve got, well, maybe Tuborg is all that I need. You see, son, we don’t need a lap dog. Me and Mildred already got one of those. What I want to do, son, is offer you a job.”

“Me?” said Tuborg, excitably, wagging his little stump of a tail, “A job? This must be my lucky day. Well I accept your job, sir. I am your man!”

“Now just wait right here, son,” said Mr. Kingsley, “you haven’t even heard what the job entails.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” said Tuborg. “I’m your man, sir. You can count on me.”

“Well isn’t he just an eager beaver,” said Mr. Kingsley. “This boy’s got spunk -- if not size.”

“He is spunky,” said Miss Applebutter. “I’ll give him that. But what is the job you speak of, sir, if I may ask?”

“Why, he’s going to be our guard dog,” replied Mr. Kingsley. “Tuborg will be the last line of defense for our home. You think you can handle that, son? It’s quite a responsibility.”

“I’m up for the challenge, sir. I’ll gladly be your last line of defense.”

“I must say, this boy does have some spunk,” said Mr. Kinsgley. “I’ll take him off your hands if you’ll allow me, ma’am. I‘ll certainly give him a try.”

Miss Applebutter and Mr. Kingsley exchanged pleasantries and finalized Tuborg’s adoption. Mr. Kinglsey then gathered up Tuborg in his palm and took him out to his truck. They then roared away into the night. 

Somewhere along the many miles Tuborg fell fast asleep. When he awoke, he was in a great big two-story home at the foot of a giant staircase. Tuborg gathered his senses and saw that Mr. Kingsley was standing right beside him. “Is this where you live?” asked Tuborg, rubbing his eyes awake.

“Why yes it is,” replied Mr. Kingsley. “But Tuborg, this is where you live as well. We’re home now, boy.”

“Home?”

“Of course, home,” said Mr. Kingsley. “Now it’s time for you to meet the others.”

“The others?” Tuborg gulped.

Just then, a woman in a flowing nightgown descended down the staircase. And in her arms was the most beautiful puppy Tuborg had ever laid his eyes on. 

“Tuborg,” said Mr. Kingsley, “this is my wife, Mildred, and this our other puppy, Cordelia.” 

“Yowza,” muttered Tuborg.

“What’s that you said, boy?” asked Mr. Kingsley. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I just said I’m pleased to you meet you, ma’am, and pleased to meet you too, Cordelia.”

“That’s what I thought you said,” added Mr. Kingsley.

“I’m actually too young to date anyhow, sir. I meant no offense.”

“I’m sure you are too young to date, boy. I’m sure you are.”

“Now Jack,” said Mildred, “do you mean to tell me this is the guard dog you were told to bring home? How on earth is this little whippersnapper supposed to protect Cordelia and me?”

“Well, Mildred, I know Tuborg’s got little britches to begin with, but I think in due time he’ll grow into them. Don’t you think so? Don‘t you think we ought to at least give him a try?”

Mildred bent down to kiss little Cordelia. “So little Cordi, do you think we ought to give the little fellow a try?” 

Cordelia sniffed at the air but Tuborg couldn’t tell at all what that meant. He hoped and prayed for the best. At length, Mildred looked down upon Tuborg. “Cordi says we’ll give you a try, young man.”

“Oh boy!” exclaimed Tuborg. “I won’t let you down, ma’am. Not now or ever.”

“He sure is a feisty one,” said Mildred. “I’ll give him that.”

Mildred and Cordelia ascended up the stairs leaving Tuborg with Mr. Kingsley. When the ladies were out of earshot, Mr. Kingsley said to Tuborg, “We’ll be sleeping upstairs and you’ll be in charge of downstairs. It’s a big area down here, Tuborg, so I want you to sleep with one eye open.”

“Oh, I’ll sleep with both eyes open, sir. You can count on me.”

Mr. Kingsley showed Tuborg the first floor layout, then brought him into the kitchen for a midnight snack. He made a blanket bed in the corner for Tuborg and then went up the stairs to bed. He told Tuborg to be ready first thing in the morning, for his day on the job would be a long one. Tuborg tried his hardest to sleep with both eyes open, but one soon shut followed by the other and off to sleep he drifted. He was home now, and his sleep was warm and peaceful and deep…

At sunrise the next morning, Mr. Kingsley rousted Tuborg awake. After a quick breakfast, he led the little puppy out the back door. Tuborg gazed upon a wide, fenced in lawn as green as he could ever imagine. There was one big oak tree right in the middle of the grass, but that was it. “Tuborg,” said Mr. Kingsley, “this is my backyard. I take good care of it and I’m mighty proud of the results.”

“As you should be, sir.”

