My Friends

I have read all of Backman’s books, and this is probably my favorite. He is such a wonderful writer, his characters are so fleshed out and believable. I stayed up too late each night because I couldn’t stop reading. This is an enchanting book about childhood friendships and the healing power of art and having people that believe in you.

A long story that unfolds slowly and begs you to keep reading (which is the point I think). Keen insights into the minds of forgotten children which makes a person wonder about the author’s childhood. Full of fun anecdotes and witty observations.

Like so many of Backman’s books, this one wanders all over the place. There are jumbled timelines, contradictions, unfinished plot lines, and threads left unpulled. But there is also, for a book about grief and loss, so much joy. The writing is lyrical and the characters, every damn one of them, are just so compelling. And the art… I so, so, so wish I could experience the art. The novel is a little too long, it lags in the middle, but in the end I didn’t really mind. I will be thinking about these humans for a long time.

I have read every book Backman has ever written. I would read any scrap of trash he writes words on. Read this. Then, if you haven’t already, read every other book he’s published (starting with “A Man Called Ove” and “Beartown.” I’ve gifted Backman’s books to at least 20 different people in my life and no one has ever been disappointed. “My Friends” is another stellar work.

This story starts out slowly and perhaps a little confusing, as you try to figure out where the story is going. But you stay with it. Then, slowly but surely, you start loving it. You’re invested in the characters, and you don’t want it to end. The memory of Louisa, Ted, Ali, Kimkim and Joar will stay with you for a long time. And the painting of the pier will be permanently etched in your mind.