“Now, Tuborg,” Mr. Kingsley continued, “I’m gone an awful lot, and I don’t have the time to watch over my land. That’s where you come in. You see, your day job will be to guard this property, understand?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll guard it all right. You can count on me.”

“Nobody but me and Mildred and Cordelia comes and goes back here, understand?”

“I understand, sir,” said Tuborg. “I’m ready to start at once, sir.”

“That’s good to hear, Tuborg. That’s good to hear. Now I’ve got something for you to wear. I want you to look official and represent our family well.”

Mr. Kingsley had a small box tucked under his arm. He placed it front of Tuborg and opened it.

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Tuborg, nervously.

“This here is the uniform I want you wear. You’ve got a blue shirt, a cap, and a badge.”

“Oh, boy! A uniform!”

“You wear it with pride, son.”

Tuborg immediately slipped on the shirt and then placed the cap on his head. As he was fumbling with the badge, he said to Mr. Kingsley, “And will there be a gun and a holster as well?”

Mr. Kingsley held his big belly and laughed. “Now don’t you get ahead of yourself, boy. You’ve got to walk before you can run if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I’ll walk, sir. I’ll watch every inch of this lawn a thousand times over. Nothing will ever get by old Tuborg. You can count on that.”

“All right, all right,” said Mr. Kingsley as he bent over Tuborg to give the puppy a friendly pat. “I do believe I’ve the right man for the job after all. Now I’ll leave you to your work.”

Tuborg did indeed walk every inch of the property within the big brown fences. Eventually he made his way to the oak tree in the middle. There he found a heart carved into the trunk. In the middle of the heart there was a scratching that read J + M. This is a good home, Tuborg thought to himself, with a good yard and a good tree. He would guard this place with everything he’s got. 

Tuborg noticed small things at first. The calm breeze, a darting squirrel, a screaming blue jay, a praying mantis. Nothing to cause alarm, nothing to investigate. But just as he backed up to the tree to settle in and take five, he heard what he thought was a knocking at the front fence. Tuborg rushed over to the fence and barked a strong warning. But when he got there he could see nothing between the slats of the fence. After a moment he turned away, sensing everything was on the up and up. But then he heard another knocking. What was going on? He could see nothing. Finally a voice came. “Hey, buddy, we’re down here.”

“Who’s down here?” asked Tuborg.

“We are,” said the voice. “We all are.”

Tuborg bent his head lower, and sure enough there was a tiny gate at the bottom of the fence, no more than an inch or two high. Tuborg worked his paw to open the gate a crack. What he saw was amazing. It was a tiny man in a uniform, but not a uniform like his own. He was a marching band leader, and behind him a band of over a hundred strong hoisting musical instruments of every kind imaginable. “My gosh, you’re the biggest dog I think I’ve ever seen,” said the band leader.

“I am?” questioned Tuborg. “But I’m the runt of the litter. You should see my bothers and sisters.”

“If they’re larger than you are,” said the band leader, “then I don’t ever want to see your brothers and sisters.”

Tuborg smiled. He was finally big -- at least compared to the marching band before him.

“Now sonny, you’ve got to let us cross your yard,” said the band leader. “We’re very late.”

“But I can’t let you cross the yard. Mr. Kingsley forbids it.”

“Yes,” said the band leader, “but does Mr. Kingsley know that blue team is playing the red team and it’s the biggest game of the season? Now what would the biggest game of the season be without a marching band?”

“I see your point,” said Tuborg, rubbing his chin. “He didn’t tell me anything about the big game.”

“No, he didn’t. But don’t you worry. We won’t cause a ruckus. We’ll just play our tunes and march right across the yard and out the back door. It’s all standard procedure for marching bands. That’s right. All standard procedure.”

“Well, if it’s standard procedure…”

“In fact,” said the band leader, “I’ll even give you my baton and you can lead them through. How about that?”

“Wow!” said Tuborg. “Me, a band leader? Imagine that.”

“There’s no imagination, sonny. This is the real deal. Lead them through!

Tuborg held the baton high and led the marching band all the way across the yard to the back of the fence. Sure enough there was another tiny door to let the band out. He surrendered the baton to the band leader and shut the little door. And then they were gone. It was Mildred’s voice he heard next. Tuborg ran back to the house so he could better hear her. 

“Tuborg, what is all that noise I’m hearing?” asked Mildred.

“Oh nothing, ma’am. It’s just the wind is all.”

“Well, the wind sure does sound like When the Saints Go Marching In.” 

“It’s a very nice wind you’ve got back here, ma’am,” said Tuborg.

“Well, tell the wind to keep it down, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. I will.”

Tuborg took a few laps around the perimeter of the yard to make sure everything was on the up and up, then settled down to take five against the tree. But as soon as he plopped his butt on the ground there came another rapping at the gate. Tuborg barked a stern warning and dashed over as quickly as he could. Now what, he thought, bending his ear down to the little door. “Open up!” he heard. “The circus is in town.”

Tuborg timidly propped open the door. “The circus?”

A tiny man in a sharp tuxedo and a tall top hat emerged from behind the door. In his hand he waved a baton and smiled as brightly as he could. “My gosh, look at the size of you,” he said to Tuborg. “Are you some kind of polar bear?”

“A polar bear, me?” said Tuborg. “No, sir, I’m just a guard dog.”

“A guard dog, huh?” said the tiny man. “What‘s your name?”

“I’m Tuborg.”

“Well, Mr. Tuborg, I do believe you’re the fiercest, roughest, toughest guard dog I ever did lay eyes on.”

“I am?” replied Tuborg, puffing out his chest. 

“But I sense that you’re a reasonable dog as well.”

“I’d like to think so, sir,” said Tuborg. “But what about you? Who are you?”

“Why Mr. Tuborg, I’m the Ringmaster, the master of ceremonies, the talk of the town, the Baron of the big top, the biggest of the big!”

“You’re all of those things?” said Tuborg. “Wow.”

The Ringmaster propped open the door as wide as he could manage. Behind the door was a long line of every kind of circus performer there was. There were jugglers, trapeze artists, tight rope walkers, fire eaters, men and women on stilts, and more. “Now as you can see, son, the circus is in town. Now you’ve got to let us through. We’re late for our show and time’s a wasting. You don‘t want the children to miss out on the circus, do you?”

“But I just let a marching band cross the yard,” explained Tuborg. “How can I let the circus come through, too? You want to get me fired?”

“Mr. guard dog,” said the Ringmaster, “what do you see at the point of my baton?”

“Well,“ said Tuborg, “I see five clowns.”

“What you see, son, is five sad clowns. Now you’ve got to help us turn those frowns upside down.”

“How do I do that?” asked Tuborg.

“By letting us pass, by letting us cross the yard,” said the Ringmaster. “That’s how. Don’t you love a clown?”

“Well, to be honest…”

All of the sudden the clowns started crying and moaning. “Now look what you’ve done, son. I’ve got five crying clowns on my hands. Who doesn‘t love a clown I say.”

“All right, all right,” said Tuborg. “I’ll let you pass. I sure don’t want to see anyone in tears, certainly not five clowns.”

“That’s my boy!” said the Ringmaster, ushering the once again happy clowns back into formation. “And as for your reward, here is my baton. You, Tuborg, are the honorary leader of the circus, the temporary Ringmaster who looks like a polar bear. Take us through, son!”

Tuborg grabbed the little baton and led the long column of circus performers across the yard and out the back gate. With all of their musical instruments and clowning, the circus made quite a commotion. Tuborg was very glad when the last of them passed through the gate. Once they were gone, however, he heard the voice of Mildred. This time she was out on the back porch -- with Cordelia by her side. “Tuborg!” she called from across the yard. “Is there something amiss in the yard?”

“No, ma’am,” Tuborg called back as he ran toward them. ”We’re all clear back here.”

Mildred held up her hand to stop a running Tuborg dead in his tracks. “Why do I smell peanuts then?”

“Oh, they’re in season, ma’am. It’s definitely high peanut season I believe.”

“And you’re a farmer as well, Tuborg?” said Mildred.

“It sure smells like the circus,” said Cordelia, gazing upon Tuborg with a suspicious eye. “It most surely does.”

Tuborg felt it was best to hold his tongue. Anything else he said might make it worse. Mildred took a look around the yard and made sure the coast was clear. “Now, Tuborg, the real reason we’ve come out here is because Cordelia needs to go potty. What I need you to do is be a gentleman and face the opposite direction from where she goes. A lady needs her privacy, understand?”

“Oh yes, ma’am,” said Tuborg. “I’ll bury my head in the ground if that’s what it takes.”

“Well aren’t you the little gentleman,” said Mildred. “It’s nice to have a gentleman in the house.”

“It’s part of my job,” replied Tuborg, “and a lifestyle choice as well.”

“My, my, Tuborg,” said Mildred, patting him on his cap “aren’t you scoring points with me today!”

Cordelia came running back, eventually going back inside the house with Mildred. Tuborg himself went potty, and then settled down under the tree for an afternoon nap. He was awakened not much later by another knocking at the gate. “What now?” Tuborg said, rousing himself from a deep slumber. “Not another circus I hope.” He trotted over to the tiny door and crouched down low. “Who goes there?” he asked. 

“Howdy, pardner!” called a booming voice. “Open the door! Let me see your peepers.”

“My peepers?” questioned Tuborg.

“Your eyes,” said the voice. “I want to meet you face to face.”

Tuborg tentatively opened the door. On the other side he found a tiny cowboy wearing boots and spurs, dirty jeans, and a ten-gallon hat. “Friends call me Tex,“ he said, doffing his hat. And behind Tex were four other mini cowboys, and then a head of cattle as far as he could see.  

“What the..?” exclaimed Tuborg.

“Pleased to meet you, friend,” said Tex. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Tuborg, the guard dog for this yard. What are you doing with all this cattle?”

“Well,” said Tex, “we’re on a cattle drive as you can see. We’ve got to drive this cattle because that’s what we do. We drive them here, and then we turn around and drive them there. Now if you’ll kindly let us cross your land, we’ll be out of your hair in no time. By the way, you’re about the biggest varmint I ever did see. What did you say your name was again, Bullfrog?”

“The name is Tuborg. Now why should I let you cross our yard? You could get me in big trouble.”

“I’d say trouble is your middle name.”

“It’s not,” replied Tuborg. “It’s Joseph.”

“Well, Tuborg Joseph, I’ve got a deal for you. You let us cross the yard, and I’ll let you lead the rooty-tootyest cattle drive you ever did see. Are you ready to be a cowboy, Bullfrog?”

“Oh, brother,” sighed Tuborg, propping open the door as far as he could. “All right, cowboys, line them up. I’ll take you through. Yee-ha!”

Tuborg led the cowboys and the cattle in a straight line across the yard. He let them out on the other side. “Whew,” he said, dusting off his clothes, “what a day.” 

Soon after, Mr. Kingsley appeared at the back porch. He called for Tuborg across the yard. The little guard dog ran as fast as he could to the back porch. Mr. Kingsley let his eyes gaze upon the large expanse of his yard. “Looks awfully dusty back here, Tuborg. What do you think?”

“We just haven’t had the rains this year, sir.”

“No,” replied Mr. Kingsley, “we sure have not. Now tell me about your first day, Tuborg. Anything of note to report?”

“No, sir. It’s all jake back here, sir.”

“All jake? Is that right? Well, Tuborg, then let’s get you some supper. Looks like you’ve well deserved it.”

Mr. Kingsley attempted to usher Tuborg inside, but the little dog wouldn’t budge. ‘What’s the matter, Tuborg? Ain’t you hungry?”

“I am, sir,” admitted Tuborg, “but I have to tell you something. I cannot tell a lie.”

“What lie is that, son?”

“That everything was jake. No, sir, everything wasn’t jake. It wasn’t jake at all. In fact, there were breaches.”

“Breaches!” Mr. Kingsly exclaimed. “There were breaches in my backyard?”

“Three of them actually,” replied Tuborg.

“Three breaches you say? What kind of three breaches?”

“Well, first there was a tiny marching band, a hundred of them, but no more than an inch high. But, you see, the red team was playing the blue team and they really needed a marching band to play. They couldn’t be late for game like that.”

“That is true,” admitted Mr. Kingsley. “The red team did play the blue team, and it sure wouldn’t have been the same without a marching band. Now tell me about the second breach.”

“Next there was a mini circus. The clowns were crying and they didn’t want to let the little children down. They couldn’t have been late for the big show.”

“I don’t suppose not,” said Mr. Kingsley. “Nobody likes a clown… I mean, a crying clown. A crying clown will bring you down. That’s what I always say.”

“Me too, sir,” said Tuborg. “Me too.”

“Now tell me about this third breach.”

“They were tiny cowboys, sir, real ones, but tiny, and a herd of cattle as far as you can see…”

“All right, all right, Tuborg,” said Mr. Kingsley, laughing. “Let’s go inside and get us some supper. I want to hear all about the cowboys,  the cattle, the circus. In fact, I want to hear about everything…”

Tuborg had supper with his new family and told them all about his adventures in the backyard. In the next days and weeks he settled into his job as guard dog. He did continue to let some groups cross the yard. The marching bands and circuses and cattle drives came and went, as did a dancing troupe, some Girl Scouts, a lacrosse team, and a comedian named Marty. He did not, however, let in zombies, litterbugs, solicitors, or anyone Mr. Kingsley considered  tumbleweeds, turnip seeds, hockey pucks, flimflammers, sidewinders, gullywumpers, rabblerousers, and an especially heinous group calling themselves The Brigade of Angry Cats.  

In time, Mr. Kingsley led Tuborg out to the big tree. There they carved out a new heart right next to the one that read J + M. In it, Mr. Kingsley helped Tuborg carve out T + C. In the big house, with the big yard, and a big tree in the middle, they lived happily ever after. 

The end.  

  

Miki and Pete compete in 'The Great Tomato Challenge'

Miki's plant yields 742 tomatoes and counting...

Pete's plant yields 5. Well, there's always next year for this Charlie Brown vine.

Maybe this rock will attract a wayward Cardinal.